This morning I’ve much to contemplate: my worries are over for my son;he's home safely from Haiti and seemingly in good health and good spirits. He passed the Battalion Chief’s test and waits now for an interview. I pray he gets what he wants. Loving your job makes life so much easier.
Now my worry is about my husband, who was just diagnosed with aggressive squamous cell carcinoma in the lymph glands of his face and neck. He will have a parotidectomy and a radical neck dissection on the 15th of February, and then radiation will follow at a later date.
How could this happen? my husband asks his doctor. Doc says he was in the “environment” too much of his life. Well, that statement is true. Since his teen years he’s spent summers on the sands of Huntington Beach, then as an adult camped in the summers at the State Park in Chelan, Wa. Then in 1969, he built a cabin on the lake and has been outdoors as much as possible ever since. Yes, he’s been in the “environment” much too long
However, I always thought that the “Big 5” was familial; i.e., cancer, heart problems, high blood pressure, diabetes and stroke. What’s the first thing a doctor asks: Is there any history of “this” in your family?” Why don’t they say, “Have you been under stress, run any races, consumed too much booze, yada, yada?” Why wouldn’t they say: “Have you been in the environment too long?” Well, what do I know? I’m just an ex-medical transcriber who knows the medical lingo, the spelling, and the diagnoses, but not the “why’s and wherefores.”
I think his existing Parkinson’s and emphysema should be enough problems for one person to deal with. His father died of Parkinson’s, yet they say it’s not hereditary. He smoked for years, so the emphysema seems appropriate, however, I’ve known people who’ve smoked since grade school and they have no difficulty breathing. What’s the deal here? My children’s father died of leukemia. He didn’t smoke, drink too much, or cavort (well if he did it was before I came along). No one in his family ever had leukemia; however, five or more of his kin did die of some type of cancer. I’ve had endometrial cancer; however, no one in my long line of relatives ever had cancer of any kind.
I’ve always said: “Life is a crap shoot” and I still believe it. We’re here for a very short time, even if we live to be 100. When you consider this planet has been in existence for over four billion years, that makes 100 years sound like a hiccup!
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Saturday, January 30, 2010
A HERO'S RETURN
The Los Angeles County Fire Department's finest—Urban Search and Rescue, USAID-2—returned home last night to the county’s Tactical Support Facility in Pacoima, escorted by a helicopter and flashing lights from fire trucks.
As the buses pulled into the facility, my heart thudded in my chest. My son was on that bus and as a mother, my life was wrapped up in his safety. The team was greeted by hundreds of family members waving American flags and chanting USA-USA! As they stepped off the buses, they appeared to be in high spirits, but I was sure the glowing smiles belied the unimaginable sights and tragedies they’d experienced while in Haiti.
Television cameramen vied for spots to get the best shots. Children waved “Welcome Home” banners, balloons floated through the air as men embraced their families and some wept openly. I stood in line behind my daughter-in-law and three grandchildren to get my hugs. They were worth waiting for.
When we returned to my son’s home, he uploaded his videos and pictures of rescues that he’d taken during his two-week tour of duty. One particular scene broke my heart. It was filmed inside the hole where one poor woman had lain for four days; both hands held crushed and trapped by collapsed blocks of concrete and steel. We got to see, close up, the remarkable expertise of the rescuers as they brainstormed their way to save this woman; cutting, sawing, and prying their way to free her hands. It took over four hours of concentration, raw nerve, and perseverance to accomplish this one feat. I was griped with fear and awe as I watched them put their lives in danger. They crawled into the impossibly constricted hole to give the woman an IV, and then begin the delicate task of extracting her. When she was free, she began to sing a Haitian song, and the bystanders joined in with her. It was magic, my son said, and it made all the work worthwhile.
All together they pulled nine people from a sure death, with some rescues taking as long as twenty hours for just one survivor. Then came the heart-wrenching part…learning that a rescued girl later succumbed from her injuries.
To see those huge slabs of concrete they had to cut through made it clear why it took so long to get to the victims. Initially a structural engineer, a member of the team, had to check the integrity of the building before they could enter. Then, like diamond cutters, with precision and exactness, they had to work for hours just to remove one layer (one floor level at a time) of concrete and steel.
When the searching was called to a halt, the team now had time for humanitarian work, which my son said helped offset the pain and suffering they’d seen. They were told that an American AID worker, living in Haiti, had lost his wife and two children in a collapsed hotel. The team was able to find the deceased, and bring out his loved ones, which gave him the much needed closure to this horrible ordeal.
There were several instances where the team was called upon to do this; a Canadian who’d lost his daughter, and a Brazilian who lost his wife. Excavation equipment was brought in and the team was able to find the deceased; so the family was able to take their loved ones back to their homeland for a proper burial.
The team went about the devastation, delivering food and water where needed. They set up tents for medical teams that were operating out in the open air. They also donated several thousand dollars worth of tools and equipment to the destroyed Haitian Fire Department, who had lost almost everything in the earthquake.
My son sat with his children, that night, and told them about the poverty and ill health that the Haitians have to endure, and asked them to pray for the people of that country. He also told them how he saw children making kites from trash bags and sticks. When they got the kites in the air, they were smiling and laughing as they ran, surely forgetting for awhile, as only children can do, that they had no home to go to, and probably no dinner waiting for them.
After seeing all the poverty and devastation in my son’s videos and pictures, I thought how lucky we were to have been born in the U.S. But what if I’d been born in Haiti? By our accident of birth we have no right to feel superior to anyone, do we? Because, when you think about it, this could have happened to any of us? Our place of birth was determined by where our ancestors came from, where they were born, and so on down the line. Had our ancestors been slaves who wanted freedom and escaped to end it, we might have been pulling a plastic kite behind us. Maybe a silent prayer of thanks to our ancestors might be called for.
As my son tucked his precious girls into bed that night, we all said a prayer of thanks for his safe return.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
HAITI: PRAISE FOR THE RESCUERS AND RANTS ABOUT THE REPORTERS
See video: http://www.cnn.com/video/data/2.0/video/world/2010/01/25/am.haiti.search.rescue.cnn.html
It’s been a week now, and my heart is aching for the pain and suffering those poor souls are going through in Haiti. I can’t imagine how it will end. How can you fix something that’s been broken for so many years? True, the infrastructure, small though it was, can somehow improve with the right people handling it. But as we watch and wait, there seems to be no Haitian taking charge. Maybe it’s being done somewhere, somehow, but they need to put down the pencils and paper and start talking to their people.
We can only do so much for countries that are in such disrepair. We send our best and brightest, trained to save lives; doctors and nurses flock to help the injured. But what can they do without the supplies that a well-staffed hospital can offer. They bring in supplies, only to be turned back by a crowded and run-down airport. They come in ships, but cannot get the supplies over land because of the bad roads and thousands of people who want to commandeer the trucks and drive them away.
My son signed on for this. He took the training that is required for a First Response Search and Rescue. Just like so many others that are dispersed around the capital trying to find people who are still alive and buried under the rubble. They want to succeed, they dearly want to bring someone out and hear the clapping and crying of their loved ones. Sometimes it works; sometimes it doesn’t. One young girl the the team rescued was so badly injured that she died shortly after they pulled her out from under the tons of debris. But still they go on.
However, it seems like some reporters love to stir the pot, love to get people agitated. It makes for such a great story. Maybe they’ll get a Pulitzer for their reporting. They look into the camera, put on an “I feel your pain” look and then say something so asinine that it voids the whole effort of those brave men who are trying so hard to save people. I’ve seen this on CNN and Fox News and I want to strangle someone.
They must search the crowd until they find someone who is in the depths of despair; someone who is so angry that he can’t wait to spew it into the microphone. I don’t blame the Haitians. They are suffering unimaginable things. But I blame the reporters, who hold the mic under the person’s chin, and then ask: “How do you feel about the help taking so long to arrive?”
What the hell type of question is that? Does this reporter know what it takes to deploy thousands of men, equipment from all over the world and get them to Haiti? Has he even bothered to look into it? I doubt it.
The man answers that he doesn’t understand why it is taking so long to get help, so long to rescue all the people that are trapped under buildings, that he is hungry and his family is hurt. Just what the reporter wanted to hear as he nods sympathetically while standing there in his Tommy Bahamas shirt and shorts, leather penny loafers, full stomach and wallet, then looks into the camera and says: “There you have it folks, the true feelings of the Haitians. Why is it taking so long?”
I’ll tell you why. My son and hundreds of other rescuers are spending ten to eighteen hours on one person who they think might still be alive. They put their life in harm’s way as they straddle hunks of timber and concrete perilously close to crumbling. They work in 24 hour shifts, not knowing if another quake could drop them all below. They do it because they were trained to, because they care, because they want to save a life, even if it takes 24 hours, which some single rescues have.
They are split into teams around the city. They are working while the reporter is asleep in his comfy little quarters. They are bending over piles of rubble, hacking away with equipment to break away barriers that have fallen on the victims while the reporter waves a mic under their noses. But the rescuers pay little attention to the reporters. They are there to save lives.
The rescuers flew to Haiti on cargo planes, packed to the rafters with their equipment. Cold, no toilets, no air conditioning. Wonder how the reporter traveled? Could it be in the Network jet? Would they have had snacks of caviar and crackers? The Search and Rescue teams are getting MREs(meals-ready-to-eat).
If anyone reading this would like to take a stab at answering some of these questions, please feel free to do so.
To keep current on what our guys are doing over there, click on: http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?ref=profile&id=748640194#/pages/Los-Angeles-County-Fire-Tech-Services/268856409432?ref=mf
It’s been a week now, and my heart is aching for the pain and suffering those poor souls are going through in Haiti. I can’t imagine how it will end. How can you fix something that’s been broken for so many years? True, the infrastructure, small though it was, can somehow improve with the right people handling it. But as we watch and wait, there seems to be no Haitian taking charge. Maybe it’s being done somewhere, somehow, but they need to put down the pencils and paper and start talking to their people.
We can only do so much for countries that are in such disrepair. We send our best and brightest, trained to save lives; doctors and nurses flock to help the injured. But what can they do without the supplies that a well-staffed hospital can offer. They bring in supplies, only to be turned back by a crowded and run-down airport. They come in ships, but cannot get the supplies over land because of the bad roads and thousands of people who want to commandeer the trucks and drive them away.
My son signed on for this. He took the training that is required for a First Response Search and Rescue. Just like so many others that are dispersed around the capital trying to find people who are still alive and buried under the rubble. They want to succeed, they dearly want to bring someone out and hear the clapping and crying of their loved ones. Sometimes it works; sometimes it doesn’t. One young girl the the team rescued was so badly injured that she died shortly after they pulled her out from under the tons of debris. But still they go on.
However, it seems like some reporters love to stir the pot, love to get people agitated. It makes for such a great story. Maybe they’ll get a Pulitzer for their reporting. They look into the camera, put on an “I feel your pain” look and then say something so asinine that it voids the whole effort of those brave men who are trying so hard to save people. I’ve seen this on CNN and Fox News and I want to strangle someone.
They must search the crowd until they find someone who is in the depths of despair; someone who is so angry that he can’t wait to spew it into the microphone. I don’t blame the Haitians. They are suffering unimaginable things. But I blame the reporters, who hold the mic under the person’s chin, and then ask: “How do you feel about the help taking so long to arrive?”
What the hell type of question is that? Does this reporter know what it takes to deploy thousands of men, equipment from all over the world and get them to Haiti? Has he even bothered to look into it? I doubt it.
The man answers that he doesn’t understand why it is taking so long to get help, so long to rescue all the people that are trapped under buildings, that he is hungry and his family is hurt. Just what the reporter wanted to hear as he nods sympathetically while standing there in his Tommy Bahamas shirt and shorts, leather penny loafers, full stomach and wallet, then looks into the camera and says: “There you have it folks, the true feelings of the Haitians. Why is it taking so long?”
I’ll tell you why. My son and hundreds of other rescuers are spending ten to eighteen hours on one person who they think might still be alive. They put their life in harm’s way as they straddle hunks of timber and concrete perilously close to crumbling. They work in 24 hour shifts, not knowing if another quake could drop them all below. They do it because they were trained to, because they care, because they want to save a life, even if it takes 24 hours, which some single rescues have.
They are split into teams around the city. They are working while the reporter is asleep in his comfy little quarters. They are bending over piles of rubble, hacking away with equipment to break away barriers that have fallen on the victims while the reporter waves a mic under their noses. But the rescuers pay little attention to the reporters. They are there to save lives.
The rescuers flew to Haiti on cargo planes, packed to the rafters with their equipment. Cold, no toilets, no air conditioning. Wonder how the reporter traveled? Could it be in the Network jet? Would they have had snacks of caviar and crackers? The Search and Rescue teams are getting MREs(meals-ready-to-eat).
If anyone reading this would like to take a stab at answering some of these questions, please feel free to do so.
To keep current on what our guys are doing over there, click on: http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?ref=profile&id=748640194#/pages/Los-Angeles-County-Fire-Tech-Services/268856409432?ref=mf
Friday, January 15, 2010
MY SON AND HAITI
Yesterday and today have been long, worrisome days for me. My son,a captain on the L.A. County Fire Department, and a member of the Urban Search and Rescue Strike Team, along with 70 other members, flew out of March AFB on their way to Haiti. I am horrified by the streaming videos coming from the T.V., and I watch closely as searchers walk along the precarious concrete structures, broken blocks and unfathomable debris that covers men, women and children awaiting help. I pray for them, as I pray for my son and all the rescue personnel who put their lives at risk to help their fellow man.
In 2001, after the attack on the twin towers, my son and a few of his firefirer buddies, flew to New York to visit the stations that were so devastated by loss of life. It was something he felt he had to do. It was soon after the attack and my heart was heavy until he returned, not knowing if the enemy had any other plans in motion.
Then in 2004, he was sent to Sri Lanka after the tsunami, but somehow I wasn't as terrified then as I am now. He told me when he returned of the devastation, the resilience of the poor people who'd lost everything. One old man and his grandson were sitting on the beach, heating water in an old can for tea. When my son walked up to him, the old man embraced him, and offered him a cup of tea; this from a man who had lost everything...but his kind heart. It broke my son's heart. Even though the man talked, and my son could not understand his language, the common thread was love and hope.
But this time I feel different. I have a dreading. I can't explain why this is. I do know that I'll be so relieved and grateful when his fourteen days are up. I will pray that all the planes will have the fuel to lift off and bring all the teams home safely to the U.S.
In 2001, after the attack on the twin towers, my son and a few of his firefirer buddies, flew to New York to visit the stations that were so devastated by loss of life. It was something he felt he had to do. It was soon after the attack and my heart was heavy until he returned, not knowing if the enemy had any other plans in motion.
Then in 2004, he was sent to Sri Lanka after the tsunami, but somehow I wasn't as terrified then as I am now. He told me when he returned of the devastation, the resilience of the poor people who'd lost everything. One old man and his grandson were sitting on the beach, heating water in an old can for tea. When my son walked up to him, the old man embraced him, and offered him a cup of tea; this from a man who had lost everything...but his kind heart. It broke my son's heart. Even though the man talked, and my son could not understand his language, the common thread was love and hope.
But this time I feel different. I have a dreading. I can't explain why this is. I do know that I'll be so relieved and grateful when his fourteen days are up. I will pray that all the planes will have the fuel to lift off and bring all the teams home safely to the U.S.
Saturday, November 28, 2009
A BROAD IN TRAFFIC: AND OTHER RANTS
It started out to be such a lovely getaway. Spending a few days at Carlsbad with old friends (well, long-time friends) was the plan, then on to my son’s in Laguna Hills for a Thanksgiving Feast with the whole family. Somehow, traffic got in the way of a great experience.
Where do all these people come from? I know, I know, I’m one of them, but still. I can remember the days when I’d drive the 91 and the 5 freeways and get irritated if there were more than one car per lane. Now, there are a gazillion cars in every lane, some even having the temerity to drive down the “break-down” lanes (on both sides!).
Because I’m always where I should be on any particular holiday, I didn’t realize that everyone else had to drive on THAT day. I left the beach at 11 a.m. and arrived at my sons at 2:30 p.m., three-and-a-half hours later; a drive that normally takes one hour and fifteen minutes, at best.
I normally only listen to music as I drive, but after an hour I decided to listen to the news, sure that the world had changed in many ways while I was driving in Limbo. I now know I can go without the news for a year. I know every bit of lies, truth stretches, and downright stupidity that goes on in the world.
Stupid NEWS RELEASE: LEAD IN:“Tiger Woods seriously injured in car accident.” Then: FOLLOW-UP: “After being seen at the emergency room, he was released in good condition.” Excuse me? You just said “seriously injured” and now this?
Tim Conway Jr. on KFI was recapping the day’s news. He said this had to be a press release from Tiger's Manager, and that all managers lie. So, can we expect that Tiger is laid up somewhere in a body cast? Then: “Police say ‘alcohol’ was not indicated as cause of the accident.” Tim said: “Manager again. Lies!” But they did not say: “Drugs” were not indicated….so take your best guess.
And what’s the deal with Tiger, anyway? He’s crashed into a fire hydrant and then into a tree or fence, or whatever he supposedly crashed into at 2:30 IN THE MORNING? What’s a married man and father doing out at 2:30 in the morning crashing into fire hydrants? Why wasn’t he in bed in his lavish Florida estate, with his beautiful model wife wrapped around him, his babies down the hall secure in the fact that Daddy is protecting them from the boogey-man.
The next day I read that his wife broke a window with a “club” to free him. A CLUB? 4-wood? Driver? Pitching wedge? Where did she get it? Evidently the car was locked, so if she broke a window with a "club" she would have had to run back into the house to grab one: If so, why didn’t she just call 911 instead of looking for a golf club? Could she possibly have opened his lip with a 4-iron because he got home so late? Or, were they fighting? Maybe she picked up a club as he ran for the car, jumped in, gunned the engine to get the hell out of dodge, then slammed into the hydrant? Then before he could recover, she clonked his punkin' head the club. Oh, to be a fly on the wall…er, the Cadillac!
STUPID NEWS RELEASE: LEAD IN: Uninvited couple gets into White House State Dinner without invitation.” Then: FOLLOW-UP: “An uninvited couple crash the White House State Dinner and have their picture taken with top politicians, including the President of the United States.” The Secret Service said: “Someone dropped the ball.” Oh my, this sounds like something you’d see watching the Pink Panther movies, as Inspector Clouseau stumbles into and out of trouble in his search for the bad guys.
Do I wonder how that could have happened? Well, no. Because I’m still amazed how a certain president could engage in “It” with a young page in the Oval Office and not be impeached. By the way, it wasn’t his “private life in the Oval Office” as some people suggested; it is “The People’s” White House, which means he was doing the dirty-deed in MY Oval Office!
Oh, well, that’s history. But, this event at the White House was hilarious. Those Secret Service agents need to toughen up, maybe take some lessons from the NTS guys at the airport. Not only do they look at me as if I’m Osama’s wife, but they search my carry-on and find a five-inch flexible emery board. “Hold on there, Misses Ben-Laden, you can’t board the plane with a weapon.” I have to admit that I do sort of look like a terrorist: red hair, 5’5”, sun-weathered skin, Lens-Crafter specialty glasses, and carrying a wooden nail file to fix any breaks in my gel-filled nails. But this “weapon” breaks when using it on my nails, how many people could I flatten with it?
Okay, I’ve had my rant. Life is always amusing. It just takes a few days to realize it.
Where do all these people come from? I know, I know, I’m one of them, but still. I can remember the days when I’d drive the 91 and the 5 freeways and get irritated if there were more than one car per lane. Now, there are a gazillion cars in every lane, some even having the temerity to drive down the “break-down” lanes (on both sides!).
Because I’m always where I should be on any particular holiday, I didn’t realize that everyone else had to drive on THAT day. I left the beach at 11 a.m. and arrived at my sons at 2:30 p.m., three-and-a-half hours later; a drive that normally takes one hour and fifteen minutes, at best.
I normally only listen to music as I drive, but after an hour I decided to listen to the news, sure that the world had changed in many ways while I was driving in Limbo. I now know I can go without the news for a year. I know every bit of lies, truth stretches, and downright stupidity that goes on in the world.
Stupid NEWS RELEASE: LEAD IN:“Tiger Woods seriously injured in car accident.” Then: FOLLOW-UP: “After being seen at the emergency room, he was released in good condition.” Excuse me? You just said “seriously injured” and now this?
Tim Conway Jr. on KFI was recapping the day’s news. He said this had to be a press release from Tiger's Manager, and that all managers lie. So, can we expect that Tiger is laid up somewhere in a body cast? Then: “Police say ‘alcohol’ was not indicated as cause of the accident.” Tim said: “Manager again. Lies!” But they did not say: “Drugs” were not indicated….so take your best guess.
And what’s the deal with Tiger, anyway? He’s crashed into a fire hydrant and then into a tree or fence, or whatever he supposedly crashed into at 2:30 IN THE MORNING? What’s a married man and father doing out at 2:30 in the morning crashing into fire hydrants? Why wasn’t he in bed in his lavish Florida estate, with his beautiful model wife wrapped around him, his babies down the hall secure in the fact that Daddy is protecting them from the boogey-man.
The next day I read that his wife broke a window with a “club” to free him. A CLUB? 4-wood? Driver? Pitching wedge? Where did she get it? Evidently the car was locked, so if she broke a window with a "club" she would have had to run back into the house to grab one: If so, why didn’t she just call 911 instead of looking for a golf club? Could she possibly have opened his lip with a 4-iron because he got home so late? Or, were they fighting? Maybe she picked up a club as he ran for the car, jumped in, gunned the engine to get the hell out of dodge, then slammed into the hydrant? Then before he could recover, she clonked his punkin' head the club. Oh, to be a fly on the wall…er, the Cadillac!
STUPID NEWS RELEASE: LEAD IN: Uninvited couple gets into White House State Dinner without invitation.” Then: FOLLOW-UP: “An uninvited couple crash the White House State Dinner and have their picture taken with top politicians, including the President of the United States.” The Secret Service said: “Someone dropped the ball.” Oh my, this sounds like something you’d see watching the Pink Panther movies, as Inspector Clouseau stumbles into and out of trouble in his search for the bad guys.
Do I wonder how that could have happened? Well, no. Because I’m still amazed how a certain president could engage in “It” with a young page in the Oval Office and not be impeached. By the way, it wasn’t his “private life in the Oval Office” as some people suggested; it is “The People’s” White House, which means he was doing the dirty-deed in MY Oval Office!
Oh, well, that’s history. But, this event at the White House was hilarious. Those Secret Service agents need to toughen up, maybe take some lessons from the NTS guys at the airport. Not only do they look at me as if I’m Osama’s wife, but they search my carry-on and find a five-inch flexible emery board. “Hold on there, Misses Ben-Laden, you can’t board the plane with a weapon.” I have to admit that I do sort of look like a terrorist: red hair, 5’5”, sun-weathered skin, Lens-Crafter specialty glasses, and carrying a wooden nail file to fix any breaks in my gel-filled nails. But this “weapon” breaks when using it on my nails, how many people could I flatten with it?
Okay, I’ve had my rant. Life is always amusing. It just takes a few days to realize it.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
SIGHTS AND SOUNDS OF ISFAHAN, IRAN
Some of the things I write about in my book: A Broad Abroad in Iran: One Strappy-Sandaled Foot Ahead of the Mullahs, are in this beautiful video that I found on youtube. As you read the book, these sights will come to life.
Persians say that their beautiful city of Isfahan is “half the world.” The 17th-century capital of the Safavids, Isfahan. Incredible bridges can be seen along with the world's biggest square: Naghsh-é Jahan, which was also built in the 17th century in the center of the city. The enormous open plaza is framed by a wall of arches and surrounded by two of the world's greatest mosques; The 17th century Masjed-é Sheikh Lotfollah and the Masjed-é Emam, or Shah, one of the most amazing sites in Iran. Both mosques are of magnificent architecture and covered in brilliant colors of ancient mosaic tiles.
I was so excited to find this video on youtube. It's been since the late 70s, at the start of the revolution, when last I saw these beautiful sights. Living in Isfahan during that period was both exciting and terrifying. I hope you enjoy the video.
Please feel free to leave me a "comment" on this blog, about your experiences in Iran; as an expatriate, or as an Iranian.Or, you can go to my website: www.dodiecross.com/Iran and click on "contact."
Persians say that their beautiful city of Isfahan is “half the world.” The 17th-century capital of the Safavids, Isfahan. Incredible bridges can be seen along with the world's biggest square: Naghsh-é Jahan, which was also built in the 17th century in the center of the city. The enormous open plaza is framed by a wall of arches and surrounded by two of the world's greatest mosques; The 17th century Masjed-é Sheikh Lotfollah and the Masjed-é Emam, or Shah, one of the most amazing sites in Iran. Both mosques are of magnificent architecture and covered in brilliant colors of ancient mosaic tiles.
I was so excited to find this video on youtube. It's been since the late 70s, at the start of the revolution, when last I saw these beautiful sights. Living in Isfahan during that period was both exciting and terrifying. I hope you enjoy the video.
Please feel free to leave me a "comment" on this blog, about your experiences in Iran; as an expatriate, or as an Iranian.Or, you can go to my website: www.dodiecross.com/Iran and click on "contact."
Friday, October 23, 2009
WRITERS BLOG FOR THE GEEZER GENERATION
Attention Writers of the Geezer Generation!
The Internet? Of course, who doesn’t know about the World Wide Web of Wonder?
I just returned from a wonderful Pen Women’s Luncheon. The guest speaker was Denise Welch, President of NewMediaID, who spoke on the benefits of using social media tools in today’s marketing world. Of course, unless you’ve been living in a cave, you already know what the internet can do. Don’t you? I thought I did. But, wow, what I didn’t know about marketing would fill Wikipedia’s web-space.
How I wish I’d grown up in this techy age like my grandkids instead of in the 50s, when the most exciting thing for us to talk about was the newest Elvis recording. Don’t get me wrong, the 50s were the most idyllic decade since the invention of Preparation H. We didn’t have air conditioning or seat belts, or Iphones or PDAs, but we had a close connection with friends and family because we didn’t’ always have something crammed against our ear or keyboards at our fingertips…we did something more amazing: we talked face-to-face!
Which is something our prodigy can’t seem to do! Okay, so they can figure out the lift system of the Delta II rocket, but can they talk anymore? Why is it that when you call your grandkids you get: Uh-huh; nothin’; nope, cool, okay; yeah; bye. But watch them text and you think they’re writing the Magna Carte.
So, I guess if you want to communicate with the kidlets, you need to learn to twitter, text and all those techy things, but please don’t use the shorthand stuff: How I hate that stuff. I swear, none of them will know how to write a letter, or even a story, without TX, LOL, BTW and BFF.
So as life moves inexorably forward, we of the Geezer Generation need to move with it or get flattened by some new techy machine, or, hear your little snot-nosed, four-year-old grandkid say: “Grandma, here, let me do it. I’ll show you how.” I could just slap ‘em.
Okay, back to what I learned today: After all the “pay-for” marketing I’ve done, that it’s really all about Google and getting your key-words out there, blog like crazy, getting hits, and keeping current on your website, or “landing-page” as it’s now called by the techy generation.
So, let’s get with it, Geezers. Learn all you can while your brain still has some cells moving around, albeit on walkers. Put down the knitting, the quilting, and get off the rocker and get the word out about your great works. Just Do It:
Internet Market!
Anyone want to share how they made a difference in their sales on Internet Marketing?
The Internet? Of course, who doesn’t know about the World Wide Web of Wonder?
I just returned from a wonderful Pen Women’s Luncheon. The guest speaker was Denise Welch, President of NewMediaID, who spoke on the benefits of using social media tools in today’s marketing world. Of course, unless you’ve been living in a cave, you already know what the internet can do. Don’t you? I thought I did. But, wow, what I didn’t know about marketing would fill Wikipedia’s web-space.
How I wish I’d grown up in this techy age like my grandkids instead of in the 50s, when the most exciting thing for us to talk about was the newest Elvis recording. Don’t get me wrong, the 50s were the most idyllic decade since the invention of Preparation H. We didn’t have air conditioning or seat belts, or Iphones or PDAs, but we had a close connection with friends and family because we didn’t’ always have something crammed against our ear or keyboards at our fingertips…we did something more amazing: we talked face-to-face!
Which is something our prodigy can’t seem to do! Okay, so they can figure out the lift system of the Delta II rocket, but can they talk anymore? Why is it that when you call your grandkids you get: Uh-huh; nothin’; nope, cool, okay; yeah; bye. But watch them text and you think they’re writing the Magna Carte.
So, I guess if you want to communicate with the kidlets, you need to learn to twitter, text and all those techy things, but please don’t use the shorthand stuff: How I hate that stuff. I swear, none of them will know how to write a letter, or even a story, without TX, LOL, BTW and BFF.
So as life moves inexorably forward, we of the Geezer Generation need to move with it or get flattened by some new techy machine, or, hear your little snot-nosed, four-year-old grandkid say: “Grandma, here, let me do it. I’ll show you how.” I could just slap ‘em.
Okay, back to what I learned today: After all the “pay-for” marketing I’ve done, that it’s really all about Google and getting your key-words out there, blog like crazy, getting hits, and keeping current on your website, or “landing-page” as it’s now called by the techy generation.
So, let’s get with it, Geezers. Learn all you can while your brain still has some cells moving around, albeit on walkers. Put down the knitting, the quilting, and get off the rocker and get the word out about your great works. Just Do It:
Internet Market!
Anyone want to share how they made a difference in their sales on Internet Marketing?
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