Thought for the Day

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We are all the children of immigrants.
We are the parents of our destiny.
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(originally my comment at Firedoglake.com.)
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Go out and tear down some walls today. And build bridges instead.
There's a campaign needin' volunteers near you.
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Garbage Truck Wisdom

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Source unknown for this on the toobz, but here's a bit of the kind of philosophy we could use a little more of as we contemplate the week. Whatever the outcome of the weather forecast or the big game or the final exams or the proposal or the...oh, what's that you say?...a couple of important primaries tomorrow?

Yeah, doesn't hurt to remind ourselves from time to time...garbage in, garbage out. And a special hat tip today to all the folks in blue collars who haul away the garbage and take on the dirty jobs that keep this country hummin' along.

Here's the lesson learned in the back of a New York City taxi cab sixteen years ago:

I hopped in a taxi, and we took off for Grand Central Station. We were driving in the right lane when, all of a sudden, a black car jumped out of a parking space right in front of us. My taxi driver slammed on his brakes, skidded, and missed the other car's back end by just inches!
The driver of the other car, the guy who almost caused a big accident, whipped his head around and he started yelling bad words at us.

My taxi driver just smiled and waved at the guy. And I mean, he was friendly. So, I said, "Why did you just do that? This guy almost ruined your car and sent us to the hospital!"

And this is when my taxi driver told me what I now call, "The Law of the Garbage Truck."

"Many people are like garbage trucks. They run around full of garbage, full of frustration, full of anger, and full of disappointment. As their garbage piles up, they need a place to dump it. And if you let them, they'll dump it on you.

When someone wants to dump on you, don't take it personally. You just smile, wave, wish them well, and move on. You'll be happy you did."

So this was it: The "Law of the Garbage Truck."

I started thinking, how often do I let Garbage Trucks run right over me? And how often do I take their garbage and spread it to other people: at work, at home, on the streets? It was that day I said, "I'm not going to do it anymore."

I began to see garbage trucks. Like in the movie "The Sixth Sense," the little boy said, "I see Dead People."

Well, now "I see Garbage Trucks." I see the load they're carrying. I see them coming to drop it off. And like my Taxi Driver, I don't make it a personal thing; I just smile, wave, wish them well, and I move on.

One of my favorite football players of all time, Walter Payton, did this every day on the football field. He would jump up as quickly as he hit the ground after being tackled. He never dwelled on a hit. Payton was ready to make the next play his best. Good leaders know they have to be ready for their next meeting.

Good parents know that they have to welcome their children home from school with hugs and kisses. Leaders and parents know that they have to be fully present, and at their best for the people they care about.

The bottom line is that successful people do not let Garbage Trucks take over their day.

What about you? What would happen in your life, starting today, if you let more Garbage Trucks pass you by?

Here's what I think. You'll be happier.

Life's too short to wake up in the morning with regrets, so....Love the people who treat you right. Don't worry about the ones who don't. Believe that everything happens for a reason. If you get a chance, TAKE IT! If it changes your life, LET IT! Nobody said it would be easy....They just promised it would be worth it!

Kindling

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Spring’s coming to Prairie Country. You can feel it, just over the horizon in the soft breath of the wind. Hear it, in the meltwater dripping down from the roofs and the low booming from under the ice blanket of the lake. Little sprigs of green show where the snowbanks have pulled back There is a freshness to the air and the step.

But even though the days are warming, the nights are still below freezing, and the fire is a welcome companion. Crackling yellow flames flicker above the grey ash bed and embers glowing orange warm the body and the spirit.

There are all kinds of fires and they require much tending so they don’t get out of control. There’s a conflagration raging in the U.S. economy and the media dance around saying it’s so. Alarm bells are ringing loud as the fire even singes the Bear, and the economists gather.

And to a forest fire in the economy, the president brings a water pistol, half full.

Maybe he has other things on his mind. His thoughts are full of romance. How he envies the soldiers on the front lines for the romance of their duty in Afghanistan. Probably Pat Tillman and some others would have opinions on that. Does he envy, too, the soldiers on the front lines in Iraq? Bogged down in occupation? Separated from family? Serving as much as a fifth tour of duty--that we know of?

Here’s my thought on romance. It’s a dinner for two, a united family, sitting at a fireside, with candlelight. Because they choose it. Not because they can’t afford to pay their electric bill.

You have to wonder how detached this Napoleonic little Current Occupant is from reality, and the people he leads, and his own soul.

Fires burn in people these days, the demand for change fills the belly that hungers for democracy again, for the liberties of we, the people. And small changes are beginning to take shape.

They’re coming from the people, like the good folks at firedoglake and other blogohomes and on the ground in communities where people say, enough. And strange alliances are formed, libertarians and progressives, feeding together the flames of liberty as our forefathers did generations ago.

Some say whoa, not so fast. Natural gas fires will do just fine, moving in through the pipelines, and so what if we’ve outsourced our national capacity to take care of and defend ourselves. From tyranny.

I prefer the campfire.

On beaches, in firepits, in tall timbered forests in a stone fireplace. Built on twists of paper saved for the occasion. Fed by kindling, each a tiny length of wood on its own, easily bent and snapped, but when carefully placed and tended, nurturing the flame, growing it, building it for the heavier oak that will sustain us and keep us warm and seeing beauty.

Atavistic, the flame is. We are drawn to it. Fed by it.

But it requires careful tending by each one of us. And each one of us being the kindling that sustains it.

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