The List

Resolutions are so instantly self-defeating.

It only takes one day to break a resolution.

That's why I'm more into lists.

Reorganize the closet, clean out the storage unit, weed the garden, file my taxes before March, buy tickets to Mannheim Steamroller--these are a few of my favorite "Things to Do".

I have 365 days to tackle my list without the self-imposed pressure to resolutely succeed. Once completed, a self-satisfying check of accomplishment indicates a job well done.

What's on your list for 2008?

Talk to Me.

GTO

My dad once drove a 1960-something GTO that broke down so much, my youngest brother was convinced the letters stood for "Get the Tools Out".

With our country and state in similar condition, it's time to get out the Campaign Toolbox.

Is Huckabee throwing a wrench into the Romney campaign? How about Hillary? Will she ultimately run a snake through Obama, plunging negativity to a new time low?

Rummage about a bit. The answers lie somewhere among the loose screws.

Fisticuffs

Ever wonder how Iowa jumped to the front of the Presidential game, especially this year with everyone shoving in line to be first?

Picture this-Iowa, New Hampshire, South Carolina and Florida seated, ready to round table. Michigan and Nevada join the game late but early enough to throw a wild card.

All want more impact into who will ultimately become the Presidential nominee.

"I've always been first and I'm staying first," states Iowa, first in pork production, first in corn production and first in egg production.

New Hampshire plays the Mayflower card. "The first Americans decided at Plymouth Rock that we shall remain the first primary in this country, no matter what."

Nevada and South Carolina cast each other a knowing nod while stifling a laugh at N.H.'s remark. "What we've got, you ain't got--the regional and ethnic balance factor."

Florida tries to one up the crowd. "I have the third largest state prison population AND I just restored felon voting rights. That should count for something."

"I was just diagnosed with early primary envy," admits Michigan. "But my shrink gave me an idea. Everyone, fists to the center."

Ink-a-bink

A bottle of ink

Cork fell out and you stink

My mother told me to pick the very best one and

You are not it.

One by one, the mighty are called out, with Florida and Michigan ultimately stripped of the very impact for which both had hoped.

And that's how Iowa--producer of more ethanol per year than any other state--became first in the nation to lead us toward better days ahead.

Sugar Plums

With great expectations, the vision of a sugar plum holiday dances in our heads.

Then the family descends.

Sugar Plums DOA.

Did Aunt So 'n' So always gossip so much? When did Uncle You Know Who's irrationality flip way past eccentric and straight to pathologic? Sister All About Me makes Narcissus look like a Benedictine monk and what about Mom, obsessively cleaning during gift opening?

Those with whom we share DNA--who gather together in ceremonial anticipation that all things will be merry and bright--arrive bearing gifts wrapped in tricky family dynamics.

Although we love them, many of our family members are difficult people. Handling them leaves us as washed out as Mom's dish rag. Holidays--already stressful because preparation leaves us burning the candle at both ends--leaves us wide open for the never happy, never do enough for folks.

It's like juggling sugar plums.

Buzzin' the Beeline

Remind me again.

The Melbourne airport is practically in my backyard.

So...why am I up at the ungodly hour of four in the morning to catch an 8:20 AM flight over at Sanford-Orlando?

Talk to Me.

It's Here!

May your day be merry and bright.

Pointed Remarks

I found a half-baked stalk of poinsettia in the parking lot of Lowe's.

Like Charlie Brown and his Christmas tree, I took the shriveled remainder of a potted plant home and placed its sad countenance into a vase. I even sprinkled a bit of sugar into the water, hoping to whip the xylem and phloem into botanical frenzy.

Over the following few days, the petals unfurled in response to the glucose therapy yet remained a bit crinkly around the edges, a testament to the trouncing taken before being scooped up toward recovery.

Floridians are as weathered as that poinsettia. As Governor Charlie stumps for property tax reform and seeks your support for the proposed constitutional amendment on the ballot January 29th, ask yourself one question.

What is best for my personal recovery?

12 Days

The faster I go, the behinder I get.

I've got my fingers on the keyboard with my eyes diverted off the screen and focused on my giant pile of unwrapped gifts. Thoughts of presents yet unpurchased dance in my head, so I'm off in a flash to step through the looking glass called Christmas 2007.

I'll be posting throughout the twelve days of the season, so feel free to cozy on up for a bit of shared insight.

May the holidays bring you and yours the best of times.

Ill be seeing you.

Are You Listening?

Christmas time at the Shatsky house always included crooner Andy Williams.

Andy's standards--"Happy Holidays" and "It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year" --rang in the season, breaking free from the confines of the console stereo to blast us silly with 33 1/3 long play spirit.

By the time the Williams annual Christmas show aired, my brothers and I knew the holiday favorites by heart and joined in the sing along with great bravado.

Sounds a bit cheesy, I know...but, hey, it happened.

I've got Andy in the car with me these days, intervening to hi-fi my waning spirit with a bit of classic good cheer.

From my house to yours, allow me to jump start your holiday engines this final weekend before the big day with a bit of vintage Andy, singing along with his brothers in that happenin' red sweater way.

Sleighs bells ring here.

Happy Holidays.

One for the Books

Lynne Spears wrote the book on parenting.

Scheduled for release on Mother's Day 2008, the publication of Pop Culture Mom: A Real Story of Fame and Family in a Tabloid World has been delayed.

To say this year has not been a good one for the Spears family is a huge understatement.

Daughter Britney melts down big time in front of the whole world--day after day after day.

Daughter Jamie Lynn--the sixteen year old star of Zoey 101--announces she's pregnant.

Yep...raising girls--tabloid world or otherwise--ain't easy.

It's said that things happen in threes. But what on earth could the mother of Girls Gone Wild possibly have to endure next?

Pam Anderson and Britney--separated at birth?

Now, that's a chapter for the memoirs.

Strapped

The Salvation Army reported earlier this month that charitable donations were way down this Christmas season, seemingly as so many are on the verge of needing what they are asked to give.

Whether due to the price of oil, the mortgage, home insurance or tax crises, people are keeping their money close to home this year.

Just ask your local Pack-N-Ship operator.

While totaling the costs of my New Jersey bound gifts, the counter clerk commented that she had sold a lot less gift cards this season.

Reason being...one can buy a nice present for far less than shelling out dollars for the standard $25, $50, or $100 denominations.

The buck's gotta stop somewhere. Folks are just flat strapped.

If the Shoe Fits...

These shoes saved my life.

Saturday around 5:00 PM, when the day gives way to the pewter sky of twilight, I stood ready to cross Melbourne Avenue, looking forward to an evening of Christmas shopping beneath the twinkle lights of the Historic Downtown. The light had dimmed to a soft smudge of gray, melting the street and scenery into shadow. My view veiled, I prepared to practice what every parent preaches -look left, look right, look left again.

To the west, the headlights of a car glowed far enough back that I could cross safely-- if I just wasn't wearing my Steve Madden clogs. I hold the record for the most falls--attempted and accomplished--off these bea-u-ti-ful shoes and that's just when walking. Running in any sort of heel--as easy as Sarah Jessica Parker from Sex and the City fame makes that look--is simply out of the question. Besides, high beams from the east danced just close enough for me to reconsider any thought of quick-stepping my way across.

The roaring of a lot of horsepower--much too close for comfort--snapped my attention back to the east. Camouflaged by the purple haze, a large giant Hummer wannabe monster-type rig sped down the street at a fast clip. As the vehicle shot past me, I realized...the lights were off.

I never saw it coming.

If not for my shoes, all that might be left of me on this day, would be my shoes.

As the two vehicles originally sighted intersected and passed me by--operated by drivers who had lawfully turned on their headlights at the first sign of dusk--I peered long and hard past the night and into the night--left, right, and left again--before stepping one toe out onto the asphalt.

Melbourne PD tickets many a bicyclist for riding through the downtown at night without the beam of a headlight illuminating the way. Call me crazy, but as local law enforcement prepares to turn up the holiday heat, perhaps it's time to cook the gooses of those turkeys too careless to see the light for lack of the light thereof.

Thank you, Steve Madden for creating shoes that cause a girl to think twice.

50,000 Strong

Here's a bit of news to warm up your cup of coffee.

Robert Wexler (D-FL) has had enough.

Along with colleagues Luis Gutierrez (D-IL) and Tammy Baldwin (D-WI), the three members of the House Judiciary Committee are calling for impeachment hearings for Vice President Richard Cheney.

Commenting that "Some people argue that the Judiciary Committee can not proceed with impeachment hearings because it would distract Congress from passing important legislative initiatives", Wexler states that "...70% of voters say that Vice President Cheney has abused his powers and 43% say that he should be removed from office right now."

Are you one of the 43%?

Be part of the 50,000.

Visit WexlerWantsHearings. and make your voice heard.

Things to Do

Hey Brevard County.

The holidaze are fast upon us.

My tree is in the stand...that's it...in the stand, not a light or an ornament to be sighted.

Three packages bound for New Jersey stand stacked beside my piano, begging to be mailed.

So, I am out and about this weekend to tackle that annoying feeling called time running out.

What's on your list this weekend?

Talk to Me.

Bless Our Hearts

Ever notice when someone voices something really nasty about another person, adding a simple bless of the heart makes it all good?

Tim over at Mother Tongue Annoyances "polled many a native Southerner about this turn of phrase, and very, very few have admitted to me that Bless your heart is a thinly veiled excuse to insult and/or character assassinate another human person."

Humor columnist Celia Rivenbark offers up a few blessings of her own in her book Bless Your Heart, TRAMP. (St. Martin's Press 2000 and 2006).

"Bless his heart, if they put his brain on the head of a pin, it'd roll around like a BB on a six-lane highway."

"Bless her heart, she's so bucktoothed, she could eat an apple through a picket fence."

"Bless her heart, Mary Lou still has no idea her husband is running around with that car wash girl."

Raised in the ways of such Southern charm, I'm quick to spot the use of the sheathed verbal dagger. After school board member Amy Kneessy abruptly left a recent meeting, fellow board member Barbara Murray pretty much gave her the verbal finger.

"It seems to me, Amy, bless your heart, that you need to stop and think before you open your mouth. You have a history of having to apologize to people."

Mercy me.

Did Murray really say that into an open mike in a public forum?

Poor Barbara. She probably didn't realize that the live mike she speaks into is basically a conduit to certain publication by Florida Today.

Bless her heart.

Gypsy Kids

Florida's Office of Homelessness cites that children under 18 years of age now make up 21% of our homeless population.

What exactly does homelessness look like?

Are these kids spending the nights tucked in all warm and cozy in the back seat of the family car?

Are they camped out at Wickham Park or living in a motel, packing their bags every other day to relocate to yet another motel?

How about the Friends and Family plan? How many kids are bunked out on Grandma's couch?

How many are sleeping on the floors of a friend of the Fam?

How do you define homelessness? Sleeping under the stars with no roof overhead?

Or having no permanent roof to call your own?

One certainty.

We've come a long way since homelessness was defined as hobos stealing pies set out to cool on a windowsill.

Thumbs Down

At last glance, the local Michael Vick poll polarized over at WMMB to an even 50-50.

When asked if the convicted professional athlete should be permitted to resume his football career after serving his sentence for his role played in illegal dogfighting, half of the pollsters gave the nod, let him play.

Half shook their head punitively, NO! Playing football is a privilege.

Explain that thinking to me.

Talk to me about that mindset, the half so intent on revenge. If a person convicted of a crime can't be put away forever, let's make 'em wish they were.

What's that all about?

McGriff High

Back when what is now Bayside High was under construction, I submitted a name to be considered for the new building.

James McGriff High School.

High school senior James McGriff--football standout and member of the Palm Bay High School Class of 1998--was headed for UF as a Fighting Gator. He was bound for glory.

With the reach of a wave, it was all over.

His tragic drowning off Melbourne Beach punched one question home...how best could the community memorialize such a life yet to be fully realized?

I figured naming the new high school after him was a pretty good start.

But Bayside was Saved By the Bell and won the name game. Ten years and yet another overcrowded high school later, we set out once again to name a new school. The suggested Clemente High School--after baseball great Roberto Clemente--has many locals shaking their heads and asking why him?

If residents really wanted to name the new school after a famous person, we have several former residents to choose from: Quarterback Doug Flutie, Darrell Hammond of SNL fame, Bengals wide receiver Cris Collinsworth and hey, what about Melbourne native Jim Morrison of The Doors?

(Imagine attending Jim Morrison High School? School Song: Hello, I love you won't you tell me your name.... Team Mascot: Riders on the Storm... School Colors: Something in a Roadhouse Blue...)

Nah.

What name would better inspire students towards aspiration of greatness more personally than a peer who once walked the halls of a sister school?

As you are now, so once was I.

We! Are! McGriff!

Enough Rhetoric

In 1978, convicted killer John Couey asked the state of Florida for psychiatric help.

"Personally, I feel prison ain't gonna help me," he told the police. "I feel that I need help for myself . . . I don't want to go to prison, I want help for myself."

Sentenced to five years in prison, he was released in two.

Distraught, the mother of his victim sought a restraining order to keep Couey away from her daughter. "He has had no rehabilitation for this sickness."

In a report released November 14, 2007 Governor Crist--and state Supreme Court Justice R. Fred Lewis-- described the Florida jail and prison system as "psychiatric warehouses".

(Good timing, considering the National Mental Health Association- stated the very same-- "our nation's jails and prisons have become, by default, the psychiatric warehouses of the new millennium"--back in 1999).

On any given day in Florida," the report says, "there are approximately 16,000 prison inmates, 15,000 local jail detainees, and 40,000 individuals under correctional supervision in the community who experience serious mental illness. Annually, as many as 125,000 people with mental illnesses requiring immediate treatment are arrested and booked into Florida jails."

How did Florida reach this point? By repeating past mistakes.

Because there was no network of community-based mental-health services to replace state institutions that were phased out in the '60s and '70s, "jails and prisons once again function as de facto mental-health institutions for people with severe and disabling mental illnesses."

On March 18, 2005, nine-year-old Jessica Lunsford was found dead, buried in a shallow grave under the back porch of a mobile home.

John Couey was sentenced for her rape and murder on August 24, 2007.

How horribly avoidable.

Go for Launch

T-minus seventeen more shopping days.

Good grief.

This weekend, it's time for me to get off my pad and launch my holiday spirit.

Failure to do so is not an option.

Are you as behind as I am, ready to scrub the entire mission?

Talk to Me.

Look Away

Brevard County teens have raised the Confederate flag two times in less that one month.

What's all the flap about that flag?

Diane Roberts, an eighth generation Floridian and essayist offers her insights on the "cultural power of the banner."

You think we'd be over it by now.

(..)

The Confederate battle flag haunts us black and white. Or maybe it taunts us. I don't know. John Sims, the artist says the white south simply cannot give up the flag. He says "There's some kind of separation anxiety that's become hereditary."

(...)

The Sons of the Confederate Veterans ... don't see why they should give up the flag. For them, it would mean abandoning a symbol of independence, a legacy of courage and sacrifice.

They say the flag signifies heritage, not hate.

A lot of Floridians like to pretend Florida isn't part of the south.... Florida wasn't like Alabama or Georgia. Except... Florida was exactly like Alabama or Georgia. In Florida, the battle flag presided over cross burnings and lynchings.

(...)

The fact of it remains....

The heritage of the flag--too much of it is hate.

And that's what the flap's all about.

Splitting Logs

Much has been written on whether Abraham Lincoln-with his odd looks-could prove electable in today's world of polished media images.

Honest Abe would certainly stand out in stark comparison with the likes of candidates such as anchor man handsome Mitt Romney or a freshly coiffed John Edwards.

Although his voice was said to project a bit shrill--and who hasn't heard shrill lately--radio would prove more Lincoln's game, an arena where he could gather his gangly body behind a microphone to express his verbal himself, vanishing "...all thought of consciousness of his uncouth appearance, or awkward manner, or even his high keyed, unpleasant voice."

NPR provided such a format earlier this week via radio debate from Iowa. Seven Democratic candidates for President roundtabled in discussion of Iran, China, and immigration.

Heck, Mike Gravel even joined in the fun.

Gone was the press, sequestered away after a few photo ops.

Gone was the tell-tale body language of the candidates.

Gone was the who stood where beside whom play by play.

Gone was the tackiness of You Tube.

The posturing peacocks (and peahen) planted their plumage in a seat and discussed the topics face-to-face for two hours.

The lack of distractions allowed listeners focus on the real issues facing their lives, instead of the plumage fanning the candidates.

Who needs television?

In fact, I'd lay odds that NPR could conduct a civil on-air debate between the candidates of both parties gathered round for a nice chat over tea. (What a novel idea).

And I think old Abe would have fit right in.

I Want to be President

Kids say the darndest things.

Back when my son was a kindergarten student, every morning the students gathered around the teacher to write the Morning News. As the kids reported their local buzz--important news bits shared about their small piece of the world--the teacher recorded each thought on a large sheet of easel paper, brightly colored markers guttenberging the Denealian print for all to read.

"I went to the Dollar store."

"My sister pushed me off my bike."

"We went to Walmart at midnight." (Teacher makes mental note to fact check with Mom).

"It rained this morning."

"My grandmother went to President Clinton's inauguration in Washington D.C."

That's my boy.

I just hope a Nurse Ratched-type doesn't pull a Hillary on him somewhere down the line.

***

Slap Hillary here.

Too Soon

The routine of life has a way of blending one day into the next.

We rise before dawn, rush about the morning routine to get to where we need to go, only to return home at the end of the day to rush around some more before finally calling it a day. Bone-tired and weary, we fall into bed and shut our eyes against our accomplishments of the day, only to wake the next morning and repeat the same scenario all over again.

We complain about having to do this and that, to be here or there, with never enough time to get it all done, to get everyone everywhere they need to go, and we are not always happy about it, yet we continue to do the same old same old, day in, day out. Some of us cope by wishing our lives away--when the kids are grown, I'll do this or more short-term yearning, is it Friday yet?

Much of our time is spent thinking about tomorrow, never thinking twice that the next day and the day after that will dawn. We expect--if the creek doesn't rise---that the gorgeous Florida sun will continue to rise over the Atlantic and melt all orange aglow in the west evening sky.

We take so much for granted. Life--it's gonna happen.

Intellectually, we know death waits for us all, but not to you or me today---We've got things to do--and certainly, not for our kids. Children grow up. They outlive their parents. It's the natural order. It's what we expect will happen.

Sudden death slams the door shut on expectations.

No second chance to say I love you, I appreciate you, thank you, I'm sorry, come sit by me and give us a hug. No opportunity to sit and breathe deep the moments that fully engage our lives. No more dreams of what might have been. No chance for a final glance backward, a quick wave of the hand in good-bye. All we knew with such certainty is shattered.

Our dreams are stolen.

The death of Rafe Maccarone--just 15 years old--reminds us to expect that the creek could rise for any of us at anytime.

Make time to take time. Hold those you love close and live each day as if there is no tomorrow.

My deepest condolences to the Maccarone family.

Citizen Challenge

I issue a challenge to Brevard County's opinionated, the civically aware, those citizens with a voice.

The Florida Today Editorial Board seeks applicants for the 2008-2009 Citizen Advisory Board. The only requirement is an interest in current affairs and a commitment to meet one hour monthly.

And...for those whose fingers fly across the keyboard to express thoughts to screen, this is your chance to blog rhapsodic and during an election year, imagine the possibilities to interact with members of the community via your own blog.

What an opportunity to effect discussion, maybe even a solution or two.

First meeting is scheduled for January 2008.

Interested? Contact editorial page editor John Glisch or write him at FLORIDA TODAY, P.O. Box 419000, Melbourne, FL 32941-9000.

For those who mix it up here on a regular basis, this is your chance to make it real.

Go for it.

Call Me

Hey, Brevard County.

This weekend...it's all about you.

What caught your attention this past week?

I want to hear all about it.

Talk to Me.