I'm Crying Already - 70 Up! "Bows Out"

The Up! series is my obsession. I could not have, being born in 1968, followed this since the beginning, but fortuitously I found it on youtube after 49 Up! was filmed. I looked forward to 56 Up! and 63 Up! since then, and now, a mere 5 days away from the finale: 70 Up!

For the uninitiated, briefly, a British start-up television station made a documentary about 7 year-olds in 1964. Not notable, until someone decided 7 years later to check in on the now 14 year-olds, and so on, every 7 years, until today. The posh children grew up to be ho-hum adults, but the other children have had roller coaster lives. My favorites are/were Neil, Lynn, Paul, Symon and Nick. Unfortunately, I have to use "were" for Lynn and Nick, as they both passed away. Originally designed to showcase the British class system, the series has everything that life doles out to everyone: bright eyed innocence, surly teens, anxious young adults, love, marriage, children, affairs, divorce, single parenthood, illness, homelessness, itineracy, redundancy (unemployment), education and career, immigration, cancel culture, mental health issues, death and on and on. Truly special. 

From upper left across: 1st: Paul, Nick, Lynn 2nd: Andrew, Neil
Symon 3rd: Jackie, Bruce, Sue 4th: Peter, Suzy, and Tony

My favorite moments were when Jackie told off director Michael Apted for his earlier sexism (which, I think was mitigated by the addition of Paul's wife, Sue, and Symon's wife, Vienneta - they are sharp!), Nick looking dreamy back on the farm at 21, the way Apted introduced Jackie's 2 youngest sons, Paul talking about not wanting to eat greens (c'MON, that boy is adorable and he grew into an adorable old man. "No, sir" and "what's university?" - the kid had comedic timing), Lynn and Nick facing their mortality with brave stoicism, Symon stating in 28 Up! that he "had a couple of kids" (um, that would be FIVE) and altruistic Bruce becoming a husband and a father after a long wait. I even loved Suzy's dog, who stole the 7 Plus 7 installment when he caught a rabbit. But, the true drama was Neil. That man had the world living on the edge along with him. He dealt with homelessness and mental illness, but persevered and maintained his eloquence throughout. (When discussing the public toilets he fought for in his ward, he says "I can assure you, no more fierce battle has been fought either on the playing field or indeed on the battlefields of England to save what may appear to be a comparatively insignificant local amenity") His story about the butterfly KILLS ME. The way it is edited to show his young, idealized self unselfconsciously dancing is unadulterated poetry. To realize after decades that you had it right when you were wee is part of the beauty of aging.

Nick's story, too, moved me. As someone who was forced to leave her home and family of her youth, I could relate to him having to leave his boyhood farm to pursue his unfulfilled dream in a foreign land. He, most of all, seemed to understand the power of the series and what it represented to people. In 63 Up!, he spoke of his dire prognosis, and will appear in 70 Up! after his premature death after informing Apted's producer, Claire Lewis, that he'd like to film his coda. And that was the impetus for 70 Up!, even though Apted, too, had passed away before Nick. Nick passed just hours after this interview; he loved and honored this project until the the very end. Like Neil, Nick was thoughtful and deep, and, did I mention, hot?

Lynn was the first to die, and she knew that she suffered a life-threatening condition for the last 2 installments before her death. Always matter-of-fact, her nearly losing her composure, and then telling Apted "You'd better cut it or I'm going to cry" while moving out of frame is hard to witness. She worked in education and helped the most needy. Her big heart was always on display. She never minced words. She was a force of good and made the world a better place.

So, inevitably, we will be focusing on the losses in 70 Up!, but hopefully with a love of life and living that has been central to the series. As Nick said, "It's not an accurate picture of me, but it is an accurate picture of someone", and that universality will have us, I'm certain, crying tears of joy when the curtain falls on the "Bayeux Tapestry" of documentaries.

REJECT NYCE PPO! A Letter of Opposition

A chance to avoid state health legislation and to cost-shift benefits is being forced on city workers. New York City, with its history of mismanagement and corruption, will now administer health care? There is a huge learning curve involved, necessitating more bureaucrats. What is the plan for risk mitigations, claim management, compliance, medication formularies, stop-loss coverage, analyzing data and trend examination? Will the government be able to handle claim denial calls? This is another Medicare Advantage debacle, a back-door attempt at serving more indignity to those who worked low-paying government jobs in return for a promise. Given the lack of any details, the chance that this will be handled well is dubious. The new plan only promises one year of no changes, and the same people who green-lighted the new system are in charge of future changes. There is little to nothing that we gain from this proposal, but so much to lose. We do not know so much of the proposed plan, and that is likely intentional. We, the rank-and-file members, were never even consulted.

For these reasons, I would much rather the city serve proof that self-funding the health benefits will actually work before they tackle something as important as the three-quarters of a million affected municipal workers health . In the meantime, perhaps offer a self-funded plan with optional enrollment, and keep the fully-insured plan alone.

My 9/11 Story

I have been living in New York City since the late 90s. From Michigan, I got a job in Long Island, but lived in Astoria, Queens. After a very brief stint in Long Island, I got hired by what was then called Smith Barney. Their offices were, and still are, although now part of Citigroup, at 250 West Street, also known as the West Side Highway, in Tribeca, Manhattan. From my office, I could see the World Trade Center. I avoided the Trade Center, and I would sometimes wonder, if they were attacked again, like they were in 1993, were they close enough to hit me? I knew they were a quarter of a mile tall, and didn't know the distance from 250 West, but I knew that they would be attacked again. The terrorists who tried in '93 said so. 

After I left Smith Barney, I moved even closer to the Trade Center when I worked for a dot-com internet consulting group. Being a start-up, they moved 3 times during my tenure of around 2 years: I forgot the location of the initial headquarters, then we moved to John Street, and finally to the Woolworth Building. All of these locations were in the Financial District, downtown Manhattan. Although I never set foot in the towers, I did go into 4 World Trade, because there was a Borders bookstore, and also 7 World Trade, when Smith Barney merged with Salomon Brothers, who had office space there. The sadly defunct Century 21 store was directly across the street from the Trade Center, and discount shopping runs in my DNA, so you know I spent many hours there. Although I lived in Astoria, the towers were my backyard. I would frequent the Tuesday farmers' market that ran just outside the towers. It was magic: Pennsylvanian Dutch selling apples and pies in the shadow of these two megaliths wearing their bonnets and long gowns covered with aprons. Such an anachronism. 

I tried to find a picture of the greenmarket at WTC
from ANY OTHER DAY. I could not. This is 5 WTC
on 9/11 with the farmers' market. They all got out.

The Woolworth Building in 
happier times

Another view of the Woolworth
Building

So, the morning of 9/11 in New York, as I'm sure you've heard, was a stunner. My boyfriend was free-lancing at Salomon Smith Barney, working at the 250 West Street building, and was in process to be hired as a full-time staff member. He was scheduled to head to the Human Resource department to sign the paperwork, at 7 World Trade. As luck would have it, the night before, he saw an interoffice envelope addressed to the Human Resources department on his boss's desk, so he just put the forms inside. This is how my boyfriend was saved. He was once an auxiliary police officer in the Bronx, and if he was closer, he might have mobilized. I was getting ready to go to my office. I was now working uptown at 7th Avenue and 57th Street. Just before I left, I heard the report of a plane hitting the Trade Center on the radio. Like most people, I assumed it was accidental. My boyfriend called at that moment, and I didn't let him speak. I told him to turn around and come back home. He did. I went out to vote: it was primary day. On the way down Astoria Boulevard, I knew that at the intersection of 21st Street, there was a clear view of the towers. When I saw it, I knew it wasn't an accident. I knew there were many, many casualties. I felt helpless and afraid. On autopilot now, I went to the voting precinct and voted. What else could I do?

When I was inside, a woman came in screaming that both towers were on fire. I said, no, I just saw them and it was just the one. Of course, when I went back up Astoria Boulevard, the truth was evident. She was right. Both towers were now struck. Panicked, I wondered if I should just call in. But, my boss was suspect of anyone calling out, and I didn't need him telling me that we worked miles from the Trade Center and there was no reason I couldn't make it. So I boarded the N train, the same train I took all the way to Church Street/Fulton Street when I used to work in the Financial Center. The train seemed to be fine, until we got to 36th Avenue, where it paused for what seemed like eternity. Mind you, the N train in Astoria is elevated, and we all could see the burning towers. I thought to myself, this is your sign to get off and go back, so I stood to exit, and at that moment, the doors chimed and closed. I rode it to 57th and 7th, with my final look at the standing towers at Queensboro Plaza. 

In some ways, it was good that I made it to work, because cell phones were not working, so I couldn't contact anyone since I left my apartment. I got ahold of my mother and explained to her that I was not close. Then...

It was my co-worker who told me what I had feared for so many years, but I was still shocked when she said it. Absolute disbelief. One of the towers collapsed. We all left together. Now, we needed to know where to go. The subway was no longer running, and my boss lived on the east side of Manhattan at 97th Street. He told us to come to his place. We walked through the park, and I remember hearing planes and being again panicked. It was most likely fighter jets, which became common place after this. We saw long lines at pay phones and ATMs, and all along the way, people were listening to radio reports in large groups. When we made it to his apartment, we could see the people crossing the Triboro Bridge on foot. We also finally saw what everyone else in the world had already seen: the images of the planes hitting and the towers collapsing. I felt sick.

Eventually, my boyfriend, who, believe it or not, drove to Tribeca daily, picked me and anyone else who lived in Queens up. We drove everyone home and were back to Astoria by nightfall. We saw on tv that there were bombs going off someplace in the Middle East, and we decided we didn't feel safe in the city. We went to his parents' home in northern Westchester, crossing the Whitestone Bridge where we saw the smoldering remains. His parents had cats, to which I am allergic, despite having a cat at the time myself. I couldn't breathe, and I went to the ER for a nebulizer. I still get calls from agencies representing 9/11 survivors with lung problems as a result. 

The next day I woke up and immediately hoped it was all a bad dream. Alas, it wasn't. We headed back to Queens, resolved to not let the terrorists win. In the weeks that followed, my boyfriend would patronize businesses downtown, smelling the horrible stench of death, sometimes ordering an entire ham from a deli, to keep those people afloat financially. Everyone did what they could.

The thing that stays with me about that day is my paralysis. I didn't know what to do. But, some people knew exactly what to do: the firefighters. When most of us stood around helpless, they bounded into action and ran towards the danger. 

Two years later, almost to the day, I stood in a classroom in Queens on the first day of school, again not really knowing what to do. I knew the parents and the kids looked to me like I knew what I was doing, but I didn't. I had joined the Teaching Fellows, and was in front of a 7th grade homeroom, teaching them math and technology. This was how I gave back to the city that, like a family member, I muttered bad things about, but truly loved. My new coworker, a 5th grade teacher named Diane Fairben, who taught my students on 9/11, had a view of the towers from her classroom and knew that her son was down there. She watched in horror with these kids, not on a television, but from a window. Her only child, an EMT worker, died that day. His name was Keith.

To him, and all the other heroes of that day, thank you will never be enough. I am only now, 24+ years later, committing my story to the public. A friend from the Midwest who worked for Aon visited a few weeks afterward and wanted to visit the site, so I went on a cold and rainy day to see the wreckage. I ran a 5k to commemorate a firefighter and passed the pile. Aside from those two occasions, I have not been back to the site. I cannot imagine the pain and suffering of so many parents, husbands and wives, and children of the victims. I feel for them and for all who suffer, whether from war or natural disaster, or plain poverty and bad situations. I hope that my service as a teacher to disadvantaged students made a difference. I think it did. Many of my students went on to success. I played a part in that.

We need to realize, as Americans, that we are blessed. We have a good life. We have our ups and downs, but overall, we are privileged to live in a great society. I have been blessed. Thank you for listening to a traumatic event from my perspective, and know that I count myself as fortunate. Do what you can to help. 

I'll leave you with this: when I grew up, there were very few children's programs. Saturday morning cartoons, Sunday night Disney movies, and PBS were about it. Once a year, the major stations would play "The Sound of Music", "Heidi" and "The Wizard of Oz. The programs on PBS were "Sesame Street", "Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood", "The Electric Company" and "Zoom". At a certain point, I knew I was too old for that stuff, but, like a guilty pleasure, I continued to watch. If my schoolmates knew I was still watching Mr. Rogers, I would be the laughing stock of the 5th grade. But he was kind. He was teaching us what we were learning in Catechism: love your brother. And, like a modern prophet, he said, "Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping." This is what Jesus was trying to say, what Allah was trying to say, what Buddha and all the prophets were teaching. God doesn't care if you eat meat on Friday or pork or cows. God doesn't want us kneeling and then standing in a particular direction. That's missing the point. God wants us to treat each other as you'd like to be treated; it's that simple. If 9/11 taught me anything, it's that there are good people in the world. More good people than misguided people. Let's all try harder to be those good people.

A Lifetime of Good-Byes

I have often wondered what would have happened if my family remained in Rhode Island when I turned 11, instead of moving to Cleveland. I imagine our happy family staying so, surrounded by my friends and family. I moved away from the Midwest as soon as I was able, and I have spent the rest of my life saying good-byes. Hard to not blame Cleveland for that.

I have stayed in New York for two reasons. One, I can't go while my divorce goes on and on. And, two, and most importantly, because it is home for my daughter. Oh, I guess three reasons: I hate moving. And I hate good-byes. Okay, four reasons... 

I said my farewells to my mother for the last time over 3 years ago now. I witnessed her final breath, and it was a privilege and honor to have known and loved her. I wish I had told and shown her this love more strongly when I had the chance. 

Me and my beautiful mom. I miss you, Jean.

It is now time for another: Tootie Pie. My heart aches to think of my life without her, although it is natural and to be expected. I love her ferociously and have structured my world around her. Now, what? 

Of course, I am happy that she is starting her own adventure, but I can be proud and sad at the same time, it seems. Motherhood is a complicated emotion, that's for sure.

Tootie Pie, you are and will always remain my greatest achievement. I am certain that you know this. I hope you see yourself with the love that I do. I think you do, but don't you ever let anyone make you doubt that you are capable, strong, self-reliant, kind, smart, beautiful and empathetic. Don't make the same mistakes that I did of letting your kindness blind you to self-absorbed others. Always put yourself first. Remember that you are my whole world, and I live and die for you. We will always share the same sky; I am always with you. This is not good-bye, but see-you-later.

I love you so dearly that it hurts, and I am excited for what the future holds for you. Whatever it is, you will kill it, girlie! As my Gramps said, "Go out and GET IT!" I know you will. Rock on...

Peace

Identifying My Native Land and My Tootie Pie

I saw the paintings, and they called to me. Once, I was passing right by it, and from the corner of my eye, I knew. It was Tootie Pie. It is a masterpiece.

I bought it! But, of course. It captures HER, in all her glory! Kiliko, her classmate, is the artist.

Then, again, although earlier, I spotted what I knew was New England. The painting, below, is of Schoodic, Maine.  

I have not been to Schoodic (is there a more Maine sounding name?), but something about the coloration of the rocks and the light told me, this is home. I was born outside of Boston, and call Rhode Island home. The artist is Marsden Hartley.

I have always been envious of visual artists. I used to use the program guides from the Ice Capades to draw Dorothy Hamill, and the result could be posted on badfanart.com. Once, somehow, I was able to capture the likeness of Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, but this was accidental. Both of these works are (fortunately) lost to time. The ability of these artists to portray such specificity is amazing. 

It was certainly the pink sequins that
inspired me to imitate, but crayons and
magic markers fail to convey their sheen.
Plus, her arms looked mutant on my
version. I did her dirty.

My Irish Initial

I have been obsessed with Medieval art since I knew there was such a thing. It may be the gold halos, it may be the slightly off-kilter proportions of the people, but it has always attracted me. It is funny, that my name, Kelleher, is so similar to Kells, as in the Book of Kells. Well, interestingly, the letter K is not native to Ireland. My name is an Anglicized version of the Celtic (pronounced Kell-tic) Ó Céileachair. And, no, there is not an apostrophe, but an acute accent. It means descendent of Céileachair. A céilí is a social gathering, but Céileachair means lover of a social gathering. So, somewhere in my ancestry, someone loved a party.

Now, technically, the Book of Kells is not Medieval, but Dark Ages, but I feel the imagery is in the same vein. It is also a misnomer, especially in Ireland, to call it the Dark Ages, because, once the Visigoths conquered the Roman Empire, neither one touched this distant western corner of Europe, and the arts flourished in Ireland during this time. It is ironic that an illuminated manuscript came from the Dark Ages, innit? I saw this when in Dublin, and even though I was only allowed to view one page, like all visitors, it was so detailed that I could have stared at it forever. Since I first laid eyes on it, in 1988 and again in 1995, Trinity College in Dublin has since scanned the pages. Many of the pages feature intricate Celtic designs incorporating knotwork and animals, and even images of the big names of the Bible, which is what the Book of Kells is. I wanted to find my initials, but sadly, there was no such thing as the letter K in circa 800 Ireland. So, my first initial will have to suffice, and, boy, does it! Just look at it:

So, what you are looking at is the first word, in Latin, of the Book of Matthew, "Liber". The L is curved, I cut off the bottom of the letter I, a large "B", and within the B, the ER (the image is large, so click on it to see all five letters). The first book of Matthew is "The Book of Generations", or "Liber generationis". Funnily enough, when I was younger, I sat down to read the New Testament, and read page after page of this first book. I gave up who knows how many generations into it and never returned to it. I expected more. I am not religious, but I do consider myself Christian, as in, aiming to be like Christ. But, c'mon, Matthew! Try to hook your audience, man.

But enough about the story; the beauty and intricacies of this single word is just breath-taking. Scholars say that Matthew was depicted with wings, and you can see that the faceless person in the left-most side clearly has beautiful gold tipped wings. Another two blokes here are both clutching books, which were cherished. Most of the animals look like snakes, but didn't St. Patrick both bring Christianity to Ireland AND drive out the snakes? But, they're perhaps not snakes. Are these dogs, specifically hounds or Great Danes? At first glance, I thought frogs, but frogs don't have tails, and these creatures do.

 

And this. I still say they're snakes, but the creatures end with either bird claws or fish tails for the purple bodies, or with a sort of lion's tail in the case of the yellow animals. No matter what they are, they are mesmerizing:

A close up of the ends of the tails:

Absolutely certain this
is a lion's tail

Fish tail?

But, wait, these are lions! Argh!

This is one page, one WORD for goodness sake, of a masterpiece. Somehow, they turned the dry genealogy of Jesus into an absolute, gobsmacking chef d'oeuvre, those unknown Irish monks did. Also, these monk-authors had a sense of fantasy and humor. Maybe these are snakes, but they've given them different animals' tails. It is a work of whimsy. I'm not certain Irish monks circa 800 had ever seen a lion, so there is definitely artistic license being taken. I challenge you to find your initial in this treasure and do your own deep dive into it. Or, pick an animal, and search it within the Book of Kells. No matter where you end up, you will be the richer for it.

Another drawing of Matthew, this time
with a dead eye

Since the drawing to the left is showing the man
with the wrong hand holding the book, apparently
to avoid the same mistake, deformed hand hidden
on right

No discussion of the Book of Kells without
a mention of a man who is playing his
harp snake with his two left hands

Another sensational L! What will you find?

Partial Unveiling Fish Chandelier

Well, it's missing a bulb and I still need to string 4 1/2 fish strands, but it looks good. Because it has 6 bulbs, it is not casting fish shadows, alas. 

It's custom and bespoke and delicate. No two fish are the same, and there are non-fish surprises such as a wave bead that ties the color scheme together and a glass bubble. There is a massive deep green fish. They all sparkle with Aurora Borealis (it's a bead thing). I wanted to make a blue whale gathering up the fish into a readily edible mass like I witnessed in Juneau, but never did. I don't have the right colors any longer and I like it without predators. 

I put the longer strands in the middle, the medium ones in between and the shorter ones along the outside for a graduated appearance that mimics the bulb stems. I want to learn how to make a circle with beads to create one octopus, but so far all I managed is one transparent star fish. This is the perfect task to beat the heat and humidity. A bit more fish making and I'll need another project. Alas, all of our ceilings are covered and I need to move onto another medium but light fixtures are my favorite. Oh, and after I finish with the fish, I need to strand my plastic flowers because this chandelier is CONVERTIBLE! The flowers should cover the space better than the fish because they are larger.