Vulcan tendencies

This column original appeared in print in July, 2006.

RIP, Mr. Spock (photo courtesy of nypost.com)

I get asked all the time by friends, strangers, readers of this column, and the occasional ex-boyfriend, — why I’m “still” single. (more…)

Sarasota’s All-America City Quest

This column appeared in the Pelican Press newspaper, June 29, 2006.

Sarasota County was recently designated an “All-America County.”

County Commission Chairman David Mills, quoted on the County’s website, predicted this recognition would have “long-lasting effect on the Sarasota community.”

And County Administrator Jim Ley, quoted in a June 8 Sarasota Herald-Tribune article by Doug Sword, described the community pride that would result from this award as a “priceless commodity.”

But there is a price tag – estimated at about $27,000 in public funds according to Sword’s reporting.

For that $27k we get to put signage and decals around public buildings and businesses and proclaim ourselves as “All-America” for years to come. That is pretty long-lasting, I’ll admit, though I’m not sure its “effect” is all that profound.

Many would argue that $27,000 was PR-money well spent if it fosters civic pride, or that 27 grand is chump change in the overall county budget, so where’s the harm?

It is certainly a well-deserved accolade for the county employees and volunteers who bust their butts every day trying to make Sarasota a better place for all.

But priceless? Let’s take a look.

There are county residents – men, women, and children — who are drowning in poverty, illiteracy, and hunger. What could $27,000 in tax dollars have bought for them?

According to the All Faiths Food Bank website, a $5,000 donation results in 25,000 meals. I can do a little math; that translates to 135,000 all-American meals. A hot meal must seem pretty priceless when you’re hungry, even if its effects are short-term.

Want something a little longer lasting?

The Literacy Council of Sarasota estimates that 20 percent of area adults are “functionally illiterate.” That means one out of every five adults can’t fill out a job application or read a newspaper. Even if they wanted to feel that priceless civic pride Jim Ley spoke of, how are they going to find out about it if they can’t read?

A phone call to the Literacy Council yielded the following insight: It would cost them about $1,000 (excluding volunteer time) to take an adult from functional illiteracy to functional literacy.

The staffer I spoke with ball-parked this figure based on the Council’s annual operating budget, the cost of books for literacy students, and the number of people they serve. She also told me that children of illiterate adults are twice as likely to be illiterate once they reach adulthood themselves.

So, in exchange for the A-A status, we could have raised 27 county adults out of their illiteracy and given them and their children a fighting chance at literacy and all the benefits that go along with that.
By educating 27 adults you would be stopping the dysfunction, isolation and desolation of family illiteracy for generations to come.
You would be giving people the means to find jobs, lift themselves from poverty, empower them to vote, and ultimately lessen their burden on County services over not just one year, but over decades.

That sounds pretty priceless and long-lasting to me.

I have friends and colleagues in the County. I know they and the many volunteers they work with are hardworking folks who do a lot of good for a lot of people. And I understand the value of promoting that.

But spending taxpayers’ dollars to do it? It just doesn’t sit right.

I don’t believe real pride – the kind that fosters a community and effects change, true change, for all — is achieved by some ephemeral designation, no matter how laudatory.

I think real pride in a community is cultivated by knowing that someone’s got your back. Loyalty is a powerful motivator and it isn’t cultivated by vanity awards. It’s cultivated by making hard decision on where dollars go, and by standing up and by and for the ones you call neighbors.

What if the County had issued a statement saying, “Yeah, we came this close to spending $27,000 on an All-America designation, but instead we decided to put your money where our mouth is”?

I know it’s not as glamorous as the fancy, red, white and blue designation, but I’ve got to believe it would have inspired just as much, if not more, good publicity, lasting, measurable results, and sincere, all-American pride among county taxpayers. And that sounds pretty priceless to me.

Siesta at sunset

All the clichés are true. No day is a bad day if you’ve watched the sun set on the beach. It’s the one experience you can count on time and time again to reliably clear your head, give you perspective, and make you appreciate what you’ve got.

And while it may cost you a small fortune to get there when you factor in the price of gas – once you’re there, watching the sun set at the edge of oceanic ad infinitum – that’s priceless.

Being at the beach at the close of the day soothes mind, body, and spirit. It works like this:

You start out feeling 70, even if you’re 40, as you plow your tired legs through those first few feet of sand. By the time you reach the water’s edge, your body starts waking up as if from a sleep, the muscles in your shoulders tart to relax and the corners of your mouth lift into the faintest trace of a smile. A quick dip into the breach leaves you feeling almost like a kid of 30 again (until an actual 20-year old walks by and then you jolt back to reality real quick). The best thing is, while you’re in the water, you feel like you’ve left 10 pounds up there by the lifeguard stand, along with your beach towel and car keys.

A walk on the beach at sunset can get you through any rough patch in your life. The sand acts as a pumice not just for your feet, but for the frayed and weary edges of your spirit, smoothing the calluses of the day from your mind and heart with every step you take along this world-famous beach.

It’s my favorite spot on Saturday evenings. Less crowded, a bit more quiet. Pelicans dive-bombing the water. Sanderlings skittering along. Colonies of seagulls facing west. It’s hard to waste time obsessing about why your boss wants to meet with you on Monday morning, or wondering why you don’t have a date on date night, when you’ve got the whole wide world at your feet.

As long as you ignore the lip-locked lovers and beach weddings, you can almost start feeling optimistic about walking the beach solo – again – for the umpteenth Saturday night. If you let yourself, you can imagine that there’s a reason the world works the way it does. The mesmerizing infinity of the waves pulls a kind of calmness out of you that maybe 15 minutes before you had no idea you possessed.

Watching that brilliant burnt orange slip into the horizon is even more hypnotic. It’s a little like that delicious moment when you first realize you’ve fallen in love. Your heart expands, you breathe in, the moment suspends.

It’s the same thing for the sunset watchers. Just before the sun sinks, there’s a collective pause on the beach. Couples, runners, photographers – you can almost hear the held breaths. And for just that moment, as the day relinquishes to night, everything’s right in the world.

On the beach, at sunset, it works like that.

The art of (yard) war

I’ve finally broken down and hired a yard man. It only took me a year and a half of sweat and struggle to finally accept that I’ve just got absolutely nothing on a man with a riding mower, a power blower, a nifty edger, and biceps bigger than Popeye’s.

Oh, I moved to Sarasota absolutely sure I’d never hire a yard man. “What’s the matter with these people?” I wondered, my first month here. I never saw a single neighbor outside. Me? I was going to do my own yard work, thank you very much, and save my money for the weekly blow outs at the hair salon made necessary in high-humidity Florida. How hard could it be? (more…)

Priced out of paradise

Everyone’s always looking for the next great thing. I’m no different, I suppose, and in late 2004, for me, the next great thing was Sarasota. A native Floridian with Cracker in my bones, I’d spent a lifetime living everywhere but here.

That is, until I found myself recently divorced and living in one of the most expensive cities in the U.S. – Boston. (more…)

Congressional conundrum

A letter to our man in Washington…

Dear Vern,

How’s it going up there in our nation’s capitol? Lots of cool things to see and do, huh? But still, I know it must feel kind of crummy to be up there trying to settle in when things are in such a state of limbo down here in Florida. Surely you can’t be happy with the way things are dragging out?

(Believe me, Vern, I can sympathize. I went out on a date with this great guy in early December and he still hasn’t called to see me again … Do you think my answering machine is on the fritz? Those damn machines, they can lose messages as easily as they can lose votes, can’t they? So I’m just kind of in your shoes, you know, hanging around, waiting by the phone.) (more…)