Have you ever had the opportunity to experience total solitude for a week? Time to focus on your writing and exist in a world where it’s not even necessary to block the rest of the world out because for that chunk of time, the rest of the world doesn’t exist in your life? I had this experience for the first time recently when I attended a retreat at the Ricardo Palma House…
Having grown up being taught about the “American Dream,” it’s hard to wrap my arms around the reality of 41 million people living in poverty in my country. This UN observer, having investigated other countries in the past, now visits communities in the US where people have no income, no access to bathrooms, no place to sleep and no hope.
The UN’s Philip Alston’s “fact-finding mission into the richest nation the world has ever known has led him to investigate the tragedy at its core: the 41 million people who officially live in poverty.”
“My role is to hold governments to account,” he said. “If the US administration doesn’t want to talk about the right to housing, healthcare or food, then there are still basic human rights standards that have to be met. It’s my job to point that out.”
“You took the bus? Weren’t you the only non-native person riding?” Isabel is shocked to learn that the observer rides busses. The look of concern, if not outright horror, on her face makes it clear that this is one thing about the city which she has never learned. “I could have sent my driver for you. Weren’t you afraid of being robbed?” Robbed. On a crowded bus. It could happen, she thinks, remembering the young man who insisted on vacating his seat for her. The man jumping on and off busses all day to earn enough cash to survive. The old lady bending with the weight of her huge shopping bags as she climbed the steps to board. It could happen…
My New England stories are based on my memories of growing up in a small New England town. The stories, and the memories, are so much a part of me that I don’t always know which parts are something I experienced and which parts live in the imagination of my […]
Mr Miller had lived in the cabin in the southeast corner of Porter’s field for as long as most people in town could remember. Everybody called it Mr Miller’s cabin, but really it was just a little wooden shack. If you were riding up Porter Road, you might not even notice it, tucked away in the clearing behind the stand of Eastern White Pines. When the wind blew through those trees, you could hear their eerie song all the way down the hill.
This is the ultimate in anti-consumerism and I’m absolutely fascinated by the whole idea. I don’t know how many times I’ve had something I wanted to give away but had no idea where to give it or who to give it to. I’m going to have to investigate whether […]
Tomorrow will be another day – and I will hear of another person who is doing amazing new things to improve the world we live in. And who knows – maybe I will blog about it. If my posts seem rather disjointed and themeless, it’s probably because I’m still playing […]