Every morning I begin my day with a reading from God Calling, a small book with inspirational readings that set the pace for the rest of the day.
Sometimes the message is so on target it scares me.
“Nature laughs. Let her have her way with you,” read the message for today.
As I write this, Tropical Storm Fay is scheduled to make a beeline through the Florida Straits to party with the Conchs on Duval Street sometime in the next 24 hours. Tourists are being evacuated and traffic on the Overseas Highway is starting to build.
This is the time of year when any blip in the Atlantic weather satellite sets the local media into a heightened state of awareness that ranges from the responsible to the ridiculous.
A quick perusal through the local media Web sites this morning let me know that in the next 36 hours we’re either going to be fine or we’re all going to die.
As member of the media, I know the truth is somewhere between the extremes.
As journalists, it’s our responsibility to keep you safe and informed, especially during hurricane season. It’s not just about ratings and headlines. Our goal is to serve you in a professional, responsible manner.
But sometimes we fail.
Sometimes we get so caught up in the excitement of having the latest information -- and wanting to get it to you as fast as possible -- that we end up looking like caricatures of ourselves.
Don’t hold it against us. It’s in our DNA. Breaking news is our Pavlov’s bell.
It’s not just about salivating over an anticipated meal of death, doom and destruction. It’s about having information that could help others -- and being blessed with the privilege of sharing that meal with them.
Being the first to deliver that news is just a bonus.
As Managing Editor of a local television Web site, I am blessed with being one of the first to know what’s happening. And I have honor of sharing that information with you.
This isn’t just my job. It’s my mission. But with it comes a great sacrifice.
While you’re preparing to hunker down in your safe room, the journalists and forecasters who gather the information to keep you safe, are preparing to kiss their families goodbye and head to their respective newsrooms to keep you informed, hoping that all the preparations we made will keep our loved one from harm.
It’s a responsibility I accept -- just as I accept the calls from family and friends that begin with … “So, tell me, where is the storm really going?”
The truth is, nobody really knows. Forecasting has come a long way since God gave a shout out to Noah and convinced him to build an ark while skeptics laughed.
But if you’ve lived through a hurricane or any natural disaster, you know that Mother Nature will do whatever she wants, regardless of the predictions and forecasts.
If we pretend to know too much, she will laugh.
The best we can do is prepare.
We’re only half way through hurricane season. Are you prepared?
Showing posts with label Barbara Besteni. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Barbara Besteni. Show all posts
Sunday, August 24, 2008
Monday, July 21, 2008
Thank God For Dry Cleaning
I consider myself a very handy person. I can take on just about any project and enjoy the process of learning by doing. I particularly love the sense of accomplishment that comes with mastering a new skill.
Recently, for example, all three toilets in my house got together and decided to practice harmonizing The Ode to Leaky Toilet. It’s something that happens at least once a year. And every year I pay a plumber a gazillion dollars to silence the symphony.
This year, I decided to tackle the project myself. I Googled ‘leaky toilet,’ watched two very detailed video clips and was confident I could proceed. A trip to Home Depot and about an hour later, my toilets’ singing career was over.
You can ask me to do just about anything and I will give it a shot. It’s a skill I picked up from my mom. Nothing intimidates me. I can balance the pool chemicals, build a cabinet and set up a secure internet network while I barbecue steaks to medium rare perfection on the grill.
But there’s one thing that you can ask me to do that will send me running under the bed like a scared dog on the Fourth of July.
Can you iron this for me? To me, that request is identical to the sound of fingernails scratching on a blackboard.
I know it sounds silly, but I don’t do ironing.
I can starch, press and hang a blouse on a hanger until the ironing board begs for mercy. But somehow during the long trip from the laundry room to my closet, the blouse shrivels up like a raisin ready for a rendezvous with bran.
Don’t even get me started on linen -- that wrinkle-loving material that looks great until you decide to put it on something other than a store mannequin.
I don’t hate ironing. Ironing hates me. Even the smiling ironing instructor on the internet video showing me how to iron a blouse stares at me with a patronizing look that says, “Look, who are you kidding? You’re never going to get this right.”
Years ago a friend who was visiting me from out of town asked me where I kept my iron and ironing board so she could iron a pair of pants. Being a good hostess, I decided to iron them for her. I finished the job, laid the freshly-pressed pants on the bed, ready to accept her thanks and praise.
Instead, she took one look at the pants, said it was sweet of me to get them out of the suitcase and without missing a beat, went downstairs to iron them!
It’s not that I don’t try. It’s just that the more I try, the worse it gets. And that’s when I seek the services of a professional.
There’s a fine line between being handy and being hard-headed.
Paying for dry cleaning services for wrinkle-free clothes isn’t accepting defeat, it is accepting reality. I don’t iron and that’s OK.
If something is going to take too long or cost too much money to do, then I don’t mind paying a professional to do it.
That leaves me time for more fun things -- like walking past one of my bathrooms and listening to the sound of … silence.
Recently, for example, all three toilets in my house got together and decided to practice harmonizing The Ode to Leaky Toilet. It’s something that happens at least once a year. And every year I pay a plumber a gazillion dollars to silence the symphony.
This year, I decided to tackle the project myself. I Googled ‘leaky toilet,’ watched two very detailed video clips and was confident I could proceed. A trip to Home Depot and about an hour later, my toilets’ singing career was over.
You can ask me to do just about anything and I will give it a shot. It’s a skill I picked up from my mom. Nothing intimidates me. I can balance the pool chemicals, build a cabinet and set up a secure internet network while I barbecue steaks to medium rare perfection on the grill.
But there’s one thing that you can ask me to do that will send me running under the bed like a scared dog on the Fourth of July.
Can you iron this for me? To me, that request is identical to the sound of fingernails scratching on a blackboard.
I know it sounds silly, but I don’t do ironing.
I can starch, press and hang a blouse on a hanger until the ironing board begs for mercy. But somehow during the long trip from the laundry room to my closet, the blouse shrivels up like a raisin ready for a rendezvous with bran.
Don’t even get me started on linen -- that wrinkle-loving material that looks great until you decide to put it on something other than a store mannequin.
I don’t hate ironing. Ironing hates me. Even the smiling ironing instructor on the internet video showing me how to iron a blouse stares at me with a patronizing look that says, “Look, who are you kidding? You’re never going to get this right.”
Years ago a friend who was visiting me from out of town asked me where I kept my iron and ironing board so she could iron a pair of pants. Being a good hostess, I decided to iron them for her. I finished the job, laid the freshly-pressed pants on the bed, ready to accept her thanks and praise.
Instead, she took one look at the pants, said it was sweet of me to get them out of the suitcase and without missing a beat, went downstairs to iron them!
It’s not that I don’t try. It’s just that the more I try, the worse it gets. And that’s when I seek the services of a professional.
There’s a fine line between being handy and being hard-headed.
Paying for dry cleaning services for wrinkle-free clothes isn’t accepting defeat, it is accepting reality. I don’t iron and that’s OK.
If something is going to take too long or cost too much money to do, then I don’t mind paying a professional to do it.
That leaves me time for more fun things -- like walking past one of my bathrooms and listening to the sound of … silence.
Thursday, October 11, 2007
Karpe Diem
Opportunity can come at any time in our lives and when it does, we must be prepared to seize the moment.
Nothing – not race, economic class, or age – especially age -- can hold it back. What is meant to be, will be but in its own timeframe.
It’s a lesson that became perfectly clear to me during my recent trip to the Mississippi Gulf Coast, a coast that was nearly obliterated by Hurricane Katrina two years ago.
As readers of this column may recall, I have family in Waveland and Bay St. Louis, Miss., Katrina’s Ground Zero. This was my second trip back since the storm.
Despite having been raised in the neighborhoods of Brooklyn, NY, miles and light years away from jambalaya, red beans and rice and crawfish jumbo, I have a particular affinity to Mississippi’s Gulf Coast. I admit, the food has something to do with it, but mostly it’s about the people and the pace at which they live their lives.
Even after Katrina, when New Orleans got all the attention, the people of Waveland, Bay St. Louis and the surrounding towns, the towns that suffered most but the media forgot, picked up their tools and went about the business of rebuilding.
Two years later, while New Orleans continues to complain, Katrina’s forgotten people are well on their way to recovery. The landscape where their homes once stood may have been reduced to rubble, but nothing – not even a Category 5 hurricane – could rattle the foundations upon which those towns were built.
During my most recent trip, I met an amazing woman named Mary Margaret. She is one of the most positive people I have met in my life and she clearly embodies the spirit of the people of the Gulf Coast.
In a cosmic accident that still brings a smile to my face, she sat down next to me during a gathering at the home of one of my aunts and spilled a freshly-filled glass of Coke on my lap. We made an instant connection.
As often happens, the subject of Katrina came up. “Katrina was a blessing,” she said.
It turns out that for years Mary Margaret had been a writer, but her work had never been published. That very same week, her first book was set to go into its first printing.
“I keep a daily journal which I did faithfully after the storm,” she said.
Right after Katrina, a neighbor got a hold of her journal, sent it to a publisher and just like that, a published author was born. The book is called “My Soul Starts with Katrina.”
“The book will soon be available for pre-sale in Barnes & Noble,” she told me matter-of-factly.
But Mary Margaret isn’t going to sit on her laurels.
“I’m planning on getting another book of poetry out soon,” she said.
Did I mention Mary Margaret is 81 years old?
Opportunity cannot be stopped, but neither can it be rushed.
Be vigilant. Be ready to grab it when it arrives, because opportunity waits for no one.
Are you ready to seize your moment when it arrives?
Nothing – not race, economic class, or age – especially age -- can hold it back. What is meant to be, will be but in its own timeframe.
It’s a lesson that became perfectly clear to me during my recent trip to the Mississippi Gulf Coast, a coast that was nearly obliterated by Hurricane Katrina two years ago.
As readers of this column may recall, I have family in Waveland and Bay St. Louis, Miss., Katrina’s Ground Zero. This was my second trip back since the storm.
Despite having been raised in the neighborhoods of Brooklyn, NY, miles and light years away from jambalaya, red beans and rice and crawfish jumbo, I have a particular affinity to Mississippi’s Gulf Coast. I admit, the food has something to do with it, but mostly it’s about the people and the pace at which they live their lives.
Even after Katrina, when New Orleans got all the attention, the people of Waveland, Bay St. Louis and the surrounding towns, the towns that suffered most but the media forgot, picked up their tools and went about the business of rebuilding.
Two years later, while New Orleans continues to complain, Katrina’s forgotten people are well on their way to recovery. The landscape where their homes once stood may have been reduced to rubble, but nothing – not even a Category 5 hurricane – could rattle the foundations upon which those towns were built.
During my most recent trip, I met an amazing woman named Mary Margaret. She is one of the most positive people I have met in my life and she clearly embodies the spirit of the people of the Gulf Coast.
In a cosmic accident that still brings a smile to my face, she sat down next to me during a gathering at the home of one of my aunts and spilled a freshly-filled glass of Coke on my lap. We made an instant connection.
As often happens, the subject of Katrina came up. “Katrina was a blessing,” she said.
It turns out that for years Mary Margaret had been a writer, but her work had never been published. That very same week, her first book was set to go into its first printing.
“I keep a daily journal which I did faithfully after the storm,” she said.
Right after Katrina, a neighbor got a hold of her journal, sent it to a publisher and just like that, a published author was born. The book is called “My Soul Starts with Katrina.”
“The book will soon be available for pre-sale in Barnes & Noble,” she told me matter-of-factly.
But Mary Margaret isn’t going to sit on her laurels.
“I’m planning on getting another book of poetry out soon,” she said.
Did I mention Mary Margaret is 81 years old?
Opportunity cannot be stopped, but neither can it be rushed.
Be vigilant. Be ready to grab it when it arrives, because opportunity waits for no one.
Are you ready to seize your moment when it arrives?
Monday, September 24, 2007
Be Present
If life were a game of Jeopardy and the answer was “Live in the moment,” the correct question would be: What is the secret to enjoying life to fullest?
Everyone from priests to therapists urge us to, “Be Mindful,” “Enjoy the Process,” and be present to whatever it is we’re doing instead of rushing around mindlessly checking things off our to do lists without taking time to enjoy the things themselves.
It’s advice I was able to put to good use during the past few months as my family and I prepared to celebrate my parent’s 50th Wedding Anniversary. As an only child, the responsibility to plan and execute the event fell squarely on my shoulders. It’s a responsibility I considered a privilege.
If ever there’s a time to enjoy the process, it’s when you take a year of your life and use it to plan a four-hour event.
Thankfully, I had someone by my side the entire way to organize what had to be done and see to it that I didn’t go through the process alone. Yet, when things got out of control, my first inclination was to do more.
For instance, I wanted to produce a photo montage set to music, that included pictures of everyone in attendance. The plan was to show the DVD right after the cocktail hour. It was a way to make our guests feel welcome and show them how much we appreciated them sharing the day with us. In order to do this, I asked everyone on the guest list to e-mail me their picture. Most people quickly complied with the request. Others came up with excuses ranging from “I don’t have any pictures of myself,” to “My pictures are locked up in a box that I can’t get to.”
“Enjoy the process,” I reminded myself.
Despite the pitfalls, I was able to gather the photos and put the final touches on the video with three hours to spare. When we played the DVD at the party, you could cut the emotions with a knife.
Some people cried, some cheered. And I silently sat back and realized it had all been worth it. Not only was the payoff great, but knowing how difficult it had been to get to that moment, and having been mindful through the difficulties, made the results that much sweeter.
I can honestly say that not once did the words, “I wish it was August 26th” -- the day AFTER the party -- ever leave my mouth during the months of planning. Each time the thought would sneak into my head, the small, still voice inside my heart reminded me that enjoying the process was many times more valuable than the outcome.
As expected, the party went by at lightning speed. Some things didn’t go according to plan. But at the end of the day, everyone had a great time. And I will be eternally grateful that I took the time to enjoy the craziness of the year that went into planning it.
Thanks to being fully present during those moments of madness, the party will live in my heart forever.
Everyone from priests to therapists urge us to, “Be Mindful,” “Enjoy the Process,” and be present to whatever it is we’re doing instead of rushing around mindlessly checking things off our to do lists without taking time to enjoy the things themselves.
It’s advice I was able to put to good use during the past few months as my family and I prepared to celebrate my parent’s 50th Wedding Anniversary. As an only child, the responsibility to plan and execute the event fell squarely on my shoulders. It’s a responsibility I considered a privilege.
If ever there’s a time to enjoy the process, it’s when you take a year of your life and use it to plan a four-hour event.
Thankfully, I had someone by my side the entire way to organize what had to be done and see to it that I didn’t go through the process alone. Yet, when things got out of control, my first inclination was to do more.
For instance, I wanted to produce a photo montage set to music, that included pictures of everyone in attendance. The plan was to show the DVD right after the cocktail hour. It was a way to make our guests feel welcome and show them how much we appreciated them sharing the day with us. In order to do this, I asked everyone on the guest list to e-mail me their picture. Most people quickly complied with the request. Others came up with excuses ranging from “I don’t have any pictures of myself,” to “My pictures are locked up in a box that I can’t get to.”
“Enjoy the process,” I reminded myself.
Despite the pitfalls, I was able to gather the photos and put the final touches on the video with three hours to spare. When we played the DVD at the party, you could cut the emotions with a knife.
Some people cried, some cheered. And I silently sat back and realized it had all been worth it. Not only was the payoff great, but knowing how difficult it had been to get to that moment, and having been mindful through the difficulties, made the results that much sweeter.
I can honestly say that not once did the words, “I wish it was August 26th” -- the day AFTER the party -- ever leave my mouth during the months of planning. Each time the thought would sneak into my head, the small, still voice inside my heart reminded me that enjoying the process was many times more valuable than the outcome.
As expected, the party went by at lightning speed. Some things didn’t go according to plan. But at the end of the day, everyone had a great time. And I will be eternally grateful that I took the time to enjoy the craziness of the year that went into planning it.
Thanks to being fully present during those moments of madness, the party will live in my heart forever.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
