We. Win.

Fifty years ago today, half a century, and beyond the lifetime of dozens, perhaps hundreds, of people, the "Anti Imperialist Wall" began to take shape in Berlin, Germany. Hagen Koch mapped out some fifty kilometers of twists and turns meticulously with chalk so that the East German state could, with Prussian precision, cut the former, and ultimately future, capital of Germany in half and tear the heart out of their own nation for nearly thirty years.

George Santayana admonishes that those who do not learn from history are condemned to repeat it. There's merit to that warning especially when contemplating in less than a month we, in this country and many others around the world, will mark the sad tenth anniversary of the 9/11 attacks.

I remember when I visited Rik in West Berlin, before Patrick was born, I felt The Wall's presence much more (and much more often) than I saw it during my Berliner wochende-very much like a malevolent mist that touched everything and for those sentenced to live behind it, shaping and twisting their lives.

A month from now we'll be having the same thoughts and emotions about the concrete, steel and glass that Ursula Bach and Jan-Art de Rooij shared about the bricks and mortar which changed their lives. We'll pause to remember those who became accidental martyrs by simply going to work and never coming home, booking a seat on an aircraft that never arrived, answering a fire alarm that summoned trained lifesavers to their deaths. And we'll tear up, and perhaps become angry-so angry we'll nearly forget what those half a world away are fighting to protect or why they do it.

Along the way we've gotten distracted by the barking of the dogs of war--we count the cost of what we've lost rather than the value of what we've saved. At times, we've allowed ourselves to nearly be consumed by a fear that becomes a hatred of the other instead of recognizing that we are still here. That those who had nothing to live for and chose, instead to die, and to take as many as they could with them, did not win then and can not win ever.

As Berliners learned two decades ago when their Wall came down, "beyond borders, beyond religion and politics, beyond hatred and ignorance--lies hope, and a common bond." Today, not just in Germany or in Europe but everywhere is a reminder for those who still grieve and even for those who still hate that no matter the odds or the weight or the number against us, we will always win, because we must.

-bill kenny

Sidewalk Seens and Black Limousines

I had a pretty good visit with my endocrinologist earlier in the week. He reminds me a lot of Gru from "Despicable Me" both physically and how he talks/thinks not that I think it's the world's greatest idea to ever tell him that unless I'd like to start taking all of my prescriptions as enemas, and I think he'd be the guy to do just that.

My white-coated, stethoscoped posse is now so large I discovered my nephrologist went to high school with my endocrinologist-wait for it-when they were both growing up on the other side of the world. Think of me as the UN, with a gown that doesn't quite close in the back. In the circles in which I now move medically, the six degrees of separation are more often measured in Celsius than Fahrenheit. If I 'friended' but half the folks who treat me, I'd more than double the number of Facebook friends I have.

My endocrinologist is, beneath his gruff exterior, the possessor of a gruff interior but he has great taste in reading materials and wound up, as we spoke about state of mind influences on your state of health reminding me of both a marvelous former fellow traveler here on the Big Blue Marble, Portia Nelson, and my favorite non-story about urban renewal, There's a Hole in My Sidewalk. Lather, rinse, repeat.

Someone told me one of the original beatitudes was 'blessed are the brief for they shall be invited to return.' And since I hope you'll return tomorrow this is a close to brief as I can get for today.

-bill kenny

I Take a Breath and Pull the Air in 'til There's Nothing Left

This is the hardest part of the season for me. The promise of the endless summer that I savored in June has been replaced by a sinking feeling that I've missed out yet again, even when I'm not really sure about what, exactly, I've missed. The days are still very often hot, but the light fades faster than it did a month ago and there's something in the air, different and yet familiar.

In years past, this is the time of year when my wife and I would be organizing one or the other (or both) children for the arriving too-fast and too-soon school year (actually, my wife did all of the organizing and the school supplies were assembled despite my assistance). This not-summer much longer but not-yet autumn resonates beyond those of us with school age children.

That the world beyond my doorstep is in shambles and chaos is not helping me manage the malaise that's become my constant companion for reasons I cannot fully understand. We have lived in our house, on our street in our neighborhood and city for nearly twenty years. I don't think the fatigue I'm feeling in terms of 'same shirt, different day' is a result of any of that but what's harder to sort out is what to do about it.

You may have had it happen to you as well-you look up and you're not where you used to be or where you want to be and have no idea how you got to where you are or what to do next. I used to tease my wife back when it was just she and me as I loaded us into the VW Käfer and just drove that when you don't know where you're going any road will get you there. Eventually, we were always home and dry, more or less.

I've been around this juke joint for a not inconsiderable number of years, somewhat to my surprise and to the abject chagrin and dismay of more than a few people whom I won't dignify by naming, though they know who they are. I'm thinking that maybe I'm just momentarily becalmed and that in the next moment, or maybe the one after that, the wind will fill my sails and we'll be off again, racing to the horizon and beyond.

I'm starting to enjoy the sunrises more than I ever have and to take as personal affronts when the days end. I can figure out how and when the night creeps in on cat's feet but cannot stop or slow it. Hoping today's events can fulfill this morning's promise, just as I did yesterday and hope to as well on the morrow.

-bill kenny

Short Term Strategies and Long Term Goals

For over a year, talk, time and talent has been focused on the Norwich downtown economic redevelopment effort from the months of Saturday meetings and public discussions that created the bonding proposals through voters' approval last November to the structuring of the program, detailing of responsibilities and the mechanics of management. We've heard 'we're one step away' so often it's hard to believe we are no more steps away, but if you have any doubts, you should visit the Norwich Community Development Corporation, NCDC, website.

We've got hopeful starts down to an art form around here. The big applause, the dazzling smile, the gathering around a new venture as the ribbon is cut...here have some cake and coffee and a heaping helping of congratulations and welcome to Norwich.

Trouble usually follows what's supposed to happen next and often doesn't. That first step was a snap-it's the creation of the footfalls that follow it to where we want to go that we need to learn.

First a path, then a trail, then a road--each ripple of progress making a larger circle that covers a greater area of Norwich as development reaches farther and brings the benefits of enhanced property tax revenues to the grand list and elevates our community's quality of life throughout each of the neighborhoods in Norwich.

Patience and perseverance are called for and a talent to not only see the next move but the one after the next one. Some cynics say "he who hesitates is lunch" and Norwich has spent too many years on the menu. We've wasted a lot of time competing when we needed to cooperate. We're catching on but we have a ways to go before we catch up.

Each of us needs to be a part of greater and broader effort that requires us to not only say the right things but to do them, on our street, around our block until we meet a neighbor, who is doing the same thing on their street and neighborhood. One engaged person is a revolution, two energized people are a movement and three can not only make a difference but can be the difference.

It's important we communicate openly and clearly with those whom we send to the City Council and to whom we entrust our children's education, as it is important that they be clear when speaking to and with us. Here's some numbers that might make you numb: in non-Presidential elections (for decades), registered voter turnout has been less than twenty-five percent.

Put it another way, one out of every four of us is telling the other three what to do. In case you hadn't noticed, that hasn't been working out very well for any of us. We have hundreds of thousands of men and women in uniform defending our way of life in shit-holes around the globe, and seven in ten of us can't be bothered to make a decision as to whom should run our city. Seriously?

In addition to low (= lousy) voter turnout, too many of us have left too many others to do the heavy lifting on boards and commissions ranging from the Historic District Commission through the Recreation Advisory Board to the Commission on the City Plan. The same people we join with on Neighborhood Watch, whose kids are with our kids in scouts, are the volunteers on about three dozen agencies nearly all of whom meet in secrecy because so few of us attend their open and advertised meetings. Don't get me started on the vacancies that exist on so many of these panels-there's probably one with your name on it.

We have to hold ourselves accountable for the development and improvement of our city and that means realizing when you finger point as if that has ever solved anything, three of the fingers on your hand are pointing back at yourself. We've looked everywhere for solutions-maybe we should start with the mirror. So many people in the same device.

-bill kenny

A Picture Postcard from the Dead Letter Office

I'm a little short on tea and sympathy right now for almost everyone I see on TV from "my government." There's just so much 'Love me! Love my dog!' I can tolerate--only a limited amount of posturing and pouting before puking I can do and I see the city limits sign up ahead, so I hope those are knockabout clothes because they're about to get christened.

I like to think because my heart beats on the left side of my chest, that's where most of my politics is. As for red or blue, I like a lot of different parts of the rainbow, think of me as Skippy Skittles but yesterday I received a 'we're gonna have to go the mattresses' letter from a new FB Friend, Cole Lystra from Progressivesunited.org with a petition for Pelosi and Reid (NOT to be confused with Seals and Crofts) as they gird their loins or pork their bellies (I'm easily confused), after twenty-five thousand progressives signed on demanding a say in the Super Committee that Will Fix Everything which was part of the debt ceiling agreement.

Yeah, that's what we need-progressives (whatever they are, and now it includes me) along with anal retentives, bed wetters, Plaster Casters and perhaps, a few born-again rastafarians (why the hell not?). All of them stabbing with their steely knives though they just can't kill the beast of what's wrong with us and our government. Heck, we can't even agree on what's wrong much less on how to fix it, and now we're creating yet another committee (and a super one! complete with a cape, a speeding bullet (or bull of some kind) and a locomotive?) to develop a framework to create a mechanism to foster a debate and facilitate the parameters and--remember my warning about old clothes because I feel a case of the Ralphs coming on....

Cole's a nice person and so, too, is Russ Feingold, I'm sure. Ditto for the other bozos on the bus sitting on those aisle seats waaaay over there. At this stage in the game, I'd like any "Super Committee" to be made up entirely and exclusively of Malevolent, Maniac, Murderous Mimes (MCubed). They wouldn't get anything done, just like all the other losers who'll end up on this thing, but we won't have to listen to them argue. What are they gonna do, scream their hands off? A roomful of people somewhere in Washington, trapped in invisible glass boxes-the symbolism is so rich you'll be tempted to use a fork but choose a spoon and get every drop.

I marveled at Cole's letter on my computer screen (actually what I marveled at was having his nerve in my tooth-there wouldn't be a root canal I'd fear ever again) and then I wrote back. What I forgot because I'm a silly bunt is that Big Important Sincere People (BISPs) don't actually read e-mail, or any mail for that matter. We have these types here where I live, and sometimes I just wanna whack 'em like a rented mule (Evan, that was NOT a veiled pony ride reference).

Instead of accepting that Cole will never get the benefit of my seconds of political experience, I'm posting my letter here. Otherwise silence equals consent. And yes, Jerkasaurus Rex, I hope someone you know is progressive enough that they are able to read out loud for meaning. You, and the Tea Party Biddy whose name I've successfully suppressed, perhaps handcuffed to Al Franken and Rick Santorum can all walk east until your hats float. And if you don't wear headgear, it's an even shorter walk. Here goes:

"Cole,

To be honest if, after a week of non-stop hectoring and lecturing, all you have are 25K worth of signatures on a no-brainer and no consequences-if-they-don’t-do-anything petition for Reid and Pelosi (reminds me of one of those folkie duos from the late Seventies (but NOT this one)), we are terribly close to too little, too few and too late.

I’m wondering if perhaps we lowered the tenor and tone of the demonization of folks on the other side of the aisle if that might not help us create a basis for a dialogue that could lead to creation of a consensus for the common good that’s been awfully uncommon and conspicuous in its absence in recent months.

No matter what you and your Loyalists say (and I plead guilty to being a fellow traveler but only because we have the best parties and most beautiful women) and despite the most dire pronouncements thundering from the (far) right (and even less correct) side of the political spectrum, the Republic stands. But I’m at a loss to guess how much more of this BS and bombast we ALL can stand.

The expression goes “Silence is Golden”, not dissonance and there’s obviously a reason why it is that way. How about we lower our voices and elevate our reciprocal courtesy and assume the ‘other guy/gal/ is as passionate in his/her beliefs as we are in ours and is at least as intelligent as we are. I’ll bet we can get to where we all want to go with a damn sight less screaming, shouting and pointing if we work at it-at least let’s give it a try, okay?

I’m fed up to my back teeth in ultimatums and drama (from wherever on the color spectrum of the political rainbow you happen to be). Let’s see what happens when we speak TO, instead of AT, one another. How bad could that be?

I wish you well but I pray for BETTER for all of us." -bill kenny

I Ain't Gonna Tell You

I've never made any bones about my love of New York City-I regard it as the Capital of the World-mostly, I admit, because of childhood memories. Riding the Pennsylvania, then Penn-Central and then Amtrak (what is it now, Conrail?) passenger trains from New Brunswick, New Jersey into Pennsylvania Station (before during and after Madison Square Garden came downtown to 34thStreet) and watching Manhattan rise on the horizon.

That I was nearly trampled by a stampede of indifferent fellow-commuters on a daily basis doesn't dull my fondness for The City. But it does make me appreciate the enforced intimacy of smaller, quieter places such as where I live now. With about forty thousand people of all shapes and sizes, Norwich, Connecticut, to hear long time residents tell it, may not be what it once was but it can certainly be at least once what it is now.

And since this is where we all are together, we should make here the best place we can. Waiting for somebody to do something ignores the person and the reflection we see in the mirror. There's another week's worth of doing in The Rose of New England-so let's roll up a sleeve and lend a hand-why else do you think the Second Amendment says we can bare arms?

This afternoon at five, the Ethics Commission meets in Room 210 of City Hall. Their recent special meeting attracted more attention than they've had since they were formed which might be a little misleading because, by and large, the city's ethics rules work as a review of their meeting agenda will confirm.

At 5:30, in Room 213 of City Hall, it's a special meeting of the Personnel and Pension Board whose agenda suggests the importance of context cannot be over estimated.

At six, in the Recreation Department at Dickenman Field, it's (should be listed but isn't) a special meeting of the Recreation Advisory Board, who, if the postings on the city's website are to be believed, haven't yet met this year (and three of whose member's appointments expired years ago).

Tuesday morning at 8:30 in Room 335 of City Hall, it's a regular meeting of the Youth and Family Service Advisory Board. The City's website suggests they last met in January, though I suspect what's really happened is we're not doing a good job of posting minutes posted. Actually we're doing a very good job of breaking state law and a terrible job of keeping one another informed. I'm not sure what to applaud, if anything, in that sentence.

Here's one that disquiets me: The Commission on the City Plan is holding a special meeting at noon in the conference room of the Planning Department at 23 Union Street. When you scroll through their agenda, pay special attention to item L "Council Referral.' Instead of this being an opportunity for many residents to get a first hand glimpse of a $5 million bonding proposal that will be on the Council's Monday agenda, it's part of an effort to meet a charter requirement for CCP review prior to Council action-which happens more often than it should (because it shouldn't happen at all). Don't misunderstand me-the letter of the public meetings law is intact; the spirit and intent, not so much but the bigger concern is we could have had a channel for communication and dialogue and failed to do so. Again.

Speaking of which, at five, in Room 335 of City Hall (as opposed to the Public Works Director's office on Clinton Street), it's a regular meeting of the Public Works and Capital Improvements Committee whose agenda suggests an interesting afternoon (and I suspect, evening as well) but the headlines behind some of the agenda portend even more. Hint: you and I may be the only ones in the room not seeking a seat on the next City Council (and I'm not so sure about you).

It's the second Tuesday of the month so perhaps there's a regular Board of Education meeting at Kelly Middle School. I say perhaps because it's not listed on the city's website nor on the Norwich Public Schools' website. Let me point out the last two years of BoE meeting minutes there are no meetings in July or August. So if you have children in school, and with the start of the school year around the corner, you might be best served calling to find out.

At seven the Zoning Board of Appeals meets in the Planning Department conference room at 23 Union Street for the first time since, it seems, May (based on the minutes).

Wednesday morning at a quarter of nine, in the Planning Department's conference room at 23 Union Street (that place has become quite the hang-out and not just for the cool kids) it's a regular meeting of the Rehabilitation Review Committee which as Jill B pointed out this afternoon has all of its minutes posted if you scroll down enough on the webpage, unlike someone we both could name (me).

Perhaps the best thing about attending the Rehab Review Committee meeting is the short walk you'll have to the Norwich Downtown Farmer's Market at Howard Brown Park when it opens at ten. There's more and more people catching on to the prices and selection so if you're going, choose sooner rather than later.

Starting at one, in Council chambers, it's a special meeting of the City Council (and in all likelihood an executive session to hear a report of its special investigative committee rivaling that of Ethel the Frog).

At six, there's a regular meeting of the Norwich Baseball Stadium Authority at Dodd Stadium, in Skybox Suite 12. As a review of their July meeting minutes shows, there's little dilly-dallying at these meetings which is perfect because the Connecticut Tigers are hosting the JamestownJammers at 7:05 so you should have time to grab some dinner from the concession stand and settle into your seat.

At seven, though hopefully your ears don't follow the sirens, it's a Public Safety Committee meeting at the Yantic Fire House. In the first seven months of 2011, four meetings have been cancelled so keep your fingers crossed (it explains my lousy typing).

And if you're in downtown at six, follow your ears to Rock the Docks, this week with Melaena in Howard T. Brown Park.

And Saturday, from noon until four at the Leffingwell House Museum it's Second Saturday Market Day and a chance to combine history with fresh air, bargains and fun-around here a-not-everyday occurrence. In Autumn, Geronimo weeps-no pony with a blanket. Not just Sedaka's back, Jack.

-bill kenny

-bill kenny

Who Burn the Fires...

This has been a very sad weekend for United States forces in Afghanistan. There's going to be a lot of words in the next days about sacrifice, and selflessness and service to country and all of them will be true, well-meant and then forgotten. When all is said and done, only the families and friends (and comrades) of those who have died will remember them. So all the best the rest of of us can do is hold them in our thoughts as they hold their loved ones in their hearts.

The news cycle cannot sate our attention span or come close. Some of what we treat as news is actually noise but since it comes from places where we used to get our news, it looks the same. I don't pretend to know anything, not just on what happened but on the whole universe in which we live. I'm not one of those azzholes who doesn't know what he doesn't know-I'm keenly aware of how little of this world I understand and I'm not alone in that.

And this is another event that we'll talk about with and to one another for hours and not only never get to the end of it, but we won't even approach the beginning of it. I'll offer you, again, an opportunity to make the acquaintanceship of Andrew Olmsted-someone I never met while he walked the earth and who paid with his life for his service in Iraq.

A lot of news this weekend has been about Standards and Poors Downgrading the US Bond Rating and who's to bless and who's to blame for that. We've had coverage of the Governor of Texas praying (I hope for a break in the drought that is killing his state; got yer back, Lips, but don't have rain to share) and of Tiger Woods' driving though seemingly not into a light pole.

The events of Saturday will have faded by the time you read this. The people who have helped get us into the situations we are now constantly and continually in that require the repeated use of men like those who perished this weekend will wring their hands and point their fingers while remaining Waist Deep in Big Muddy. We will watch them posture and pose and jockey for positions nearest the TV camera. And, maybe if we're not too entranced, we can think of the wavering millions, needing leaders who get gamblers instead.

-bill kenny