With its rusting chain and flat tires, some consider the dilapidated, whitewashed bicycle chained to a sign post on Chicago’s north side a piece of urban junk. Cyclists know better. Pedaling by, they pay silent homage at this memorial to George Chavez, a cyclist killed at this spot in a hit-and-run accident in June of 2006.

The “ghost bike” memorial project began in 2003 in St. Louis, Missouri when Patrick Van Der Tuin, after witnessing a vehicle strike a bike rider, placed a white-painted bicycle on the spot with a hand-painted sign reading “Cyclist struck here.” Upon realizing that motorists tended to slow down when they passed the memorial, cyclists placed 15 more “ghost bikes” in spots around St. Louis where cyclists had been hit by automobiles. The idea caught on and before long there were ghost bikes in Pittsburgh, New York City, Seattle, Washington, D.C., Chicago, London, and dozens of other cities around the world.

Can’t view the above slide show of ghost bikes? Click here.

Debate over whether the memorials should be temporary or permanent reached a zenith over a ghost bike in Washington, D.C.’s Dupont Circle. For more than a year, it stood just a few feet from the spot where a garbage truck struck down 22-year old Alice Swanson as she pedaled to work. In August of 2009, claiming area retailers had complained that the memorial was an eyesore, the city cut the chain and carted the bicycle away. Less than a month later, friends of the rider surreptitiously arrived one at a time, laying ghost bikes at each of the intersection’s 22 lampposts and chaining a new memorial bike to its original spot. Although participants expected the 22 unchained bikes to disappear over time, they announced their intention to replace the memorial again and again until the city relents and leaves it in place.

The burgeoning movement has sprouted websites devoted to ghost bikes and events dedicated to those who have perished, such as last weekend’s Fifth Annual Memorial Ride and Walk in New York City, and the Chicago Ride of Silence, hosted in hundreds of cities worldwide with an aim of raising awareness that cyclists have a legal right to the public roadways. In Chicago, this year’s event is scheduled for May 19, 2010 at 7 p.m.

The question of whether ghost bikes are urban trash urban art may never be resolved, but it seems certain they are raising motorist awareness for bicycle safety. And if they can have that effect, I am all for keeping them in place.

Photo Credits: Ghost Bike 1 Hryck, Ghost Bike 2 Time’s Up! Environmental Organization, Ghost Bike 3 randomduck, Ghost Bike 4 Osbornb, Ghost Bike 5 Tom T, Ghost Bike 6 ChrispyWorld, Ghost Bike 7 hogalicioous, Ghost Bike 8 mattwi1s0n, Ghost Bike 9 Tom T, Ghost Bike 10 Daquella manera, Ghost Bike 11 Carlos F Pardo

Also a tip of the hat to Heather Cowper at HeatherOnHerTravels.com, the fabulous UK travel blog where I first learned about ghost bikes.

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The first time I ever heard cello music was at a screening of the Chinese film Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon. Although the movie featured astonishing cinematography and mystical martial arts scenes set against a background of exquisite Chinese landscapes, it was the music that made my jaw drop. I stayed for the credits; I had to know more about the haunting score. I never forgot that music, nor the artist who performed it, Yo-Yo Ma, so when I discovered the famous cellist was scheduled to give a solo recital at Ruth Eckerd Hall in Clearwater, Florida I immediately purchased a ticket.

I had no idea Yo-Yo Ma would be performing three of Bach’s Six Unaccompanied Cello Suites until I walked into the auditorium this evening and opened my program. Inwardly I groaned; I am not a fan of classical music, and Bach is one of my least favorite classical composers. Still, It was Yo-Yo Ma; I settled into my seat with an open mind.

From the very first note, I was mesmerized. The movements were at times dark and threatening, conjuring images of shadowy figures slinking through alleys, at other times melancholy or devilish. It took Bach six years to write his Six Unaccompanied Cello Suites, which today are still considered a formidable challenge in technique and emotional range for the most skilled cellist.

Yo-Yo Ma played them effortlessly. From a simple wooden chair set in the center of a barren stage, he poised his bow, closed his eyes, and looked heavenward. His fingers raced up and down the neck as his bow flew, creating rapturous strains that left the audience spellbound. I found it hard to believe I was hearing only one instrument, especially when I learned that the cello’s curved placement of strings doesn’t allow chords to be played; it can only create the illusion of multiple voices. Bach overcame this by alternating one melody with another to “fool” the listener into hearing two or more lines simultaneously. Only Yo-Yo Ma could pull this off so masterfully.

The concert is over now and I am sitting in a hotel room, late at night, trying to finds words to adequately describe music that has pierced me to the core. But I cannot. Words simply do not suffice. Only the music will do.

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Great news! Devoted Hole In The Donut readers will never again have to worry about missing a post!

Look for the new “Get New Posts By Email” box on the very top of the right-hand sidebar. Enter your email address and click on the subscribe button. You will receive a confirmation email containing a link that must be clicked to verify your subscription. Once verified, you will receive an email notice each time I publish a post. Emails contains the title of the post, allowing you to decide if the content is something that would be of interest. You can also unsubscribe at any time by returning to the same box, entering your email address, and clicking on the unsubscribe button. Happy reading!

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Today is all about my inner journey. Occasionally I need to be reminded of my own goals: to act authentically from a place of love, to help others whenever possible, to turn my life over to the Universe and follow the path that is set forth before me, and to be grateful for that which I have been given. The video below reminded me of all this. It is so beautiful that I must share it:

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Thanks to Laura Lee over at Midlife Crisis Queen for her nomination of Hole In The Donut for a Splash Award!

The Splash is given to alluring, amusing, bewitching, impressive, and inspiring blogs.

In the spirit of the pass-it-along quality of the award, I invite you to visit the following blogs which I am nominating because I have found them to be well worth following:

• Random Thoughts From The Beach
• The Fabulous Geezersisters
• Travel Wonders of the World
• Briefcase To Backpack
• What A Trip!
• DuchessOmnium – Island to Island

Note to nominees: The rules for a Splash Award are as follows:

The Splash Award is given to alluring, amusing, bewitching, impressive, and inspiring blogs. When you receive this award, you should:
1. Put the logo on your blog (where do we find this logo to post?)
2. Nominate up to nine blogs that allure, amuse, bewitch, impress or inspire you
3. Be sure to link to your nominees within your post
4. Let them know that they have been splashed by commenting on their blog
5. Remember to link to the person from whom you received your Splash award

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Visitors to Stonehenge have forever wondered, “How did they do that?” Now one man may have come up with the answer to that age old question. Wally Wallington is not a scientist or an engineer. He’s just a retired construction worker who is fascinated by the challenge of moving large items. Take a look at the video he created, demonstrating the process he used to build a Stonehenge replica:

His solution is so simple, yet pure genius. What I find most intriguing is that a common, everyday guy figured out what has mystified generations of “experts.”

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The recent crash of a USAirways jet stirred up memories for me. A few years ago I was flying from the mainland of Honduras to Guanaja in the Bay Islands, which is located about 30 miles off the northern coast. The twin engine puddle-jumper took off to the east and banked left out over the blue Caribbean, climbing quickly.

From my window seat I was enjoying the view of the distant islands when suddenly, the pilot put the plane into a nose dive and banked so steeply that I was looking straight down at the water. Rather than leveling out and flying north we continued banking and descending rapidly. I realized that something was very wrong but no one else in the small plane seemed alarmed – not even when it became apparent that we were turning completely around. In a matter of seconds we were back over land and the pilot brought the plane out of its bank but continued to dive so steeply that I was sure he would be unable to pull the nose up in time to land safely.

The whole incident could not have lasted more than two minutes but it seemed much longer, as if time was expanding. There was a certain unreality about what was happening – almost a dreamlike quality. My life did not flash in front of me. No one screamed or got upset. I remember thinking that I was going to die. I clearly remember being fascinated – and just a bit terrified – over the idea of my impending death. My stomach clenched and jumped into my throat. I stopped breathing. Although the engines must have been roaring and the cabin must have been rattling, my memory is of silence, as if we were in a vacuum where no sound could penetrate. The only one of my senses that was registering anything was my vision, and it was filled with the image of the ground rushing up to meet the plane. I braced for impact, but at the last moment the pilot brought us out of our nose dive and a split second later the wheels screeched on the runway.

As we rolled to a stop in front of the tiny terminal building the pilot announced what had happened. I speak Spanish fairly well, but between the engine noise and the poor quality of the plane’s PA system his words were unintelligible.

“What did he say?” I asked the young man sitting next to me.

“He said that a Seagull hit the plane and he had to make an emergency landing because of damage to the wing.”

Since we were instructed to stay in our seats while they brought a replacement plane around, we had time to chat. I learned that my seatmate was a Honduran national who worked for Dole – he also turned out to be an ex-military intelligence officer. Finally, the rear door was opened and we began to disembark. Airport guards stood at the foot of the metal stairway directing passengers across the tarmac to another waiting plane but my seatmate had other ideas.

“Come, let’s go see the wing,” he insisted as he grabbed my arm. He led me past all the guards, who ignored us in the delightful “no problema” mentality so prevalent in Latin American countries. We circled to the front of the plane and ducked under the nose to get a good look at the right wing. Sure enough, there was a huge dent in the leading edge of the wing.

“Oh my God! Look at the size of that dent. I can’t believe something as small as a Seagull could cause that much damage. And I can’t believe we didn’t hear it hit.” I exclaimed.

“I heard it – it was a big thump.” he said.

We looked at each other and shook our heads in disbelief. And then the two of us calmly walked down the tarmac, climbed aboard another twin engine puddle jumper, and strapped ourselves in for the second time that afternoon.

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Christmas morning dawned a cold but sunny 12 degrees. Although I never like being in Illinois in the winter, this year has been especially difficult. Because of repeated ice storms and snowstorms, I’ve been trapped inside more than usual. But yesterday’s crystal blue skies meant that Dad and I could go to my sister’s house without worrying about driving on treacherous ice covered roads.

Rather than taking our normal shortcut on back roads that were still slick, we chose the long way around. Although this road is better maintained, it crosses over a cooling lake that serves the nearby nuclear generating plant. In winter the area is often shrouded in thick fog that is generated when colder air temperatures come in contact with the the warmer lake waters. The past two days of sub-zero temps had turned the fog into a frost that coated the trees, creating amazing wind-blown ice sculptures from the naked branches.

After a quick stop to admire this sparkling winter wonderland, we continued to Linda’s house. The Weibel clan can disagree about many things, but where food is concerned there is never any disagreement – our motto is “The more, the better! ” This was the spread of appetizers that greeted us upon arrival:

My baby sister, Nancy, got into the spirit with some fancy head gear and earrings:

Linda’s dog, Sandy, sticks close to Dad because she knows he is good for a puppy treat or two:

Prior to dinner, we took turns trying out Linda and Steve’s new Wii Fit. Here, Steve is boxing. When I tried out the boxing module, I was knocked out in one round, but I did much better with the bowling module, nearly beating my sports nut of a nephew-in-law, Tony:

As dinner time approached, my niece Gina helped her mom whip the potatoes:

While Gina’s husband, Tony, was put to work preparing the crescent rolls for baking:

Busted! Brother-in-law Steve just couldn’t resist sampling the turkey as he carved:

The Weibel’s never have to be called twice to dinner. I had to practically arm wrestle people to keep them from diving in before I snapped a photo. The blessing was short and sweet: “God is great, God is Good, let us thank him for this food.” The menu? Our normal carb-laden spread of turkey, stuffing, potato rolls, crescent rolls, mashed potatoes, gravy, carrots, broccoli, green and black olives, and a lovely salad with avocados and sliced almonds – a token offering for the only vegetarian of the bunch (me):

After dinner it was time to open presents. For the first time ever we drew names, so the pile wasn’t as big as  in past years, but I think everyone was pleased with their gifts. Here, Dad is opening a giant tin of peanuts, popcorn, and other goodies, while my sister, Nancy, and her husband, Dale, look on:

No one in my family particularly likes having their photo taken and they grumble the entire time I am snapping away. This year they tolerated me better than in years past, perhaps because they got their revenge. When I tried out my Christmas gift, a Styrofoam cylinder use for exercise routines, Steve grabbed my camera and caught me in a most unattractive position:

So far, Christmas had been great. Great food, great company, and great gifts. But the highlight of the day was about to begin. Everyone settled into couches or chairs or stretched out on the floor while Linda set up “Scene It,” an electronic quiz game that hooked into the TV. We split up into four teams and pressed the start button on the controller to bring up the first question.

“It’s an all play,” Linda explained. “Four photos will be shown, one at a time. The moment you know what TV show the photos represent, yell it out.”

The first photo appeared – a brick apartment building on a city street. “Oh I know that…what is that…uh, uh, uh…HELEN HUNT!” Dad yelled.

“Mad About You!” three other players yelled in unison.

“One point for us,” Linda said.

“That’s not fair, I had it first,” Dad complained.

“Nuh unh,”Steve said. “You have to say the name of the show, not the actors.”

“But I gave you the answer when I said Helen Hunt.”

“Well, next time talk it over with your partner before yelling it out.”

Points mounted up rapidly. The competition grew fierce. Another set of photos popped up on the screen, this time displaying a baby doll’s face and a donkey.

“Baby Ass,” Dale shouted.

“That’s ridiculous, there’s no TV show named Baby Ass,” Nancy said. Nobody had another guess. The seconds ticked by until the buzzer sounded and the answer appeared – Dallas.

“That’s what I said – Doll Ass!”

“No, you said Baby Ass.”

“Same thing!”

“No it’s not.”

“Yes it is. Everybody knows I meant Dallas.” I laughed so hard tears ran down my cheeks.

The next game, Taboo, was a take-off on Password. One person draws a card containing a word that they must make their partner say. However, each card also contains a list of words that cannot be uttered when providing clues. Facing her husband Dale, Nancy pointed two fingers at her own two eyes and then pointed those same two fingers at Dale’s eyes. The Vulcan mind meld was in place; they were ready to go. Steve turned the 30 second timer over as Nancy drew her first card.

“Uh, this is a place where you go to see a f……uh, this is the place that you and I went where they had the cup holders that flipped down. It’s a place we go all the time, where it’s dark….”

“Concert?” Dale guessed.

“No, no…the place with the seats that FOLD DOWN and the CUP HOLDERS.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Pass it.”

Nancy pulled another card with similar results. Then another.

“Time!” Steve said.

“Honey, we suck. We got zero points.”

“What was the one with the cup holders?”

“Movie.”

“Well why didn’t you just say theater or film?”

“Because the card said I couldn’t use those words. You try describing movies without being able to say theater or film or cinema, or television.”

Nancy wasn’t the only one who had trouble. I unsuccessfully tried to get Linda to say rabbit without using the words animal, bunny, furry, Easter, or ears. Having just seen “A Chrsitmas Story” on TV the previous day, I immediately thought of the scene where Ralphie unwraps the gift from his aunt.

“This is the piece of clothing that Ralphie gets as a gift in “A Christmas Story.”  Totally blank look on Linda’s face. “You know, the pink suit that his mother makes him try on – the one with the footies.” Still blank. I switched tactics.

“It’s a type of meat you can eat, but it’s an unusual dish…oh just forget it.” I pulled another card. Lawn was the word, but I couldn’t use grass, mow, green, grow, or yard as clues. Oh, good Lord, I thought. “Ummm…… it’s the thing in front of your house, between the house and the sidewalk, that you walk on and play on…..” Nothing, nada, zilch. Before I could draw a third card, our time was up.

Then it was time for my two 16-year old nieces, to give it a shot. Kelly pulled a card. “This is something in your grandmother’s medicine cabinet.”

“Viagra!,” Tori shouted. I dissolved in laughter and rolled off the couch onto the floor.

After all the games had been played, we ended the day as we had begun it. Linda rolled out a German chocolate cake and a raspberry swirl bundt cake and we all ate until we could barely move. It was a wonderful day, full of love and laughter and way too much food. My father does not own a bathroom scale, but I won’t be surprised to discover that I’ve gained five pounds in the last week. I’d like to say that I’m again being careful about what I eat now that Christmas is done. Unfortunately, Linda sent us home with a grocery bag full of leftovers and I’ve been eating my way through them all day today. There is no doubt that I’m a Weibel, through and through.

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The snow has finally stopped here in Illinois and the temperatures have finally climbed above zero; it’s now 12 degrees and expected to climb all the way to 28. The sun is even peeking through the clouds – just a bit, but enough to melt a little of the ice that has been coating all the roads. Tomorrow’s forecast calls for temps to climb above freezing, perhaps even as high as 50 degrees. We fondly refer to this as pneumonia weather.

I’m not complaining though. I am surrounded by warmth – both of the temperature kind (Dad’s house is a cozy 72 degrees) and the familial kind. I am about to leave for my sister’s house, where for the next few hours we’ll be stuffing our faces, unwrapping presents, watching football, playing electronic games on the TV, and talking over one another until the din is so loud that my head begins to reverberate. I love it. I am so grateful that I can be here over the holidays with my Dad and the rest of my family. I hope each and every one of you are also with loving family and friends, enjoying the holiday. Merry Christmas everybody!

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Over the past several years, Dad and I have developed a new tradition. Each year when I travel to Illinois to spend the holidays with family, we set aside a time to watch “A Christmas Story” on TV. This classic film chronicles an All-American 1940′s era Northern Indiana family at Christmastime. The plot revolves around the oldest boy, Ralphie, who is determined to get a genuine Red Rider BB gun for Christmas. At every turn he is thwarted. When Ralphie’s mother learns about his wish, she exclaims, “You’ll shoot your eye out!” Believing his only hope is Santa, Ralphie waits in line at the local department store to see the big guy. Finally, after hours of waiting, he climbs on Santa’s lap and pleads for his gun, to which Santa caustically replies, “You’ll shoot your eye out, kid!”

Although the film is set a number of years before I appeared on the scene, it is peppered with scenes that take me back to my childhood. Anyone who has lived in the Midwest will remember being bundled up in snowsuits and layers of clothes so thick that you could barely move. Or having your mouth washed out with soap. Or listening to your Old Man grumble and occasionally swear over a temperamental furnace. (Ours was fueled by coal. Every few days, all winter long, my father had to shovel coal into the maw of a stoker down in the basement. He hated that furnace and I’m sure more than a few swear words were muttered over it).

Ralphie's friend gets his tongue stuck when he accepts a "triple dog dare" to lick a frozen flagpole

Ralphie’s Old Man is no exception; he has a love/hate relationship with the furnace, which regularly belches smoke from the bowels of the cellar as he bangs on it with a wrench. When he’s not battling the furnace, the Old man is admiring his “major award” (a lamp shaped like a woman’s leg), a prize from a contest that he proudly displays on a table in the home’s front window, to the everlasting embarrassment of his wife. Meanwhile, mom is consumed with making sure the Old Man doesn’t come near her turkey, and Ralphie is double-dog-daring his friend to lick a metal flagpole in freezing temperatures.

Dad and I loved the movie from the very first time we saw it. Following that initial viewing, we had to search the TV guide each year for the days and times it was scheduled to be broadcast. But for the past couple of years, one of the stations has broadcast the film for 24 hours straight. Since this is the 25 year anniversary of the film I assumed that this year would be no different, but Dad just scrolled through the TV guide and we haven’t yet been able to find it. We’re hoping that this year’s marathon will begin after 5 p.m., when people get home from work.

If you have never seen “A Christmas Story,” do yourself a favor and watch it with family or other loved ones. I defy you to watch this movie without dissolving into fits of laughter at least a dozen times. In fact, I triple dog dare you!

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Music is one of the joys of traveling. In SE Asia I discovered Cambodian wedding songs. Hindu legends set to music charmed me in Bali. And music in Tanzania and Zanzibar was an amazing melange of drums, rhythm, and harmonizing voices. In years past, the only way to sample music around the world was to travel to these places. Fortunately, this genre of music has become very popular over the past few years, thus collections are more readily available in the U.S.

One example is Sony’s new “A Night In” World Music Collection. Each of the collection’s ten CD’s features the music of a different country. “A Night in Cuba” features the outstanding singers and songwriters of Salsa, Son, and other Latin rhythms, while “A Night In Italy” presents the most exquisite voices of opera. Tango is the focus of “A Night In Argentina” and “A Night In Puerto Rico” encompasses the Afro-Carribbean rhythms of the Salsa, Plena, and Bomba styles. Romantic melodies and quirky jazz are the basis for “A Night In France” and “A Night In Spain” showcases artists who have successfully reintroduced folk elements and rhythms such as flamenco guitar and rumba flamenca into contemporary Spanish music. The collection is rounded out with four additional CD’s that feature music from Brazil, Colombia, Mexico, and the Dominican Republic.

Many of the world music CD’s I have sampled or purchased over the years have been disappointing. Although they usually contain one or two good numbers, the rest of the selections are marginal. In this case, however, Sony has  put considerable effort into compiling collections that are vibrant, exciting, and authentic representations of their respective countries. I thoroughly enjoyed each of the CD’s and heartily recommend them for anyone who relishes world music.

Learn more about this excellent new music collection at the “A Night In” World Music Collection website. Regularly pried at $13.99 each, the CD’s are currently available online through Barnes & Noble for $9.99 each.

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Jason Mraz is the real deal. The whole enchilada. The complete package.

I discovered Mraz two or three years ago as I was flipping through the TV channels in a hotel room during one of my ubiquitous trips and landed on Austin City Limits. The show featured a live concert by this young guy I’d never heard of. The more I listened, the more astounded I became. In his music I heard elements of jazz, blues, bluegrass, reggae, rap, ballads, and more, all rolled up together to produce a sound unlike any I had previously heard. He even incorporated scat into his music, a technique made famous by Louis Armstrong in the 1920′s that involves singing random vocables and syllables without words at all: Be-be-de-bop-bop-bop-boo-ah.

In an interview on that same TV show, Mraz explained that because his parents were divorced when he was five, he split his time between their respective houses. When he stayed with one parent he was exposed to old ballads; with the other it was blues and jazz. And of course he grew up in the years when rap and hip-hop was emerging. He put it all together to come up with his unique musical style. He likens his music to the pot that was always simmering on his Mom’s stove when he was growing up – all the scraps and leftovers from the week produced a rich and hearty Brunswick Stew.

Since then I have longed to attend one of his concerts and I finally had my chance when his tour brought him to Clearwater, Florida yesterday evening. Mraz’s musical mix is definitely rich. And certainly hearty. His tenor voice is pure and it pours out of him effortlessly; at times he soars to impossibly high notes. And that’s just his voice. The songs? He writes most of the music and lyrics for his songs, although on his latest album he has collaborated with other artists on some of the songs. But there’s no mistaking who is the genius behind the lyrics – Mraz ian’t known as Mr. A to Z for nothing.

But back to the concert. It was incredible. The energy that poured out of him is indescribable. Mraz belted out a combination of his earlier hits, his newest tunes, and old standards, backed by two percussionists, a bass guitarist, a brass trio, and keyboard. Behind them all, a giant screen projected images ranging from closeups of flowers to beautiful landscapes, to vibrant geometric shapes. The hall was a constantly changing kaleidoscope of vibrant color and light.

We stood up. We danced in place. We shouted and screamed. We sang along. At one point Mraz had us imitating our favorite barnyard animals. About the time I was cock-a-doodle-dooing and the guy next to me was mooing and still others were oinking, Mraz said, “That’s just not right.” We laughed out loud. Not long afterward we were all whistling. Then we were doing call and repeat scat with him. Then high fives followed by low-downs. But the most spine tingling moment came when the entire audience was singing along with Mraz, “Every little thing is gonna be alright,” over and over again, as images of President-elect Barack Obama flashed across the big screen. Somehow, you just knew that everything was gonna be alright.

If I am going to be completely honest, my passion for Mraz is about more than just his music. I am in awe of him. This young man is so connected with the Universe. I wonder how someone so young can know so much. It took me many years to learn what Mraz seems to know instinctively. And if, by now, you are wondering what I am talking about, well, words can’t do it justice. At least not my words. But Jason Mraz’s words from his hit song Life Is Wonderful might just do the trick:

Life Is Wonderful lyrics

It takes a crane to build a crane
It takes two floors to make a story
It takes an egg to make a hen
It takes a hen to make an egg
There is no end to what I’m saying

It takes a thought to make a word
And it takes some words to make an action
It takes some work to make it work
It takes some good to make it hurt
It takes some bad for satisfaction

La la la la la la la life is wonderful
Ah la la la la la la life goes full circle
Ah la la la la la la life is wonderful
Al la la la la

It takes a night to make it dawn
And it takes a day to make you yawn, brother
And it takes some old to make you young
It takes some cold to know the sun
It takes the one to have the other

And it takes no time to fall in love
But it takes you years to know what love is
It takes some fears to make you trust
It takes those tears to make it rust
It takes the dust to have it polished

Ha la la la la la la life is wonderful
Ah la la la la la la life goes full circle
Ah la la la la la la life is so full of
Ah la la la la la la life is so rough
Ah la la la la la la life is wonderful
Ah la la la la la la life goes full circle
Ah la la la la la la life is our love
Ah la la la la la

It takes some silence to make sound
It takes a loss before you found it
And it takes a road to go nowhere
It takes a toll to make you care
It takes a hole to make a mountain

Ah la la la la la la life is wonderful
Ah la la la la la la life goes full circle
Ha la la la la la life is wonderful
Ha la la la la la life is meaningful
Ha la la la la la life is wonderful
Ha la la la la la life it is…so… wonderful
It is so meaningful
It is so wonderful
It is meaningful
It is wonderful
It is meaningful
It goes full circle
Wonderful
Meaningful
Full circle
Wonderful

What more can I say, other than I am probably Jason Mraz’s oldest groupie.

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From the moment Barack Obama was declared President-elect, I began thinking about the possibility of attending his Inauguration. I searched the Internet and found dozens of sites offering tickets to the swearing in ceremony and the Inaugural parade. Prices ranged from a low of $516 and soared into the thousands. Nix that idea, I thought.

Then I came across an online article from the Associated Press, the source of which was Destination DC and the Joint Congressional Committee on Inaugural Ceremonies. Apparently hotels are already nearly sold out throughout Washington, D.C., so anyone wishing to attend the Inauguration or its associated events needs to book NOW! Check out the various options for D.C. accommodations at UpTake.com.

With regard to transportation the article had the following to say:

“Many streets downtown and around the National Mall will be closed on Inauguration Day, so plan to use public transportation whenever possible. Your best options include Metrorail and Metrobus and the DC Circulator bus. You can avoid waiting in line in Metro stations by pre-purchasing all-day Metro passes online. Be aware that security is heightened. For example, your bags might be checked on Metro and Amtrak trains.”

And with regard to tickets:

“Tickets to the inauguration ceremony are free — but sure to be scarce — and will be distributed through members of Congress in January. Contact your senator or representative to request a ticket. Congressional offices will get the tickets about a week before the Jan. 20 swearing-in ceremony; in-person pickup is required. Be wary of any Web site or broker claiming to sell tickets; Congress is the only way to go.”

Now all I have to do is somehow ingratiate myself with a Senator or Congressman. Suggestions, anybody?

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Dear President-elect Obama:
This afternoon I was sitting at a table outside of my favorite coffee shop, talking to a friend on my cell phone, when I noticed that the local merchants had written on the sidewalk with pastel chalk. The giant letters proclaimed “Vote Obama,” and “Obama is in the house.” Chills went down my spine. Something thrilling was in the air. I laughed delightedly and started to repeat the messages to my friend. Just then, an African-American family walked up to the entrance of the shop and overheard my conversation. I looked at them and they looked at me. Not a word was exchanged, yet I felt a kinship such as I have never before experienced.

Throughout my life I have fought passionately against discrimination and injustice. I have never, ever – not once – judged a person by the color of their skin. But despite of my unshakable belief in the goodness of all people regardless of race, creed, or religion, I have always felt a slight discomfort around African-Americans. I can only describe it as a guilt or shame, as if I was somehow personally responsible for the discrimination and abuses they have suffered. Whenever I had any interaction with African-Americans I found myself trying very hard to treat them especially well; perhaps trying to make up for things they have experienced that I cannot even begin to understand. I am not proud of this but I must admit to its truth.

However this afternoon, the moment I looked at this family, I realized that something had shifted in a very significant way. You see, I have known for more than a year that you would win this election. And of course, by now this African-American family knew you were going to win. I was so proud of you. So were they. It was as if, in that instant, we shared the precious and irrefutable knowledge that we are equals. They were without doubt and fear and I was without guilt and shame.

I recognized the feeling. It was healing. You have made me believe that we can heal, that we will again be a nation of greatness. I believe that we are not a collection of red states and blue states; we are the United States of America. I believe that we are not a collection of black people and white people and brown people and yellow people. We are “one human family.” And I realize I will never again need to feel guilty with African-Americans. You have released me from that bondage.

As I sit here shedding tears of joy and listening to you address hundreds of thousands of people in Chicago, I feel something else that I haven’t felt for a very long time – love for and pride in my country. Thank you, Barack Obama. Bless you. And God Bless the USA.

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A very powerful message – please watch.

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