Pretty sure I still have the "ask the audience" lifeline in play, and I'm going to use it now. Looking for any guidance you can give me in a landlord/tenant situation. Usually stuff is either common sense, or it is covered by fairly clear legal guidelines. But this situation is new (for me), and I am frankly stumped. That's where you come in . . . .
For the past four years, I have been managing a rental cabin in Crestline. After 3 and 1/2 years, the current tenant will be moving out next week. Last weekend I received a call from a couple interested in leasing it, and gave them the address so they could drive by. They pulled over in front of the cabin, and the current renter happened to be in the front. She offered to show them inside, so they received a brief tour. They liked it. Linda (name changed) called me this morning to share this, to say she really liked them, and said, "the couple is black--is that a problem for you?" Anyone who knows me even remotely should figure out how I answered that question. But then she said, "You know my next door neighbor Bill (name changed)? The older retired gentleman? Well, after they left he came over and asked what they were doing there." Bottom line: Linda and I live in the real world, where everyone gets along. Bill, on the other hand, is old school, meaning . . .well, that's part of the problem. Not really sure "how" old school (racist) he is--nor do I really care. HOWEVER, the potential renters might care.
Here's where my confusion lies: do I disclose to this nice young couple that if they move in, they may have a neighbor who doesn't like them (possibly a lot)? By doing so, would they get the (wrong) impression that I am trying to get them not to rent the cabin? Or, should this issue just be left alone to work itself out, and not even bring it up--hoping that Bill will deal with it in a "civilized" manner, and that the couple won't know or won't care about his "attitude" towards people different from himself? Honestly, I really have no idea how to proceed here--audience--you have 60 seconds, and the clock . . .starts . . .now. Any thoughts, suggestions, opinions are welcome--thanks.
Monday, July 19, 2010
Thursday, June 24, 2010
Surf City
Last spring, I was in San Diego for one of Andrew's tennis tournaments (La Jolla, to be exact, which is where I spent summers as a kid visiting my maternal grandmother) and before heading back to the IE spent some time sitting on a rock watching a pod (would that be a proper use of the word??) of surfers. For the first time in my life, I was actually struck with a desire to surf. I have friends who surf, and for some of them, the activity takes on an almost spiritual quality. Why, after 5 decades on earth this urge suddenly kicked in, I cannot explain. Regardless, here it is.
So now that my 6-week summer break is here, I figure it's now or never. Bought a book about surfing and began reading it while spending a couple days on Catalina last week. About 50 pages into it, began to realize that grabbing a surfboard and paddling out into the ocean--as a virgin--would be sort of like saying "I want to become a race car driver", renting a race car, getting out on the track and immediately shifting into 200 mph. As I read, it became apparent there are some pretty important equipment, sea conditions, safety and surfer etiquette/protocol issues to consider--not to mention the actual skills and techniques one like myself will need to acquire. (This might seem extremely obvious to most people; however, as I sat on that rock above the La Jolla shore, what I saw was this group of surfers laying on their stomachs on their boards--not many waves--at one with the ocean--such a peaceful, alluring picture. Let's just say I'm glad I had enough sense to at least pick up a book before I ended up killing myself--or someone else!)
One of my surfer friends, Terry, told me he would show me the ropes, and I could join him next time he hits the waves. Earlier this week, another friend threw out the idea of a "surf camp", which had not even crossed my mind. About 30 minutes ago, I got off the phone with Souf from San Diego Surf School, located in Pacific Beach (just a few short blocks from where Gratia, my grandmother used to live). I am signed up for a week-long Adult Surf Camp which begins this Monday. He said sometimes the camp can have as many as 10 people, but next week there will be fewer than 5, so it will almost be like getting semi-private lessons--$250 purchases the lessons (two hours each day), wet suit and board rental. I am about as giddy with excitement as I was when I first started learning to play tennis in middle school--or when my first "live" radio broadcast on KUOR debuted during my junior year at the U of R. Perhaps needless to say, more to come as the summer races toward fall . . . .
So now that my 6-week summer break is here, I figure it's now or never. Bought a book about surfing and began reading it while spending a couple days on Catalina last week. About 50 pages into it, began to realize that grabbing a surfboard and paddling out into the ocean--as a virgin--would be sort of like saying "I want to become a race car driver", renting a race car, getting out on the track and immediately shifting into 200 mph. As I read, it became apparent there are some pretty important equipment, sea conditions, safety and surfer etiquette/protocol issues to consider--not to mention the actual skills and techniques one like myself will need to acquire. (This might seem extremely obvious to most people; however, as I sat on that rock above the La Jolla shore, what I saw was this group of surfers laying on their stomachs on their boards--not many waves--at one with the ocean--such a peaceful, alluring picture. Let's just say I'm glad I had enough sense to at least pick up a book before I ended up killing myself--or someone else!)
One of my surfer friends, Terry, told me he would show me the ropes, and I could join him next time he hits the waves. Earlier this week, another friend threw out the idea of a "surf camp", which had not even crossed my mind. About 30 minutes ago, I got off the phone with Souf from San Diego Surf School, located in Pacific Beach (just a few short blocks from where Gratia, my grandmother used to live). I am signed up for a week-long Adult Surf Camp which begins this Monday. He said sometimes the camp can have as many as 10 people, but next week there will be fewer than 5, so it will almost be like getting semi-private lessons--$250 purchases the lessons (two hours each day), wet suit and board rental. I am about as giddy with excitement as I was when I first started learning to play tennis in middle school--or when my first "live" radio broadcast on KUOR debuted during my junior year at the U of R. Perhaps needless to say, more to come as the summer races toward fall . . . .
Sunday, April 4, 2010
Conditional Acceptance
We live in a world where acceptance is almost always contingent upon performance.
Mike Dunleavy, the coach of the LA Clippers basketball team, was recently fired mid-season when his team continued to spiral downward season after season.
Students are accepted to colleges and universities not because they try hard, have nice smiles or really like how a campus looks; rather, they are accepted because they scored in a certain range on the SAT and/or maintained a high GPA in high school.
Salespeople who do not sell enough product will be looking for another job, regardless of how nice they dress, how dependable they are showing up for work or how many years they worked for the company.
A driver might love working on cars, playing racing games on a PSP and going to the speedway; but if he doesn't score high enough on the written and/or driving portion of the DMV exam, a driver's license will not be granted.
In just about every area of life, we are seemingly constantly being evaluated, measured, judged, tested and scored as we attempt to gain entry or acceptance in a particular area. I am not suggesting that this is unfair; I am simply pointing out how prevalent this constant "proving oneself" to society has become.
It should come as no surprise, then, when an individual attempts to "work" or earn his or her way to heaven, trying to gain acceptance by God through sheer human effort. When practically every other area of life demands a certain level of success/performance prior to being accepted, the idea of "unconditional acceptance"--or grace--is not a concept easily understood or received.
Our pride wants to earn the approval of our Creator just as it wants to earn the approval of our professor in college, our supervisor at work or--yes--even our spouse, our children or our parents.
At this time of the year, however, the Cross of Christ--and His resurrection--cry out to us with a message of love unconditional. Here, we are accepted not for that which we have done; rather, we are wholly accepted and loved--truly unconditionally--because God SO loved the world--and each person He created. By receiving His love and forgiveness, we enter into a relationship free of requirements, expectations and guilt.
How thankful I am that while in just about every other area of life I must prove myself worthy through my performance, but in the most important relationship of all, I am loved eternally not for what I have done or will do, but simply because Jesus chose, from the foundation of time, to open wide His arms and His heart to his sheep, his children. Love unconditional. Period.
Mike Dunleavy, the coach of the LA Clippers basketball team, was recently fired mid-season when his team continued to spiral downward season after season.
Students are accepted to colleges and universities not because they try hard, have nice smiles or really like how a campus looks; rather, they are accepted because they scored in a certain range on the SAT and/or maintained a high GPA in high school.
Salespeople who do not sell enough product will be looking for another job, regardless of how nice they dress, how dependable they are showing up for work or how many years they worked for the company.
A driver might love working on cars, playing racing games on a PSP and going to the speedway; but if he doesn't score high enough on the written and/or driving portion of the DMV exam, a driver's license will not be granted.
In just about every area of life, we are seemingly constantly being evaluated, measured, judged, tested and scored as we attempt to gain entry or acceptance in a particular area. I am not suggesting that this is unfair; I am simply pointing out how prevalent this constant "proving oneself" to society has become.
It should come as no surprise, then, when an individual attempts to "work" or earn his or her way to heaven, trying to gain acceptance by God through sheer human effort. When practically every other area of life demands a certain level of success/performance prior to being accepted, the idea of "unconditional acceptance"--or grace--is not a concept easily understood or received.
Our pride wants to earn the approval of our Creator just as it wants to earn the approval of our professor in college, our supervisor at work or--yes--even our spouse, our children or our parents.
At this time of the year, however, the Cross of Christ--and His resurrection--cry out to us with a message of love unconditional. Here, we are accepted not for that which we have done; rather, we are wholly accepted and loved--truly unconditionally--because God SO loved the world--and each person He created. By receiving His love and forgiveness, we enter into a relationship free of requirements, expectations and guilt.
How thankful I am that while in just about every other area of life I must prove myself worthy through my performance, but in the most important relationship of all, I am loved eternally not for what I have done or will do, but simply because Jesus chose, from the foundation of time, to open wide His arms and His heart to his sheep, his children. Love unconditional. Period.
Friday, February 26, 2010
T-shirts
Ok, I have no idea what I am doing. Normally I am carefully crafting my blog post, but this is pure stream of consciousness. Warning: there will be no paragraph breaks, little or no proofreading, etc. It was one week ago I posted the last blog about Corey and his passion for helping people in Haiti. Well we finally received approval Wednesday from the main school district office to sell the HELP HAITI shirts at school, so we scheduled four consecutive Thursdays during both lunches. Yesterday was the first day--pretty simple set-up--table with shirts on it, PAL students standing/walking around wearing their shirts, music blaring from behind our table. Since we had just found out the day before that we could begin selling, we weren't able to have any announcements leading up to Thursday that shirts would be available. So we sold like 9 that day, but a bunch of kids were like "man, if I had known, I would have brought money--can I get one tomorrow?" So as of this afternoon, we are up to about 30 shirts sold (combination of adult staff members and students). We ran out of smalls and XLs, so I placed an updated order this afternoon before leaving campus. Then tonight got a call from Coach Heather at Cal State wanting to help out by having the women's tennis team sell them at the men's basketball regional tournament all day Tuesday--looking for 50-100 shirts. . . .yesterday morning dropped a few off to the counselors at Serrano Middle School over by San Manuel casino, and they said when they return from being off track their campus will want to sell them in April. Then there is Cajon High, who currently has last year's GV Pals. Other ideas being thrown out: get a kiosk at a mall, create a website, section off neighborhoods and go door to door . . . .My 8th graders are really into this, but because they have limited mobility/freedom, a lot is falling on me right now . . .So I'm thinking, "Should I just quit my job and sell t-shirts for Haiti full time at this point?" Perhaps not. But anyone who knows me at all knows that I've done crazier things than that . . . .
Friday, February 19, 2010
HELP HAITI
Corey, one of my 8th grade students at Golden Valley MS, was in my office a few days after the earthquake in Haiti last month. He was with a handful of his classmates, and with just a few minutes before the bell would ring for the next period I asked them which country they would want to visit if they could go anywhere in the world. I heard typical responses at first like Hawaii, Italy, Japan, etc. When it was Corey's turn, he said "Haiti". I asked him why he would want to go there, and he said he wanted to help the people affected by the earthquake.
Corey's response made a lasting impression--it resonated in my heart for days. Corey is a naturally gifted leader--elected president of the Peer Assistance Leaders group on campus, captain of the basketball team, enrolled in high-achieving GATE classes, etc. He is also a deeply spiritual young man, and is known to be found in church 2 or 3 evenings a week--and more--not because his parents say he has to--but because he has an intense longing to be there whenever possible.
Within the last couple of weeks, he has been in my office much more than usual--not because he needs counseling or is in trouble, but because he is leading an effort on campus to sell t-shirts to students and staff that say "HELP HAITI" on the front, with all profits to be donated to Compassion International. Today we dealt with the usual district garbage about following correct accounting procedures, etc. Last weekend he went to Stater Brothers with his father to see about setting up a table in front to sell the shirts (the space is reserved through March for Girl Scout cookie sales), and was in my office this afternoon with a few other PALs composing a letter to be faxed to the Stater Bros headquarters. He is also talking about starting a website thru which these shirts (black fabric with either hot pink or teal graphics--very striking!) could be sold world-wide.
Yesterday, I prayed with Corey in my office. I pray for my students all the time while driving to work in the morning; but that was the first time I remember actually praying over a student while I've been a public school counselor (ok, go ahead, fire me), and I'm thinking it will not be the last. He and 3 of his closest friends began asking me more about Compassion International. They knew I sponsored a child from Ecuador, because I have Andres' picture on my desk. Before I knew it, they were hovered around my computer scouring through children in the Dominican Republic who were in need of a sponsor. (Their first choice was a Haitian child, but Compassion has suspended child sponsorships from that country until the situation has become stabilized). They realize that for $38 a month, they could pool a portion of their lunch money and begin a "joint" sponsorship.
As I sit at my computer at home on this Friday evening, I am exhausted. Along with working as the "advisor" for this effort, I have a full plate of the usual counseling duties. But, as it always has been, the zeal of youth is contagious. I feel so incredibly blessed to have been placed in the path of such a passionate individual. True, he is looking to me for leadership. But I am looking to him for inspiration. And I am truly inspired . . . .
Corey's response made a lasting impression--it resonated in my heart for days. Corey is a naturally gifted leader--elected president of the Peer Assistance Leaders group on campus, captain of the basketball team, enrolled in high-achieving GATE classes, etc. He is also a deeply spiritual young man, and is known to be found in church 2 or 3 evenings a week--and more--not because his parents say he has to--but because he has an intense longing to be there whenever possible.
Within the last couple of weeks, he has been in my office much more than usual--not because he needs counseling or is in trouble, but because he is leading an effort on campus to sell t-shirts to students and staff that say "HELP HAITI" on the front, with all profits to be donated to Compassion International. Today we dealt with the usual district garbage about following correct accounting procedures, etc. Last weekend he went to Stater Brothers with his father to see about setting up a table in front to sell the shirts (the space is reserved through March for Girl Scout cookie sales), and was in my office this afternoon with a few other PALs composing a letter to be faxed to the Stater Bros headquarters. He is also talking about starting a website thru which these shirts (black fabric with either hot pink or teal graphics--very striking!) could be sold world-wide.
Yesterday, I prayed with Corey in my office. I pray for my students all the time while driving to work in the morning; but that was the first time I remember actually praying over a student while I've been a public school counselor (ok, go ahead, fire me), and I'm thinking it will not be the last. He and 3 of his closest friends began asking me more about Compassion International. They knew I sponsored a child from Ecuador, because I have Andres' picture on my desk. Before I knew it, they were hovered around my computer scouring through children in the Dominican Republic who were in need of a sponsor. (Their first choice was a Haitian child, but Compassion has suspended child sponsorships from that country until the situation has become stabilized). They realize that for $38 a month, they could pool a portion of their lunch money and begin a "joint" sponsorship.
As I sit at my computer at home on this Friday evening, I am exhausted. Along with working as the "advisor" for this effort, I have a full plate of the usual counseling duties. But, as it always has been, the zeal of youth is contagious. I feel so incredibly blessed to have been placed in the path of such a passionate individual. True, he is looking to me for leadership. But I am looking to him for inspiration. And I am truly inspired . . . .
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
unexpected blessings
This past May a mom came into my office with her 12-year-old son. He was a GATE student who had just done a pretty dumb thing on campus and his mom was looking for some answers so it wouldn't happen again. I began asking some basic questions, and while we were talking Ana (the mom) looked over at some pictures of my past tennis teams sitting on a table and said "Oh, my son plays tennis". "Really", I replied, "that's great". "No, I mean, Andrew's really good--he plays tournaments." I said something like I'd love to see him play sometime, we finished our meeting, mom left campus and I gave Andrew a pass back to class.
Within a few weeks, Ana had emailed me the tournament schedule for the summer. I printed it out, checked my calendar and determined I would make a trip out to Lakewood the weekend following the close of Andrew's 7th grade year. Mom was right--the kid was good. I spotted him playing on the first court next to the bleachers, and there was mom up at the top watching intently. He dismantled his opponent easily. By that time it was about 1:00, and he was scheduled to play his next match around 3:30. So, I decided I would stick around. They had brought a couple blankets to throw onto a nearby grass area, I offered to go out and bring back some lunch so we hung out for a couple hours until his next match, which he also won.
Andrew is now 13 and is in 8th grade at Golden Valley Middle School in San Bernardino, where I am the 8th grade counselor this year. Since that weekend in June, I have spent nearly every weekend with Ana and Drew traveling to tournaments all over Southern California. She is a single parent, he is an only child. As the year has progressed, our time has expanded beyond the tennis court to include birthday parties, trips to Santa Monica pier, Big Bear Lake, and plans in the works for a Clipper game, Santana concert in Vegas and a trip out to the desert in March for the BNP Paribas Open tennis tournament at Indian Wells.
I am perhaps most excited about spending Christmas Eve at their house helping (learning as I go) to make tamales. I have decided that all blessings are good; but the unexpected kind--those are supreme . . . .
Within a few weeks, Ana had emailed me the tournament schedule for the summer. I printed it out, checked my calendar and determined I would make a trip out to Lakewood the weekend following the close of Andrew's 7th grade year. Mom was right--the kid was good. I spotted him playing on the first court next to the bleachers, and there was mom up at the top watching intently. He dismantled his opponent easily. By that time it was about 1:00, and he was scheduled to play his next match around 3:30. So, I decided I would stick around. They had brought a couple blankets to throw onto a nearby grass area, I offered to go out and bring back some lunch so we hung out for a couple hours until his next match, which he also won.
Andrew is now 13 and is in 8th grade at Golden Valley Middle School in San Bernardino, where I am the 8th grade counselor this year. Since that weekend in June, I have spent nearly every weekend with Ana and Drew traveling to tournaments all over Southern California. She is a single parent, he is an only child. As the year has progressed, our time has expanded beyond the tennis court to include birthday parties, trips to Santa Monica pier, Big Bear Lake, and plans in the works for a Clipper game, Santana concert in Vegas and a trip out to the desert in March for the BNP Paribas Open tennis tournament at Indian Wells.
I am perhaps most excited about spending Christmas Eve at their house helping (learning as I go) to make tamales. I have decided that all blessings are good; but the unexpected kind--those are supreme . . . .
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Soundtrack of Life, part IV: U2
The first time I saw U2 live was in 1983 on their "War" tour. They played the L.A. Sports arena, and the opening band was The Alarm. I went with a tennis playing friend from the University of Redlands, Rich Frederick, and until that night, we really had no idea who The Alarm was. At one point during their opening set, they were singing a song with lyrics that went "come on down and meet your maker, come on down and make the stand". At one point we looked at each other and were like "are they singing what I think they're singing?!?" Sure enough, we would later find out that The Alarm was the real deal, and would end up seeing them countless times, soaking up their songs, interviews and concerts like a sponge. As for the headlining band that night, because the "floor" of the arena had no chairs, the crowd up front was so out of control the concert had to be delayed about 30 minutes because of the pushing and shoving. It was nuts! Then, during the concert, midstream, Bono disappeared from the stage--right in the middle of a song--only to reappear in the upper deck across from where we were standing (no one sits at a U2 concert). He was then lowered--carefully--by fans back down to the lower level, and slowly made his way back to the front of the stage to finish the song.
In the decades that have followed, U2 has been the one musical constant in my life. I believe tonight at the Rose Bowl will be the 14th time I've seen them live--haven't missed a tour since that first show in '83. The last three times I have seen them have been in Las Vegas with my best friend from college, Brian Stomski. In the late '90s in a large outdoor venue for the Popmart tour (my least favorite of them all) when Rage Against the Machine opened. Then, in November of '01, they played the basketball arena on the UNLV campus. This was a couple months after 9/11, and was an intensely emotional evening. The band had changed up their show following the twin tower attacks, making the last encore song "Walk On" a memorial to those who lost their lives. Behind the band, as they were playing, a screen with the name of every victim scrolled down behind them. Pretty sure there was not a dry eye in the building. Then, four years ago, they played the arena inside the MGM (where they have all the big prize fights). I almost decided not to go--this was just a couple months after I had lost my mom to cancer. Lots of dry eyes in the crowd--but mine weren't cooperating.
Fast forward to tonight. Rose Bowl. Pasadena. My hometown. Spent the summer there clearing out the house my parents' lived in for 45 years following my father's death in January earlier this year. So, once again, U2 will be the backdrop for another chapter turn in my life, a soundtrack full of joy, full of pain, and once again, I will be joined by friends and strangers (although strangers at a U2 concert are a lot like friends) who might wonder why tears are streaming down my face. Funny thing is, I really don't care anymore. I am thankful those tear glands are in working order. Bring it on. Something very freeing, cleansing, even comforting about releasing one's emotions. I have never met Bono, The Edge, Larry and Adam (and probably never will)--but I count them as family, and always will.
In the decades that have followed, U2 has been the one musical constant in my life. I believe tonight at the Rose Bowl will be the 14th time I've seen them live--haven't missed a tour since that first show in '83. The last three times I have seen them have been in Las Vegas with my best friend from college, Brian Stomski. In the late '90s in a large outdoor venue for the Popmart tour (my least favorite of them all) when Rage Against the Machine opened. Then, in November of '01, they played the basketball arena on the UNLV campus. This was a couple months after 9/11, and was an intensely emotional evening. The band had changed up their show following the twin tower attacks, making the last encore song "Walk On" a memorial to those who lost their lives. Behind the band, as they were playing, a screen with the name of every victim scrolled down behind them. Pretty sure there was not a dry eye in the building. Then, four years ago, they played the arena inside the MGM (where they have all the big prize fights). I almost decided not to go--this was just a couple months after I had lost my mom to cancer. Lots of dry eyes in the crowd--but mine weren't cooperating.
Fast forward to tonight. Rose Bowl. Pasadena. My hometown. Spent the summer there clearing out the house my parents' lived in for 45 years following my father's death in January earlier this year. So, once again, U2 will be the backdrop for another chapter turn in my life, a soundtrack full of joy, full of pain, and once again, I will be joined by friends and strangers (although strangers at a U2 concert are a lot like friends) who might wonder why tears are streaming down my face. Funny thing is, I really don't care anymore. I am thankful those tear glands are in working order. Bring it on. Something very freeing, cleansing, even comforting about releasing one's emotions. I have never met Bono, The Edge, Larry and Adam (and probably never will)--but I count them as family, and always will.
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