The Cloud So much of our lives are on devices which store data, pictures and information in "The Cloud". Some filmmaker associates of mine reminded us to put all our content in "the cloud" because if anything happened, like the horrific fires in Los Angeles , all of our work would be gone.. But what IS the "cloud". Where is it? What does it look like? Is it locked away someplace safe like inside a mountain? Who has physical access to the "cloud"? Can a fire destroy it? Inquiring minds (like mine) want to know!!

 A Fire

When I was about 10 years old, the neighbors across the street had a fire in their house. It might have started at night, but that part is not clear in my memory.

We didn't know the neighbors very well, but as the fire blazed my mother saw the woman who lived there standing on the sidewalk looking at her home go up in flames.  It must have been winter because my mother went across the street and brought her and her children into our house, She gave them blankets and sat with them until the fire department left.

I clearly remember the way the mother and kids smelled like smoke, and our house smelled like smoke for several days afterward because they had been in the living room. The smoke from the fire also billowed across the street into our house.

I never found out what happened to that family, but I was very proud of my mother that day.

 One of the reasons I left TV news was that it was getting too close to  home. It was getting too close to me.

I went to a funeral home to cover the services for a story and saw the name of a woman who had been a big part of my childhood on the little letter board. I did not even know she had passed and her funeral was that same day. I had to tell my photojournalist to wait for me outside while I went in another room and cried.

When visiting the House of Correction for a story, I saw young man I knew from Sherman Park. He  was happy to see me and when his fellow inmates asked how he actually knew me, he said "We play tennis together".

I went to court one day for a story about a man who was causing some trouble in Milwaukee. As he was led out of the courtroom he nodded at me in that simple gesture that all Black people recognize. He had gone to my high school.

When called to the courthouse for jury duty I went because it is my responsibility as a citizen. As I walked through the hall, the defendant was coming out of the courtroom with his lawyer. He waved at me and said "I'm glad you are on my jury!".

Every few months I would meet someone my father had helped get a job or get into college. He worked for the Urban League. I was always proud to hear how he had helped them and appreciated them telling me.

But, I'm glad I'm out of the news business now because I friend of mine was recently murdered and I don't think I could have read his name on the air. You have to separate yourself from the stories you cover or read when you are an anchorperson, but it was all getting too close.

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Getting older is like being in a boat and leaving the shore.

You keep looking back at the land slowly disappearing, getting farther and farther away and you feel like you are losing something.  You are losing a connection with your past. You are losing all the people who made up your childhood, adolescence, young adulthood and adulthood.

All the “grown-ups” who guided you and you looked to as the guiding stars, are leaving.  One by one they die and you are left with a hole in your rolodex that cannot be filled. 

Social media can make it creepy, too.  There are names in your contacts list that you cannot call or text anymore. New names have been added, but the ones that are not back there on the shore, cannot be replaced.

Getting older also means that the elders in your life have been replaced by… you.

Your kids look at you as the “grown-ups” now.

If you turn around and look forward at the open water, you hope that you see some land in front of you. Right now there is none in sight.

But, maybe that is what heaven is.  When you start to see new land in front as the land behind you is out of sight.

Pushed into Politics

 Remember when America was only great and before it was going to be made great again?

Remember when we had presidential elections every four years and between them we didn't think much  about Washington or the Commander in Chief unless he was coming to town for a visit and we knew traffic was going to be backed up for a couple of hours if that even mattered because he was not coming to our neighborhood anyway?

Remember when we occasionally glanced at a Senate or Congressional race and paid little attention to any election smaller than that?

We usually knew who the mayor was and maybe the County Executive, but beyond them people hardly knew who was elected to what, and usually didn't care. As long as the lights stayed on, the water flowed, the snow got plowed and the garbage got collected.

We are in a new world.

Our lives are dictated by internet communications and every time you turn-on your device you see politicians yelling or complaining or warning about some issue or about the other party. Politics (and politicians) are all over the place. They have become like the gum that gets stuck on your shoe.  You don't know where it got there and it's too sticky to get off and you really don't want to touch it. Then when you get it off your right shoe, another glob gets stuck on your left shoe.

We are being pushed into politics, whether we like it on not.

Every month it seems, there is an election someplace that needs your attention (and money). We used to have election "season" every four years. Now we have election weather. It hits us one way or the other everyday and feels like there is nothing we can do about it. Although with climate change there may be something we can do about the weather, but that's another discussion.

How about a Political Pause? From May 1st to June 1st politicians, political parties and PAC's are prohibited from advertising or discussing anything. The advertisement space on your homepage will be a politics- free zone for one month. The work of government, or lack thereof, will continue but they are not allowed to talk about it out loud. Or online.

Sure some big business will loose some money, but they will make it up in July by raising your streaming rates.

When I found out I was different

 

• One spring day when I was in probably in third grade all the little girls in my class were invited to a birthday party. I attended Keefe Avenue school in Milwaukee at the time and loved my school. Back then, you had to wear skirts to school and so on this day we all got dressed up in our party dresses to go to school and attend the party at 3:30pm.

  
  

  The girl lived right across the street from the school. I can still see the house. 

  
  

  At this time, Keefe Avenue school was in a white neighborhood. I walked from our house at 14th and Burleigh to 17th and Keefe. I even walked home for lunch and made it back on time.  I was the only Black child in my class. It didn't seem to matter to the other little girls or to me, but I found out it mattered to some adults.

  
  

  It was a partly cloudy, but mostly sunny afternoon. After school all the little girls ran across the street for the party. We all stood on the front porch giggling and waiting for the birthday girl's mother to open the door. When the door opened she said "come on in girls". I was the last in line.

  
  

  When I got to the door she said "No, not you. You cannot come in" and closed the door in my face.

  
  

  I stood there all alone on the porch looking at the closed door and hearing the girls having fun inside.

  
  

  I wasn't sure what to do, so I started running. I ran all the way home, let myself into our house and I cried.

  
  

  When my mother came home from work I told her what happened.  I don't remember exactly what she said as she hugged me. I was till crying so hard. But I do remember something about how I was as good as any of those little white girls and should be proud of who I was and the family I came from.

  
  

  When my father came home, they had a long heated discussion. My mother was the one who calmed my father when he got angry. He gave me a big hug and said he was proud of me.

  
  

  That first encounter has stuck with me all these years.

  
  

   I drove past that house just the other day and slowed down to see how it, and I had changed.

  
  

  
  

  
  

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• , 
•  or 

Paul Hollywood

I met a man tonight.  I didn’t expect it. It was a surprise. Who could expect to meet someone new in the middle of a pandemic where we are all stuck in our homes, but I let him into mine.

I saw him very late at night and I was tired. I must find out when I can see him again.

He is tall with engaging eyes, a British accent and a little goatee.

There was another woman with him. They were laughing. She was teasing him about the color of his hair, salt and pepper, and the strength of his arms. She also praised him for his buns.

I sat there, watching him work. Watching the two of them together and even though I had just met him I became envious and jealous of her.

They were rolling, they were rubbing, they were patting. He has such skills.

I don’t know when I will see him again. He has the unbelievable name of Paul Hollywood. I saw him very late at night. I must find out when I can see him again.  In the dark. In the kitchen.