My Parents I From Fugitives to Citizens

When Ronald Reagan pushed the 1986 Immigration and Reform Act, I was a 15-year-old kid, clueless about how that law would impact the life of my parents and millions of other immigrants. I always smile during the opening scene of the move Scarface because of  the over the top depiction of people running wild in the streets. In my house, there was no celebration because my parents always lived and carried themselves like they belonged here.

In 1986, there was an estimated 2.7 million illegal immigrants. Today, the number ranges from 11 to 20 million depending upon your source or more/less importantly, your political leanings. Unfortunately, the issue has provided politicians a never-ending game of ping-pong every 2 to 4 years. Healthcare, your job and your safety are always in jeopardy (until the elections are over). As is the case with most issues of national importance, the truth can often be found somewhere in the middle – literally. States like Nebraska have seen a 295% increase between 1990 – 2010 base on a study conducted by the University of Minnesota. Nebraska have some of the lowest crime rates in the country. I guess, the immigration argument can be shaped to fit the need of the person making the argument.

Nadia & Robert Reid – 17 & 19 years old – came to the United States from Belize through Mexico in 1967 or 68 (depending upon which one you ask). They both confirm that my dad came here first – which is no surprise to me – he would jump at the chance to be the first at anything. After a close call that would have changed the course of my life (my mother got caught on a bus in Tijuana, but for reasons she still can’t explain or remember, was released and allowed to continue to the US), they made it to California and promptly moved to New York. Great move for two people who grew up in 82 degree year round weather – hot and humid. Belize is the most beautiful country I’ve ever seen, but it is third world and it is impoverished. Coming to the states is what you do when you come of age – many make it, but many more do not.

 Settling in New York in the late 60’s/early 70’s was a piece of cake (and a cross country trek). Securing a social security card back then only had one requirement – stand in line and wait to receive one. How many people can say that their parents’ social security numbers are separated by one digit? (there was a guy in between them in line). My older brother Robert was born in Harlem and I was born in Connecticut after a weekend trip to Danbury convinced them to get away from New York’s hustle and bustle.

The next course of events will sound too far-fetched to be real. During a random conversation with a co-worker, my dad learned that since he had two American born children, he could become a citizen. WRONG. DEAD WRONG. Who is this knucklehead co-worker anyway? Wait – why would my father believe it? Nevermind – he believed it and he decided to become a citizen until the state of Connecticut said – no. Not only did the state say no, the United States Supreme Court ruled 5 to 4 that my parents had to leave the country (A supreme court that included Thurgood Marshall and William H. Rehnquist). 

see case: http://supreme.justia.com/cases/federal/us/420/619/case.html

Deportation was scheduled for Friday – back then, you were supposed to surrender. Well, they didn’t. On the advice of their lawyer (my mom kept in contact with him for many years until he passed away) they moved to Los Angeles, remained model citizens and the authorities never came looking for these fugitives of justice. (If you are ever lucky enough to meet my parents, the last term you would use to describe them would be  — fugitives).

In 1987 after Ronald Reagan’s controversial Amnesty decision, my parents were able to file for legal residency becoming naturalized citizens in 1989.

 The United States offers so many opportunities for millions of people. Many of us ignore, squander or take those opportunities for granted because we were fortunate enough to be born in this great land. The story of my parents is far from unique but closer than I ever realized. All they wanted was an opportunity to make a life And they had the courage to make it happen.

I guess youth isn’t always wasted on the young.

They made the most of their opportunity  — they became citizens of the United States.

NYC Love 1969

The Crescent City l Easy Does It

Travel to New Orleans prepared to engage a city willing to participate. I humbly admit that I’ve spent most of my time traveling east & west and less time moving north & south. I love urban landscapes – tall buildings, mass movement – the full spectrum of the entire human canvas of people. Too much of any one thing limits me – or so I’m discovering, or – maybe I’m finally embracing it – or…I’m over-thinking all of it.

The perfect business trip allows opportunity to put on a pair of jeans on your in-between-time and, needless to say – I got lucky. 84 hours was long enough for me to understand that there’s so much more to the city than just the French Quarter.

Fresh off of the plane in a cab headed downtown. I started by asking my cab driver, Lillee (Lee-Lee) Why do they call it – The Big Easy? – she took her sweet time and said, Because we ain’t in a hurry to pretty much do anything – we got time. Time almost seemed to stop. Evenings seem to continue on because the music never seems to stop. 

The French Quarter is the major party destination with endless bars, art galleries, hotels and adult entertainment options. It’s definitely worth a walk thru. Touristy but not in a way that makes you feel trapped. Walk four blocks in any direction and you’re in the clear (unless of course, it’s Mardi Gras). One night of cautious, guarded, slow motion fascination, led to a second night of flame throwing, red eyes in the morning suicidal dancing and alcohol enjoyment. I don’t usually operate in such extremes, but that’s just kinda how it all worked out.

Food and music are probably the two most influential exports. Crawfish, duck, dirty rice, all day long. If you’re going to eat, you’re going to need to move – and when I say move, I mean – dance. Dancing lead me to a hidden treasure – Frenchmen street.

Less than a quarter the size of the French Quarter but, it packs a powerful punch. Everyone and I mean everyone on the strip of live entertainment bars can play an instrument. Every, father, mother and child. Every doorman, club owner and homeless person. I stood next to a woman for 30 minutes who was dressed like a librarian. A minute later, she joined the band playing upright bass (later I sparked a conversation – finding out she was a French jazz musician from Chicago with a French southern accent) – I’m telling you, everyone can play. Bands of teenagers standing on the corner blowing trumpets, saxophones and trombones. Let that sink in. Kids, out at night, playing in a band. I felt like I stepped into a 1972 Miles Davis Album cover. I maneuvered back and forth between clubs all with live blues/jazz bands playing like they had nothing to lose. The better the band, the more packed the club. Grown up music everywhere you turn.

During my stay, I asked everyone the same question – what brought you to New Orleans and I discovered that many people found their way to the Crescent City by the pull of freedom. New Orleans accepts you as you are. Pack your bags and show up. They don’t care who you are – just be who you are. That’s pretty attractive quality for any city.

36 hours later I was gone with plans to return. I’ll go again and just – be. 

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The Last Bookstore

 

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Yes – I am alive and yes, it’s been a while (six months) since my last offer of discovery. Sometimes, that’s the way it goes. Writing & reading are consistent in my life, but sharing it is not. I’m still adapting, still learning and still discovering.

This one doesn’t require much wordplay. I offer a visual dialogue of what I believe is the most unique bookstore I’ve ever seen.

The Last Bookstore is located on 5^th & Spring Street in downtown Los Angeles. Standing tall on a corner lot, on what I believe to be — the most diverse and socially conscious street downtown.It’s located in a former bank building complete with a refurbished second floor vault. How can I describe it? 

 A few years ago, I went to a Tim Burton exhibit at LACMA, which provided insight into his mind as a young artist. If you gave Tim an empty space with a 30 foot ceiling and said,  “design a book store” – The Last Bookstore would be his vision. A funky appeal and incredible reasonable, the bookstore operates on a pay-it-forward business model. Most books are priced at $1.00 to $10.00. They also replenish their shelves by buying books like a vintage clothing store in the La Brea/Melrose corridor (the way I should be earning a living – vintage clothing entrepreneur).

The vision of independence is what strikes me the most. I couldn’t imagine another store like it. If you’re looking for the rarest copy of a book on photography or, Dave Brubeck on vinyl, they might have it. It’s a treasure hunt – for anyone who enjoys the hunt. I enjoy the hunt.It’s also the “go to” spot for intellectual stimulation and consciousness (I’m not sure I really understand the meaning of every word in the previous sentence). There’s no Wifi for a reason. Your attention can’t be diverted.

UPCOMING EVENTS

1. JUN
30
Sun

   1. 3:00 pm Millicent Gappell: The Art of Myths & Music
2. JUL
1
Mon

   1. 8:00 pm Speak Easy: Open Mic Mondays
3. JUL
2
Tue

   1. 7:00 pm NERD ROCK: Major music @ The Last Bookstore
4. JUL
8
Mon

   1. 8:00 pm Speak Easy: Open Mic Mondays

I’ve never walked in the store looking for a book, but a book always seems to find me.

Currently reading: Steal Like An Artist – 10 Things Nobody Told You About Being Creative, by Austin Kleon.

 My goal is to keep this place a secret so please don’t tell anyone. 

 www.lastbookstorela.com

453 S Spring St  Los Angeles, CA 90013
(213) 488-0599

The Celebration of Allowing Yourself to Begin Again

Day one – I love the first day of everything. First day of school, first day of the week (I’m talking Sunday, not Monday) and today, first day of a Brand New YEAR!

The New Year is probably the single most joy-filled 72-96 hours, all over the world — at the same time. How great is that?  How great is it to know that you can write a brand new chapter to your life starting today?

I usually spend the first week of the New Year greeting every familiar face with best wishes to a new start, which is an amazing return on investment. The calendar turning for me is  — the universe allowing us the perfect starting point and measuring stick for realignment and rejuvenation.

It’s like a natural U-turn. If you’re going the wrong way, you can discover the right direction just in time to – turn around. Right the ship. Set the course. Goal setting with a manageable and perfectly calculated timeframe to adjust, review, push harder, listen closer and strive smarter to meet & achieve those goals.

12 months to add or subtract, multiply or divide lessons of life.

You can set Pay it Forward type goals like  –  saying good morning to everyone or smiling with warmth. Life changing goals like — planning a trip filled with cultural discovery and growth — Financial goals that encourage discipline and belief — Nutritional goals that inspire and reform you — Spiritual goals that enhance and refill you  –- Creative goals that refine & challenge you — this is what I love about being blessed to live and start New again.

A New Year is the celebration of allowing ourselves to begin again. The ball dropping is the back door closing and front door opening at the same time. Goodbye – but HELLO!

Hello with open arms to a new year of optimism and growth. 2013! Arriving just in time. 

Gentrified | My Human Experience

I’ve come to learn a few things in life – A great punchline goes a long way, always being on time is never a bad thing, and develop a healthy routine of any kind.

I’ve also learned that people are conditioned to defend themselves and each other first – no matter how unprepared or intimidated they may be. That defense can be as subtle as an unmistakable glare to a physical show of force. Even when faced with few solutions, defense isn’t just a choice, it is a natural reaction. Homeless people know how and have a need to defend each other.

In the time that I’ve lived in downtown Los Angeles, I’ve made an effort to engage with people in a way that I’ve never done before. Public transportation and my bike have been my preferred mode of transportation – successfully  — and I am very proud of that. I’ve mentioned in an earlier post that I lived here before. I came back for some of the same reasons and — to learn a few more things about myself. Monthly art showcases, new restaurant openings, a designated bike block party once a year and many more community and coalition building events in the most diverse part of the county of Los Angeles.

Skid Row is by far, the most politically challenging issue that I believe the city faces today and there are no clear answers. Downtown is divided into 4 sections – North (Disney Concert Hall, MOCA), East – (LA River), South – (LA Live, Staples Center) and West – (Financial District) – where I live. Skid row is on the eastern tip of the city and unless you get lost, you probably wouldn’t find it (although, downtown has a very similar economic layout to most cities – the further west, the better it gets / the further east, the less desirable).

What do you do with a community of people who can’t, won’t or don’t have the ability to elevate themselves from poverty? Skid Row is about 2.5 miles from the building I live in, but it seems so much farther away. It is literally like another world. If not for paved sidewalks and familiar surroundings of an urban street, you wouldn’t believe you’re in the heart of one of the largest economies in the world. It has the distinct feel of a 3^rd world country, a tent city or a squatter community; people who’ve survived an invasion or a hurricane (to a degree, they have survived an economic invasion already). 10 years ago, Downtown Los Angeles began a very ambitious plan of urban renewal and re-gentrification and it succeeded. The area is a pool of young professionals, artists, small business owners and USC grads, living and working in this very vertical stretch of the city. Naturally, the opinion on the homeless population varies greatly among the people who live and work here. There’s a leveled tolerance that many people understand is necessary if you choose to live here, but there’s a growing position that it shouldn’t be tolerated. People shouldn’t ask for help and you shouldn’t help them. I don’t subscribe to that belief.

In the times that I’ve gone to Skid Row on my bike, I get the sense that there’s a feeling of containment which may or may not put many of them at a disadvantage. The disadvantage being that the area is cuddled by a heavy police presence at times, which discourages many predatory opportunities but falls short of real long-term solutions. As downtown re-mixed into a tourist destination, Skid Row has become strategically & politically invisible.

On a recent trip this weekend, the stark reality of human suffering struck me in a way that I haven’t experienced before. Living on the street is hard. Seeing people live on the street is even harder. It is so hard that I didn’t dare take a photo. I didn’t dare because, their dignity deserved to be preserved. Also, we are all humans and we should all defend each other.

I am grateful for plenty in my life, but I also live with my window shade up – so that I can look out and see the human experience everyday and give, in some small way to help raise that experience – but most certainly  – defend it.

4 Stories | 4 Lessons

Strength

 Kevin is a kid I met in Downtown Los Angeles – riding his bike and searching in trash cans for bottles to recycle. I see him all the time, so I promised myself that the next time I saw him, I’d ask him to tell me his story:

K – “ I’m 16, I have two younger brothers, and my mother works two jobs. I ride because I want to be a professional cyclist and it’s easier. I can make up to 15 bucks an hour depending upon how fast I ride. “

R – So you just ride, see something and stop to pick it up?

K – “Yup. I also get to spend time alone. I never get to do that at home.”

R – Good job young man. Your younger brothers need you.

K – “Thanks. I need them too.”

Kevin was dealt a tough hand in life, but he’s blessed with inner strength. I admire the calm reserve of this young man and I know that his future is brighter.

Passion 

Curtis the Sax Man (as he calls himself) plays every Thursday evening for anyone willing to listen. I learned that he is a classically trained pianist who prefers the sax because it’s easier to travel with. Being a soloist allows him to play whatever he likes. I stumbled upon Curtis one night as I was exiting the subway on the corner of 7^th & Figueroa. Curtis the Sax Man is homeless and if he didn’t tell me, I wouldn’t have known.

Curtis the Sax Man

“ I play because I love music” – to which I responded, “ I stopped because I like what I’m hearing.” As I walked home, I thought about the challenges he must overcome every day. I look for him every Thursday now because I am cheering for him. I know the day is coming when I won’t see him on that corner again – at least – that is my wish. If I don’t see him, I know he’ll still be playing somewhere with the same passion. 

Perseverance

I met an Asian husband & wife, Mr. & Mrs. Fong – selling $10 dollar sunglasses on the Venice Boardwalk. Their english was limited, but not their wish to succeed. I wanted badly to ask them their story, but it’s probably easier to connect the dots. Here’s my guess: They came here on vacation, loved it and decided to stay and open an accessories booth on the Venice boardwalk. Probably not right?  Their story is probably more likely closer to this: emigrants looking for a better life. There are millions of stories in Los Angeles like that including my own parents. They have a daughter who was right by their side — watching & learning a lesson more valuable than money. The ability to keep pushing and persevere is not an easy discipline to master, but they’ve got a handle on it. Good for them. 

Fortunate

I am a basketball player for a million reasons: Competition. Struggle. Reward. Lessons. Passion. Teamwork. Hustle. Collective problem solving. Sweat. Strength. Joy. Agony. Fun. Skill. Leadership. Learning. Life.  I’ve been blessed with good health which allows me to continue and enjoy a game that has taught me so many life lessons.

My home court

There are thousands of outdoor places in Los Angeles to play and I’ve run up and down many courts, but for the last 15 years, I’ve maintained one indoor home court and I continue to count that court as one of many blessings. Nice facility, quality players & good people. That’s all I need and that’s all I ask for. I consider myself very fortunate.

 

 I share with you a few of the many blessings I recognize each & every day.  My days of wanting more have been replaced by acknowledging all that I have.  I am grateful for Kevin, Curtis and the Fongs’ for providing some of those lessons.  Stories of strength, perseverance and passion are always worth sharing — because it is a reminder that we are all fortunate & blessed in many ways.

My open Letter on Los Angeles Fashion Trends (& Mistakes) | Skinny Jeans for men

It starts at the ankles

Let me first start with this admission  – I am a clothing connoisseur  and my closet is a BEAST – yup, I’ve always consumed clothes like some people consume water or alcohol. Yes, I know – I have a problem, but so what, I usually donate a ton of clothes, so in my mind, it all balances out. Trends and styles spread faster today than they ever have. 20 years ago, you had to rely on MTV if you were in Los Angeles to see what was happening in New York and vice versa.  The Internet has changed that.

 Now clearly, I’m not a real critic – I simply play one on this blog. Anything I say is based on my distorted view and in no way reflects the views of someone who wants to be taken seriously. With that being said, I want you to take this seriously:

Skinny jeans for men – what on earth caused this to happen? 25 years ago, you were either slim or husky (I was husky). No boot cut, no wide leg, no skinny. Why do I see more and more young guys committed to the skinny look? There’s several glaring issues caused by wearing skinny jeans:

• You must be skinny to pull it off successfully and when I say skinny, I mean – remember when you were 16? Well, subtract 4 years from that. Yup, you must have the body of a 12 year old — who hasn’t eaten in 4 days (not eating eliminates me right off the bat).

• Your feet instantly become bigger because of the tapered cuff. If you already have big feet, you’re now ready for the nearest clown audition because skinny jeans with big feet are hilarious. You may as well get paid while people laugh at you.

• Along with bigger feet comes –bright, narrow shoes. It seems like the store almost forces you to buy a pair of starburst colored shoes. I guess it all  makes some sort of sense. Fashion right?

• You can’t put anything in your pockets thicker than a credit card. Seriously. Trying to put an iphone in your front pocket is equivalent to a ballet dancer carrying a brick in her leotard. No exaggeration  (OK, just a little).

Alex Resurrecion & Jose Trinidad

 Why wear a belt? If you’re skinny enough to wear skinny jeans, your pants are not falling down. Chances are, your thigh muscle isn’t much bigger than the fat part of your thumb – if your thumb were swollen. Wearing a belt is simply insulting to the rest of us regular sized folk.

 I really believe that the designer is pulling a fast one. Think about it – you’re paying full price for less material right? Why let the designer off the hook? They know those jeans won’t be around in 12 months and you’ll be back to buy a regular pair when your body matures to the level of a normal adult.

 Skinny jeans lead to skinny ties — which leads to skinny suits. The slope is too slippery to take the risk. Skateboarders, young professionals and even athletes are all rockin’ the skinny attire.

 As you can see by the photos of Alex & Jose – the skinny jean train has already left the station. To be young — Rolled up cuffs, no socks — Yes Sir!

 

Welcome to the look and style of the young & fashionable.

Honor | Declaring My Truth

I like Miles Davis |  I like John Coltrane |  I like LeBron |  I like James Taylor  |  I like fake leather Spalding basketballs | I like vino  |  I like Apple Products  |  I like the color red  |  I like Sony TVs  | I like books  |  I like Orchids  |  I like physical exertion  |  I like Dodger Blue baseball caps  |  I like Vintage stores  |  I like chocolate brown furniture  |  I like Black |  I like White  | I like HBO  |  I like technology  | I like gym bags  |  I like spirituality  |  I like Gandhi  |  I like  large tables  |  I like Sushi  |  I like Martin Luther King  |  I like curiosity  |  I like full names  |  I like dreams  |  I like new  |  I like stories  |   I like calm  |  I like Aretha  |  I like  renewal  |  

 

I like  –Yes Sir!  |  I like Barack |  I like Jeopardy  |  I like tranquility | I like Atari  |  I like Malcolm Gladwell |  I like sleep | I like Blue Moon | I like bow ties |   I like Robert Nesta Marley |  I like patience  |  I like Starbucks  | I like margaritas  | I like age  |  I like Sunday  |  I like rain  |  I like  humor  |  I like ambition  |  I like  change  | I like Diversity  |  I like candles  |  I like Google  |  I like recollection  |

 

I like  — Yes Ma’am!  | I like Los Angeles  | I like charity  |  I like reading |  | I like writing |  I like Jack Purcells  | I like smiles  | I like feeling better  |  I like assistance  |  I like fancy  |  I like the name Billie | I like Drake’s song construction  |  I like chicken n’ waffles  |  I like Vodka |  I like intelligence   |  I like truth  |  I like the name Nadia  |  I like Belize | I like rice, beans & meat  | I like Nike  |  I like Adidas  |  I like revival  |  I like resilience  |  I like GQ, Esquire & men’s Journal magazines  |  I like living  well  |  I like eyewear  |   I like calculations  | I like New York  | I like photography  |  I like laughing  |  I like walking  | I like Anita  |   I like Golden Retrievers  |  I like Oprah  |  I like wing tips  |  I like travel  |  I like brown  |  I like gray   |  I like Tattoos |  I like nice  |  I like subways  | I like fear  | I like salvation  |  I like mornings  |  I like pride  |  I like Innocence   | I like  growth  |  I like redemption  |

 

| I certainly like my chances |  

I like my Journey.

The Los Angles Subway System | A view of The Sounds from Underground

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Transportation & congestion. My poor yet righteous theme for the first six months of blog entries has reached a critical point. My frame of reference is larger and my experience is much richer. The City of Angels has presented a solution that most people are unaware of or would probably never try – and her name is The Subway. So, I took it upon myself to move a step away from my comfort zone to begin traveling underground.

 I say that I moved one step away (really more like a half-step) because — the route I travel isn’t too challenging. I don’t ride multiple trains and I live close to a subway station. I know, it’s not exactly as gut wrenching as many other people who travel for dozens of miles, but I have a car with air conditioning (currently available for sub-leasing, 6 days a week)  — so it’s still a noble endeavor. Giving up your car in Los Angeles is like watching Laverne with no Shirley. Just can’t do it.

The last time I used public transportation in Los Angeles was 27 years ago. What I recall from that experience was broken down people movers that never ran on time.  Every bus seemed to have someone sitting in the back, prosthelytizing about the last days on earth (I’m glad they’ve been wrong all these years later).

Your bus pass consisted of a piece of paper with your picture sandwiched by two plastic laminates. That was
the extent of bus pass sophistication. You had to show the bus driver. Really, just show it to the bus driver.

Not anymore. In 2012, bus passes look more like credit cards with a magnetic strip.

 New York will always be considered the Grand Puba when it comes to public transportation on a massive scale. Millions of people a day and thousands of operators moving every-which-way underground by necessity — successfully. Will that be Los Angeles one day? Hell no, but – BUT – at least we‘ve opened the door to that possibility.

 

My first day was interesting – not knowing that my Tap Metro Card needs to be tapped on the turnstile and getting on the wrong train headed in the wrong direction. I imagine I wasn’t the first person who didn’t ask questions. Every station has a different theme – kinda cool. Clean subway cars with little graffiti, I certainly didn’t expect that. Word on the subway is – eating will get you a $160 ticket (yes, where there’s a way, there’s another revenue opportunity). Choosing to skip the $1.50 fare one way, can draw you a $200 ticket. Not a smart gamble, but I see at least one person a week pay the consequence for being cheap.

          I didn’t know what to expect when I headed down the stairs for the first time – part of me was hoping to see a futuristic, Japanese inspired creation – bullet trains that look like something from the Jetsons cartoon. No go. The model of a typical subway hasn’t changed much over the last 100 years. If it’s not broken, why update it? It probably would have been cool to let Steve Jobs design a subway station.

 Moving on – on time. Yes, you don’t think about time, or at least I never thought about it until I began to maximize it. You escape all traffic hurdles underground. No pot holes, no stoplights, no text messaging close calls. All smooth, all the time. A train arrives every 7 minutes during peak hours.

Imagine knowing what time you’re going to leave a spot, travel across town – and arrive to the exact minute you expected to? Come on now, that’s a little a taste of heaving right there.  You also get to people watch, which is damn cool. A kid dancing using the reflection of the glass, in his own world  – in front of a full subway car | a woman who sleeps every morning and wakes up at the last stop to go to work | Me, always standing and always listening to music or reading, holding a small lunch bag | A Yoga devotee always carrying her mat in the morning | a guy always wearing sunglasses – underground. 

My travel just became easier and I am a fan of that. Dodger games are a breeze to attend, but more importantly, I’m blessed with less stress. A movie in Hollywood? 13 minutes. Going to North Hollywood? Don’t go around the canyon, go under it. Long Beach? I’m there. It’s all too easy now. I wish I had something bad to say but I don’t. Gas prices be damned, this is an experience of the sacred.

 Best of all — I get to listen to My Favorite Things by John Coltrane – all 17:36 –uninterrupted & walk way more than I ever did before. When the song ends, I have reached my destination. Yup, my new way to get around.

 

 

Now — I Remember What I Was Doing Before

I remember when I didn’t tell you my favorite music playlist. I remember when I had a good lunch and didn’t take photos before choosing the right one to post on my timeline. I remember when life’s challenges required my undivided attention. I remember living – a little less virtual.

I remember when I used to speak on the phone to friends. I remember when setting a time to meet and connecting required effort. I remember when a sports discussion would take place at the actual sporting event.  I remember when our political opinions could only be found in one place – a bumper sticker.

I remember when I read a great article and I didn’t immediately concern myself with who to share it with. I remember when my phone alerted me to an incoming call by ringing. I remember when I used to write with a pen & paper. I remember when photos of my life’s journey were kept in a photo album. I remember when I went to the store and didn’t tell anyone else about it. I remember reminiscing with a life-long friend – just the two of us.

I remember when I bought inexpensive gas quietly. I remember when I sat in traffic patiently and didn’t tell you. I remember when I helped a homeless person and didn’t think twice about posting it. I remember when I had a basketball conversation — while playing basketball. I remember when I read the Sunday paper on Sunday — in the sun. I really remember — laughing out loud.

I guess you can say — I just checked in.