Brevity Is the Soul of Something

I love words and have my entire life, I've watched with a cautious disdain rivaling Richard Cory's as we've devolved from words to and through emojis (I still call them emoticons which makes me think of Decepticons which is from a movie (I believe) that I've never seen. And is as close to hip as I get these days). 

In this interconnected age, I'm handicapped as a typist in online conversations, mostly with Nigerians seeking business partners, because I'm a terrible typist but mostly because I spell out every word and try to be correct in how I spell them. 

In the interests of speed, I avoid transubstantiation and words of its ilk, because I rarely text The Vatican and very few folks beyond the Papal balcony even know what the word means much less how to spell it.    

As for abbreviations? I'm making an uneasy peace with them in that I use them though not as often as people corresponding with me do and I have to look up so many of them so often because I have no idea what some of them mean. 

Which is why I may keep this article handy as a kind of crib note. 

I will point out, however, that it's missing my current favorite, FAFO.
-bill kenny

Let's be Frank about Saint Francis

Who among us doesn't know, or think they know, the Franciscan Serenity Prayer? 

I say it's long past time time for an update.  

I have ideas for updating The Ten Commandments as more like Ten Suggestions but waiting for approval on corporate sponsors. Maybe a light beer or an energy drink? Stay tuned.
-bill kenny

The Tyranny of Tomorrow

It was William Shakespeare's Macbeth, who may have been the first literary figure to offer a cogent argument on the virtues of planning your work and then working your plan when he offered, "Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow creeps in this petty pace from day to day..."

In addition to its eloquence, it's memorable for both its utility and applicability-though in this era (or error?) of diminished expectations and shortened attention spans it's disheartening to realize how quickly we can seem to get lost as individuals and as political units from the municipal to national government level.

We were much more flexible and forgiving when we were younger. I know, “OK, Boomer,” but we were in so many aspects of our lives. And now? Look at us, ossified and petrified and clinging to our beliefs, behaviors, and habits often despite all evidence to the contrary.

We’ve forgotten there's always been more than one way to get from here to tomorrow. The more successful paths involve inspiration and perspiration in nearly equal amounts, that is, a brilliant insight or an original idea combined with hard work. Not forgetting some good luck.

My father was fond of citing the Pennsylvania Dutch as the source of one of his favorite expressions "the harder I work, the luckier I get" but I defer to wherever your mom or dad say they heard it, too. Luck, like hope, is a four-letter word and both have that in common with a plan. But critical to any plan is having definite, precise, and clearly defined goals with a strategy of how to use the tools at your disposal to achieve those goals.

Without all of that, a plan is just a wish you make with your heart. And while that worked out well for Jiminy Cricket, we're having a critical shortage of wishing stars right now, to so I guess we’ll have to make do the old-fashioned way. Personally, I think the top hat and spats played a larger role than previously believed.

There's been enough words written on "how get this city/state/nation back on track" where we each insert the name of the place where we live, step two paces back and admire our handiwork, seldom realizing a good beginning is only that, a beginning.

Articulating a plan means making sure that everyone who needs to be in agreement with it, and that usually means everyone where you live understands what you're sharing, the reasons for what you're proposing, the impact of the sacrifices they will need to make for a common good and then to get on board with the program and own the plan for themselves. All or nothing at all.

Top down, bottom up, there's no one path because there's no one destination-only a journey that has a beginning of each day and never ends. The only constant in our world has always been change and the need for change.

There's never an end to progress-only pauses along the way and no matter what happened yesterday, tomorrow will be here in a moment and cares not a whit about those successes and failures.

We can learn from them, and we can build on them, but we can't live forever on their memory or their meaning. As Banquo admonishes, "if you can look into the seeds of time and say which grain will grow and which will not, speak."

Far too often, all that remains is silence.
-bill kenny

I'm Too Something or Other for My Shirt

I have never claimed to be a fashion plate. Growing up in parochial and then prep schools, wardrobe selections were out of my hands. I was in the military and the Air Force, for all its supposed liberal leaning, always frowned on tie-dyed combat utility uniforms. 

So here I am in the winter of my years, dressed mostly in short-sleeve tee shirts with snappy sometimes(to some people) offensive sayings when not wearing rock and roll band and branded shirts 

I have some spiffy sports shirts, and I think at least one with the guy on the horse, in my wardrobe, I don't think I have any of the shirts that have an alligator on them, or with an alligator eating a guy on a horse (I think we'd both remember that one). 

I see a lot of people of both sexes (or should I say 'of all sexes'?) at the gym (when I go) in shirts and outfits that really make me feel every day of my seven-plus decades. I've encountered women who look to have spray-painted their exercise clothes on. I can always tell with the tops because there are two buttonholes too few and on a cold morning too many party hats. 

Make no mistake: I am happy you are comfortable with your body (after all, you're the one inside of it); can you understand me not so much?

The other day two guys were wandering the facility while I was cursing the treadmill (as it was kicking my butt again) in the kind of clothes that lead you to believe their households are governed by that 'first one up is best one dressed' rule and they are late sleepers. On the front of the one's black tee shirt in white letters was "Weakness is for Tussies" but they used a P instead of a T when they made the shirt. On the back, was "Balls to the Wall" (without a second S for wall).

The fellow alongside him had a shirt back with "Train Like a Maniac" and when he turned around, he had what appeared to be a self-portrait of himself on the front. And people wonder why I insist on earpieces and listening to the audio player(s) on my cell phone. When I encounter someone while out and about I NEVER remove the earpieces, and as they are speaking simply repeat over and over again, 'I won't hear you, I won't hear you.' Some think I should say can't but I've chosen that verb deliberately.

I actually have a shirt with a slogan I got years ago that's still true. People smile when they read it though they shouldn't. It says "I probably don't like you either." In light of how many of my social interactions haven't been working out, it might be more useful to get a shirt with my name and address on one side and 'other side up' on the reverse.
And then hope all those folks from the Literacy Volunteers keep their funding.
-bill kenny

No Single Drop of Rain

I take a lot of static from folks while I'm out walking when I stop to pick up discarded litter of almost all kinds (I draw the line on sharps and dog shit, but everything else is fair game) and the common refrain I hear is, 'you shouldn't have to do that!'

Except somebody should but nobody does.

Not my job. Who of us doesn't say it? 

Except it is our job to be decent human beings, watch out for one another, and care for this planet and its creatures and the creation entrusted to us.

Some of us, it seems, didn't get the memo. 

I know, who cares? AmIrite?
-bill kenny

Helluva Sermon

Business is always brisk at churches of all denominations on Sunday mornings.

And the piety is almost always practiced nearly all the way back to the parishioners' cars for the drives home.
-bill kenny

Hello, I Really Must Be Going....

Thanks to an unfortunate combination of looks, personality, and absence of any discernible skills and abilities, I tend to keep myself to myself. This, as anyone who ever spent time with me under the same roof either when we were growing up, or perhaps later as I was growing old, can tell you, is not a bad thing. 

My wife on the other hand is a very open-hearted and caring person (she took in a mutt like me so whatever argument you offer has already been mooted) and people genuinely like her. I am fortunate that they do because for the most part that means they tolerate me. 

I will confess, and concede, I don't put a large amount of effort into being liked. We lived in the same house for almost thirty-three years with pretty much the same neighbors and I hardly know their names and can rarely even come close to guessing first names. 

'Hello,' seems to cover a multitude of sins, both of omission and commission. When neighbors drive by and wave I can see them mouthing "Hello, Sigrid's husband!"  And for my part, beneath my somewhat forced smile, I'm muttering 'Hi, whoever you are.'  

I mention all of this because I found a fascinating article written I assume because having a good excuse for leaving a social gathering is seemingly a critical need. Judge for yourself.

I hate to be harsh, but just from reading their rationale for using them, I wouldn't want to be anywhere near any of the folks who use those excuses. I'll show myself out.
-bill kenny 

Fingers Crossed

I found this in the archives, among the endives, and decided today was a good day to revisit it and, no, I have no idea what prompted the early part of this sentence. Honest. For fourteen years ago: 

Fuggedaboutit Meets Friggatriskaidekaphobia

WARNING: The Surgeon General has determined blah, blah, blah, awful stuff, blah, blah, whenever it's Friday the 13th and fear of blah, blah, blah. The End. C'mon, none of us ever read disclaimers all the way through anyway so I figured I'd offer you a mock disclaimer, a slice of that mock apple pie made with Ritz crackers, and a tall frosty glass of something other than milk from a cow to wash it all down. Mmmmm. You got a little something on your upper lip, sunshine.

We've got the most highly developed brains of any species on this planet but are also the only species who hate and fear one another for reasons such as different religions, skin colors, or political beliefs. 

So if any other species has the gift of speech (and I guess, the ability to read as well and a thumb that works a scroll ball) now might be a good time for one or more of them to ask aloud, 'How come the bi-peds are the crown of creation., anyway?'

On top of all those misplaced prides and prejudices (you don't suppose Jane is related to Steve, by any chance? I'm trying to imagine Fitzwilliam Darcy having a discussion with Oscar Goldman) we have the mother of all irrationalities, Friday the Thirteenth and the fear of it.

Of course, it's only irrational if you don't put any stock into any of the literature or folk tales you've heard since you were young. There are seven point two katrillion jillion websites (a number I just made up and have you ever known me to lie to you?) on every aspect of this day and date combination, and one's as good as the other, or as bad, depending on how you feel.

You might have a lucky number, or a special letter, or maybe a pony ride for your birthday (you ba$tard!), so far be it from me to pooh-pooh, pshaw, or tsk-tsk (I love it when I can use classic ancient words; I am, after all, wearing Old Spice. And you thought I was kidding about the pony. And STOP clicking the link!) your values or beliefs. If they help you place your universe in order, that's fine.

I put all the cash in my wallet in order by denomination (Catholics go first, obviously) and then in sequence based on the serial number. My wife used to find this quirk endearing; now, not so much. She's helped me manage my compulsion by making sure I have very little folding money. Everyone standing behind me in lines everywhere as I used to put the bills in order is very grateful.

In a way, I guess it's counter-intuitive to wish you a happy Friday the Thirteenth especially since we'd be here all day on what a 'happy' one might look like. Be advised, there's another one in December so how lucky can superstitious people get?  I don't know if Hallmark has cards, but I wouldn't be surprised. 
-bill kenny 

 

Pretty Can Be a Reason

I was raised with 'Have a reason for everything you do.' 

It's worked well for most of the seventy-two years plus I've wandered around on the ant farm with beepers but today, 'because it's just really nice wins out.'

I think you'll agree.
-bill kenny 

Sky of Blackness and Sorrow

I've watched this anniversary date approach for weeks, knowing that words are never enough. It's a hole on the calendar, about the size of the hole in my heart. It doesn't hurt less knowing so many of us ache for the same reason. Twenty-three years on, recalling the events of 11 September 2001 doesn't diminish the pain of remembrance.

Four planes, people whose lives were suddenly and horribly ended in the air and on the ground, three buildings- two totally destroyed, the other deeply scarred, and a Pennsylvania field forever transformed into a memorial. And all these years later, the sharp edge of regret and loss may have dulled slightly, as time has worn it down, but the hurt gets worse as the heart gets harder.

New York’s World Trade Center, WTC, towered over 'The City' as a presence, more felt than seen. Manhattan looked to the WTC the way the fingers on the hand looked to the thumb. 

The destruction was no less real at the Pentagon, in Washington, D. C., where so many in and out of uniform who served America and worked to preserve her peace had war visited upon them, without warning or reason. 

Nor was the devastation across a Pennsylvanian hillside less painful or complete where, for weeks and months afterward, no blade of grass grew, and no bird flew. All we felt was a raw ache.

We seemed to listen more carefully to one another, at least for a time afterward. We spoke to each other instead of at each other. Having witnessed how frail and fragile life could be, it seemed we had resolved to see past and through the political differences, find the essentials, and seek common ground. 

And then tomorrow and tomorrow and that well-known petty pace crept in, and we found ourselves standing together at anniversary remembrances of today, but not as close as we had stood the year previous.

Slowly, we chose a return to a country that always seems to involve blaming and shaming, shouting and pointing, pushing and shoving, posturing and pouting, until here we are, so many years older but no wiser.

Many have forgotten, or choose to forget, that we have always been where everyone else on earth has wanted to be. No one seeking to come here has ever thought we were perfect, but believe we allow everyone and anyone the opportunity to dream and to become their dream.

We were the nation with open hearts and open minds, who rolled up a sleeve to help a neighbor or someone we'd not yet met halfway across the world; who looked you squarely in the eye and whether we agreed or not, always let you speak your mind and tell us your heart.

Some see today as a national day of service. That is a path worth exploring as we can still use a lot of help even if we're not sure how to ask for it. We can start on a return to being the greatest nation on earth everyone else continues to believe we are and to be the Americans that everyone else sees when they look to us.

We could get along better, maybe by muddling along together, by rediscovering the beliefs and values that bring and keep us together, making us who we are, and seeing how that goes. And perhaps we could begin to do all of that today. 
-bill kenny

Ohne Mich

All anyone is talking about today is the Harris/Trump debate tonight on ABC television carried just about everywhere else simultaneously.  

Everyone EXCEPT me. 

Months ago I purchased tickets to see James McMurtry, whom I revere at a level only shared by Bruce Springsteen, Bob Dylan, and Ray Davies, perform tonight in Fairfield, Connecticut, a decent distance from where I live but even farther than where he does. 

I have waited YEARS for McMurtry to come this far north and east and I have no hesitation or regret about my decision to catch him in concert and skip the televised debate. It probably helped my decision-making process I had decided months if not years ago, no matter who or what the Democrats chose to run against the Orange Shitstain I would be supporting.  

DonOld Trump should be jailed for the crimes he's already been convicted of. When Jack Smith gets through with him and he's found guilty of inciting insurrection, I hope he receives the same punishment John Brown did for his actions at Harper's Ferry, Virginia. I'd pay to watch that happen. 

As for me and McMurtry, I'm hoping we have ourselves a time.
-bill kenny

Summer Held Its Breath Too Long

It's hard to believe the golden summer for which we so yearned while slogging through snow and ice this winter, has, for all intents and purposes, come and gone. Those plans for vacations and days off we hoped to enjoy have had their 'best used by' dates disappear before our eyes and here we are at that place on the calendar where we start the next season and turn the page.

If you have children in school, the end of summer is old news. You knew it was gone as you readied them to return almost two weeks ago now. What's that about time and how it flies? What happens when it's crawling?

If your children are grown and gone, you're still aware of school as the buses wend their way throughout town while elsewhere groups of youngsters of all ages trip and troop across sidewalks and crosswalks, all in the name of learning.

Many are still hitting the stores with lists of school supplies and struggle to juggle after-school activities, jobs, and fractious households that don't run themselves. Soon many will be back to managing families the way a horse runs: one footfall at a time, rarely, if ever, looking far enough ahead to see if our path is taking us to where we want to go or, instead, leading us over the proverbial cliff.

Now, and when city budget discussions heat up in April, is really the only time we devote any thought to education which is unfair to children, teachers, parents, and actually, to all of us. This is not an advocacy for more money for schools-there isn't any more money, but, and it's a cliche, if you think education is expensive, try calculating the cost of ignorance.

You and I went to different high schools together and trust me on this one-different elementary schools, too. Our schools were so different from the ones our children attend, they could just as easily be from another planet. Actually, without putting too fine a point on it, it was a very different world and when you look at us now, the society and culture we inherited from our parents and then look at what we are giving to their grandchildren, the 'stuff in the middle' is our doing.

A glance at a newspaper, a TV screen, or a computer monitor is all you need to confirm our world is a dangerous and different place now. Gone or going is the industrial age, being replaced often rudely and without ceremony, by the knowledge age. 

This is typed on a workstation keyboard. Our (grand) children live in a world of hand-held digital devices that make our desktops and laptops look like Gutenberg's press. Access to information, the how-to, and the what-you-do-with-it-next are the world they and theirs will live in, and lamentations about how that's not what school was like when we were young help no one at all.

Stasis in life and in learning is foolish and fatal. Everyone with an interest in education, and that means all of us, must recognize the purpose of education should be to learn the rules of life better than anyone else so that you can change the rules. Always a good thing to remember, especially as the seasons change yet again. 
-bill kenny

Braced for Mother Nature

We do this every this-time-of-the-year here across the Northeast, in varying amounts: preparing for a visit by one of any number of hurricanes that will either wreak untold and uncalculated havoc or just threaten to blow us all away and/or drown us in rain. 

And when we look just slightly to our South, there will always be someone who got it worse than we did.

My wife spent a great part of her yesterday storm-proofing our yard--securing all the stuff (benches, feeders, bird baths) her boob of a husband walks by every day with open eyes and never sees. 

The stuff, that, in a strong wind, gets blown right through a window or lifted over a fence after which I react with dumbfounded shock and incredulity because I am incapable of linking cause and effect in a timely manner for any practical purposes.

In a way it's good that she did that since I can recall being a small child, when Mom and Dad rented bungalows in Atlantic Highlands, watching hurricanes come in off the ocean while standing on the beach. 

Their sheer power thrills me still. I don't know why. 

My favorite part of The Wizard of Oz is when the house and everything else is lifted by the tornado and I used to wonder growing old (as I've never grown up) if you could really and truly ride a bicycle while in the funnel.

This is serious stuff for many people and I don't mean to trivialize it or minimize its might or its majesty. As a matter of fact, I'd point out I'm doing just the opposite. While many of us have already and/or continue to stockpile milk and toilet paper (that's how we roll here in New England, pun intended) because if you reach the magic number, nothing happens and Gravity's Rainbow passes over you, 

I'm somehow comforted by the thought that there are forces more powerful than any we can create or unleash. And at some point on the horizon, silhouetted against an open sky, you, me, and the most powerful or wealthy men and women in the world look exactly the same as the eye of the storm descends upon us. 

No matter who we are, what we own or do, we are all finally and fully equal and can only hope to hold on until the heavens clear. I'm just never too sure about the something good part....
-bill kenny

So I Hang Upon My Altar

I accept that summer is over but I'm not ready for what comes next, much less whatever it is we call what we have right now. If I didn't know any better, and I admit  I usually don't, I'd wonder if I'm not a stunt double in a Leonard Cohen music video for Last Year's Man. 

I mean, it sure feels like what he's singing about, and not just here at my house but across the region as everywhere you turn on the East Coast, hurricane season is the topic of concern.

I'm not really worried so much about the rain as I am about what Dylan Thomas referred to as the dying of the light.  Almost everyone my age I know, and there are not nearly as many of us left as I'd have thought should have survived to this point, is, like me, bone weary all the time.

We get up tired, slog through our days semi-comatose, and crash on couches in middle-class fever dreams we never envisioned ourselves as ever living in, to go to bed and fail to dream and get up and do it all again. 

Don't get me wrong. I'm disappointed in myself and in my life, so far, but I'm not unhappy. I met and married someone who loved and who still loves me though I haven't done anything remotely lovable in a ridiculous number of years. 

We have two children who are now, themselves, adults and who are getting on with their own lives rather nicely without us, which is the whole plan as I remember the orientation briefing at Dad School from back in the day.

I, and by that, I mean my peers and I didn't crash or go down in flames, we surrendered a little bit every day until we really ran out of things to give away. We traded our blue skies and beliefs for BMWs and shipped good paying jobs to low-wage third and fourth world nations so that their people could have an opportunity to earn forty cents a day making sneakers that I buy at a hundred bucks plus and never even think twice about it.

In another fifty years, some of those places are going to have indoor plumbing and potable drinking water, and those people, or maybe only the ones who survive until then, will want to put up a statute for folks like me. Don't worry about it, you're welcome and keep the cholera blankets. Hell may freeze over and you could use the warmth.

At some point, we turned into our parents, who are laughing their asses off now as they really didn't do as terrible a job as we kept insisting they had. And considering how we could fuqq up a one-car funeral procession (twice so far and don't ask me about the wet dream in the desert), it might have not been a bad idea to quit while we were only slightly behind instead of pressing on and losing sight of the entire caravan. 

We thought the future was Twenty Questions but, instead, it proved to be Hide 'n Seek in a dark room. And I take the one who finds me back to where it all began, when Jesus was the honeymoon and Cain was just the man. Same as it ever was and I knew coming in that going out would be the same.
-bill kenny

I Don't Know if I'm Dying or About To Be Born

Coincidence, said Albert Einstein, is God's way of remaining anonymous. A couple of weeks ago, arriving by mail, was David Crosby's final album in this life, For Free. 

It's brilliant but what first attracted me was the reports of a collaboration between Croz and Donald Fagan, two more (to my mind) disparate musicians I could not imagine. That song, Rodriguez for a Night, was what whetted my appetite to finally buy the album some three years after its release. And in light of his passing, it makes this song transcendently beautiful.    

Now, about the coincidence part I referred to earlier.
Sitting at my computer while listening to Crosby's album through my hearing aids (this is, after all, the age of miracles and wonder), wandering across the internet, I found the onlyvistonce.com website.

I think Al was on to something, I really do.
-bill kenny

Who Would Choose a Felon and a Liar?

The former President of the United States and current and thirty-four time convicted felon, Donald J (for Chickenshit; the J is invisible) Trump, staged himself quite a photo opportunity on the last Monday of August at Arlington Cemetery. 

What kind of self-absorbed asshole gives a 'thumbs up' in a cemetery? 

It was the third anniversary of the Kabul Airport Attack that cost thirteen US servicemembers their lives and was set in motion in no small part by Pantload45 himself and his then Secretary of State Mike Pompeo, but blame, as is well known, is better to give than to receive. 

Trump's moment at Arlington was yet another opportunity for self-aggrandizement, this time with family members of dead service personnel serving as props. They should be grateful for good weather since the former Commander-in-Chief is notoriously less than fond of rain. Funny thing about the self-proclaimed lover of the military. He's a life long fake and a phony. 

Given the opportunity to, himself, be a member of the US Armed Forces, he was unavoidably unavailable to join the 1,857,304 inductees who saw combat in Vietnam. There were too many Vietnam War casualties from New York, but his name was never in danger of appearing here. 

I often wonder who on that list was the one who may have replaced the deferred-Don in a rice paddy and instead came home in a body bag while he was cheating contractors in all Five Boroughs of New York City. 

As a convicted felon, he is not eligible to serve in the US Armed Forces much less to be their Commander in Chief.  He is a failure as a businessman, as a President, and as a human being, If you're looking seriously looking at him in November, you need to look in the mirror and if the view still doesn't bother you, congratulations.
You deserve one another.
-bill kenny 

DIY DEI

I'm dating myself, and I've reached an age where I probably should be carbon-dating myself, when I mention The Last Whole Earth Catalog (Access to Tools). It was, before the Internet and Google existed, as close as possible to being an internet of things as a book could ever hope to be.

Most people remember it, if for nothing else, than its cover of Earth, a photo taken by one of the astronauts from Apollo 8 who walked on the moon, called Earthrise. I've always felt it was the most eloquent proof that the farther out in space we go, the more alike we look.

I mention all of that because a Norwich Native Son, (technically he was born down the road in New London), John-Manuel Andriote, whose writings span medicine, music, and children's literature, once noted in the pages of a column he used to author in his hometown newspaper, The Bulletin, if America is a melting pot, then Norwich is a saucepan.   

I love John's simile. It's both truthful, true and absolutely nails it in terms of describing our city. Norwich is a  terrific example of Robert Palmer's Every Kinda People. Thanks to efforts by Global City Norwich and the outreach on behalf of our children by the Norwich Public Schools, there are many ways each of us can help celebrate all of us and in the end, for my money, that's what a community is and should aspire to be.

This Monday, September 9, the abstraction and the reality meet again at Chelsea Parade beginning at five in the afternoon, rain or shine (so let your smile be your umbrella) as the the Rotary Clubs of Norwich (Sunrise- Noontime-RCC) hosts Celebrate Cultural Diversity.  

It's an annual celebration of the too-many-to-mention cultures that we have here in Norwich and the surrounding towns. The goal is to increase awareness of our region's cultural diversity and to highlight and spotlight the area’s many available multicultural resources. 

In our current politically charged atmosphere where Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion, DEI, are too often depicted as some sinister and subversive 'threat to our way of life' (your mileage on 'way of life' may vary, btw), the celebration is an affirmation of what we already know, or should, about one another. 

Yes, we are different, and quite often very different, and yet, despite those differences, what we share and why is so much larger and more important than what separates us. 

When you come, you'll learn there is no inside because there is no outside. Leave the idea of 'us or them,' at the corner of Washington Street because at Chelsea Parade it's just 'we.' You'll be mingling with the Pluribus that complements the E and Unum. 

Admission is free and there will be at least two metric tons (by my reckoning) of family-friendly entertainment for all. Have my sense of direction (People tell me where to go all the time and still I get lost)? Easy-Peasy. Chelsea Parade is across from the Norwich Free Academy.

The Food Tasting tickets are $10 per person and will be in high demand as things kick off at 5 pm with a scrumptious sampling of ethnic foods to enjoy, all from local area restaurants (some of which you'll discover perhaps for the first time), and you'll swing and sway to music from the many places around the world our Norwich neighbors call home. Bring the family, as children under six years of age eat FREE. 

As the afternoon becomes evening, there's the seriously important business of presenting the Lottie B. Scott Diversity Award and a Community Diversity Award to the resident and an organization, respectively, who helped promote peace and understanding across our city.

It's an opportunity to meet friends you never knew you had and in these times who among us couldn't do with a few more friends, right here where we all live?
See you there.
-bill kenny

Money Doesn't Talk

And most of what money screams is obscene. 

Robin Williams once observed "Cocaine is God's way of telling you that you have too much money." These days, with all due respect to the late Mr. Williams, it's real estate, baby.

In the not too distant past, one in every five hundred of us in this country experienced homelessness. Last autumn, on average, every night over ninety thousand New York City residents availed themselves of homeless shelters because they had nowhere else to stay.  

We all know/are/were someone one paycheck or less away from being on the street. And yet, we continue to consider ourselves the richest nation on earth. So what might it cost to 'fix homelessness?'

Yeah, sure seems to be expensive especially when we have more far more will than wallet. Speaking of wallet AND the obscenity of money, try this on for size, starting at $9,400,000. 

Maybe they have Moving-In Specials. Remember: If you don't ask, you don't get.
-bill kenny

It's Not the "End of Summer"

 Happy (?) Labor Day.

Valerie June

Phil Ochs

Sweet Honey in the Rock

-bill kenny

In the Spirit of the Season...

Labor Day 2024. 
Robber Barons, Mega Banks and Wall Street: too much. 
Working Poor, Middle Class and Main Street: never enough.

There once was a union maid, she never was afraid
Of goons and ginks and company finks
And the deputy sheriffs who made the raid.
She went to the union hall when a meeting it was called,
And when the Legion boys come 'round
She always stood her ground.

Oh, you can't scare me, I'm sticking to the union,
I'm sticking to the union, I'm sticking to the union.
Oh, you can't scare me, I'm sticking to the union,
I'm sticking to the union 'til the day I die.

This union maid was wise to the tricks of company spies,
She couldn't be fooled by a company stool, she'd always organize the guys.
She always got her way when she struck for better pay.
She'd show her card to the National Guard
And this is what she'd say

You gals who want to be free, just take a tip from me;
Get you a man who's a union man and join the ladies' auxiliary.
Married life ain't hard when you got a union card,
A union man has a happy life when he's got a union wife.

Now I'm a union man, amazed at what I am. 
I say what I think, that the company stinks. Yes, I'm a union man

When we meet in the local hall, I'll be voting with them all.
With a hell of a shout, it's "Out brothers, out!" and the rise of the factory's fall.

Oh, you don't get me, I'm part of the union.
You don't get me, I'm part of the union.
You don't get me, I'm part of the union.
Until the day I die. Until the day I die.

The union has made me wise to the lies of the company spies
And I don't get fooled by the factory rules 'cause I always read between the lines

And I always get my way if I strike for higher pay
When I show my card to the Scotland Yard and this is what I say:

Oh, oh, you don't get me, I'm part of the union.
You don't get me, I'm part of the union.
You don't get me, I'm part of the union.
Until the day I die.
Until the day I die.

Before the union did appear my life was half as clear
Now I've got the power to the working hour and every other day of the year

So though I'm a working man I can ruin the government's plan
And though I'm not hard, the sight of my card makes me some kind of superman

Oh, oh, oh, you don't get me, I'm part of the union.
You don't get me, I'm part of the union.
You don't get me, I'm part of the union.
Until the day I die.
Until the day I die.

You don't get me, I'm part of the union.
You don't get me, I'm part of the union.
You don't get me, I'm part of the union.
Until the day I die.
Until the day I die.
-bill kenny