Mailbox wonder prize

I don't know about you, but whenever I get something in the mail other than a bill, junk or an expected package, it feels like I've won a prize. My day has a little more surprise and wonder to it as I read a postcard, open a note or sit down to savor a letter. But we don't write letters anymore, we rely on email or text messages or voice mail.These are all very efficient, but they are transitory, moments in time that rely on pixels and electricity to exist.

I recently stumbled across a challenge, put forth by Mary Robinette Kowal, to write a letter every day for the month of February. And I thought, yes!

Ms. Kowal says, "When I write (letters) back, I find that I slow down and write differently than I do with an email. Email is all about the now. Letters are different, because whatever I write needs to be something that will be relevant a week later to the person to whom I am writing. In some ways it forces me to think about time more because postal mail is slower. 'By the time you get this…' It is relaxing. It is intimate. It is both lasting and ephemeral." She's right. Letters are far more intimate.

She then offers this challenge:


1. In the month of February, mail at least one item through the post every day it runs.  Write a postcard, a letter, send a picture, or a cutting from a newspaper, or a fabric swatch.
2. Write back to everyone who writes to you. This can count as one of your mailed items.

I'm in. If you'd like to receive something in the mail from me, email me your address. I'd love to write to you. You might get a letter, a card, a hand-made postcard, a leaf, a swatch of fabric I thought was beautiful, a marble or something else entirely. Give it a shot, your own mailbox wonder prize awaits.


(And, for the person who never received the last thing I sent, I promise to mail everything from the post office, not relying on the local letterbox.)


(c)2012 Laura S. Packer

Quote of the week

Trust me, I am telling you stories.
—Jeannette Winterston, The Passion

Quote of the week

Storytelling is not what I do for a living - it is how I do all that I do while I am living.
- Donald Davis

Paying for what you value

Many of you already know about PostSecret. For those who don't, it's a web art project that saves lives. People write a secret on a postcard and send it to the curator, Frank Warren. He selects a limited number of postcards and shares them on his website each week. Even if your secret isn't selected, you have told somebody. And if you didn't send in a secret, you can still read the secrets others sent. You find yourself in those hastily scribbled notes. I've written about PostSecret before for one good reason: It saves lives. When you realize you're not alone in the night that might be enough to pull you back from the brink.

Not so long ago, PostSecret undertook an ambitious new venture. They launched an iPhone app that made it easy to share, view and comment on secrets. Anyone could participate and it was moderated by the community. The hope, I'm certain, was that users could build community, help each other and realize they were less alone. That was part of what happened. Some other stuff happened, too.

• Some people found solace, connection, hope and community. I believe lives were saved.
• The internet makes it very easy for us to be bullies because we are anonymous. Some people took advantage of this and posted bullying, hateful things on some secrets. Some members of the community flagged these posts as offensive, others cheered them on.
• Some people have bigotries and said hateful things about people who are different from them. Now, if this was a secret, if someone wanted to admit that they carry these feelings, it is a perfectly appropriate use of the app. But some people posted deeply derogatory statements about various ethnicities and races, social classes, genders, sexual identities, religions and more. Some of the accompanying pictures were disturbing. Some members of the community flagged these posts as offensive, others cheered them on.
• And some people posted deeply offensive and distressing pictures of sexual behavior or violent acts. The terms of service of the app prohibited this, but it happened anyway. Some members of the community flagged these posts as offensive, others cheered them on.

Because of this last category of post, Frank Warren and his family were threatened, harassed and subject to scrutiny from various government agencies.

The app was pulled. What could have been a boon to thousands was abused by a few and had to be discontinued to keep Frank and his family safe.

Since then, Frank has received complaints from users, asking for their money back. He has refunded every single one, out of pocket, bypassing Apple entirely. He has publicly stated he will refund anyone who asks.

The app cost $1.99.

Now, I don't know what their financial circumstances are, but if you can afford an iPhone, I bet you can afford $1.99.

Frank really put his heart out to the world to try to create something good. It isn't his fault that it was defiled by some sick and hurtful people.

Today I sent Frank Warren $20 to cover the cost of 10 refunds. If he doesn't need the money for refunds then I'm sure he can use the money for something else worthwhile. Frank's work has saved innumerable lives. I'm sure he's heartbroken that the app didn't work; if my $20 makes his path through the world a little easier, then I'm giving it.

Frank Warren is a man who understands the power of listening. I believe in his work.

If you want to read secrets, send Frank a secret or a little cash, you can find them all here. Thanks.

(c)2012 Laura S. Packer

RIP Etta James

I was just doing a quick scan of the news and saw that Etta James has died. If you aren't familiar with her, Etta James was a soul singer best known for her song, At Last, among the best torch songs ever recorded. She had a tough life and as she sings you can hear her experience in every note.

I've loved her music since I was a teenager, swooning along with her as I've loved and had my heart broken.

My most cherished memory of her music is this. For many years, my sweetheart, Kevin, and I took our friends and mentors Brother Blue and Ruth Hill out for Valentine's Day. Sometimes we'd go out for dinner, sometimes we'd go hear music, sometimes they'd come over.

One year, maybe 3 or 4 years before Brother Blue died, we went out to a nice restaurant that was having a Valentine's Day jazz dinner. Brother Blue loved jazz. We ate and listened to music together, watched people dance and had a lovely time. I danced with Brother Blue - or more accurately, Brother Blue danced around me, he was an amazing dancer - and Kevin danced with Ruth.

When the singer started the first few lush notes of At Last the dance floor was swarmed, every couple stood up to dance. Kevin and I danced. Ruth and Brother Blue sat at the table, held hands and watched us.

When we sat down, Brother Blue said, "That was it, the most magical moment of the evening, watching you two dance together." From that day on, whenever I heard Etta James sing At Last I would remember dancing with the love of my life while two of the dearest people in my life, and a model for love and endurance, smiled at us.

Over the next several years, until he died, Brother Blue would refer back to that night as the most magical of nights. Now, those of you who know Brother Blue know that he had many most magical nights, but I don't think that any one of them was any less most magical than any other. This one happened to be ours.

Over the next few days, I know I will hear At Last everywhere.And each time I hear it, I will think of my friend, Brother Blue. I will miss him just a little bit more. I will think of my friend, Ruth. I will love her just a little bit more. And I will think of my partner in life and in dance, Kevin. I will be just a little bit more grateful.

Thank you, Etta James, for giving us such soulful, impassioned music. You touched so many lives, including mine. May you rest in peace.



(c)2012 Laura S. Packer

Why I love public transit

I’m fortunate enough to live in a city with good public transit, locally called “the T.” We have several subway lines augmented by trains and buses. While I drive almost daily (my workplace isn’t easily accessible by public transit) whenever I can, I take the T.

I love the T, for all that people complain about it. I really enjoy watching people, seeing what they’re reading, what beats they’re moving to, watching them watch me. Kids express such wonder over public transit, they know it’s miraculous that we can move this fast from here to there, without even trying. I love how riding the bus or subway lets me see a cross-section of my city that I might otherwise miss. A Saville Row suit sitting next to leather and studs sitting next to a security uniform sitting next to someone just looking for a place to sleep.

We all become dancers when we stand on public transit, finding our own balance throughout the ride, just as we do in life, only here it’s more obvious. And we have the opportunity to be heroes, offering our seats to those who might need them more.

Public transit is an equalizer. We’re all on our way somewhere, not there by accident, sharing the same space for a little while and inevitably connecting. This morning I happened to glance at a woman across the aisle from me as she was talking on the phone. Our eyes met and I smiled at her. She smiled back, so I smiled more and soon we were both laughing. I will probably never see her again, but for that moment, we were united in joy. Connection. Not so long ago, a young man sat next to me on a bus. He was listening to music through headphones, but it was so loud I could hear it. Without noticing, I started bobbing my head in time to his, along with the beat. When I glanced up from my book I saw an older man looking at us both and grinning. Connection.

When I drive in my car I am isolated. I isolate myself further with the radio or music, rarely looking at the drivers around me unless they cut me off and I look only to scowl. I don’t have that option on public transit. All I can do is be present to the world around me and watch the shifting shadows. All I can do is accept the warmth of a stranger pressing against me in the crowd, catch someone’s eye and smile, be in the moment and wait as we hurtle together through the world. 

(c)2012 Laura S. Packer

Why I love XXXXX XXXXXXX

I’m fortunate enough to live in a city with good public transit, locally called “the T.” We have several subway lines augmented by trains and buses. While I drive almost daily (my workplace isn’t easily accessible by public transit) whenever I can, I take the T.

I love the T, for all that people complain about it. I really enjoy watching people, seeing what they’re reading, what beats they’re moving to, watching them watch me. Kids express such wonder over public transit, they know it’s miraculous that we can move this fast from here to there, without even trying. I love how riding the bus or subway lets me see a cross-section of my city that I might otherwise miss. A Saville Row suit sitting next to leather and studs sitting next to a security uniform sitting next to someone just looking for a place to sleep.

We all become dancers when we stand on public transit, finding our own balance throughout the ride, just as we do in life, only here it’s more obvious. And we have the opportunity to be heroes, offering our seats to those who might need them more.

Public transit is an equalizer. We’re all on our way somewhere, not there by accident, sharing the same space for a little while and inevitably connecting. This morning I happened to glance at a woman across the aisle from me as she was talking on the phone. Our eyes met and I smiled at her. She smiled back, so I smiled more and soon we were both laughing. I will probably never see her again, but for that moment, we were united in joy. Connection. Not so long ago, a young man sat next to me on a bus. He was listening to music through headphones, but it was so loud I could hear it. Without noticing, I started bobbing my head in time to his, along with the beat. When I glanced up from my book I saw an older man looking at us both and grinning. Connection.

When I drive in my car I am isolated. I isolate myself further with the radio or music, rarely looking at the drivers around me unless they cut me off and I look only to scowl. I don’t have that option on public transit. All I can do is be present to the world around me and watch the shifting shadows. All I can do is accept the warmth of a stranger pressing against me in the crowd, catch someone’s eye and smile, be in the moment and wait as we hurtle together through the world. 

(c)2012 Laura S. Packer

Wondering what this is about? Find out more about SOPA and PIPA here.

Stand up, speak out

Today is Martin Luther King Jr. Day, the U.S. holiday where we honor the work and legacy of Dr. King. I've noted it before here. It's worth remembering again. Martin Luther King Jr. Day reminds us to take note of the sacrifice required for a free society, of the bravery that it takes to stand up and say, "Enough." It challenges us to remember that this work is not done.

The work of a free society requires more than one day a year or one week of lesson plans, though those are fine starts. It requires the commitment of every individual to decide where their lines in the sand are marked; what is acceptable and what is not; when can their voice make a difference. It requires every individual to be brave enough to stand up and speak out even when they are frightened, even when they don't know if it will make any difference at all. You never know who is watching.

I live in a multicultural neighborhood. Part of why I live here is because I have neighbors who are black and white, asian and latino, Christian, Jewish and Muslim. We don't all speak the same language and have the glorious challenge of learning to live together. My local grocery store has an excellent "ethnic" section because it must, to serve all of its customers. I delight in the variety of goods and faces I find in the market every time I go there.

I was in my local market this weekend picking up the sundries required for every day life. As I walked out I overheard a customer, a white man in his 50s, talking to a store employee, a white man in his early 20s. The older man was talking about how much he disagrees with the policies of our current presidential administration, that he resents his tax money being used to support the poor. I kept walking. He is entitled to his opinions. It was when he said, "I can't get any of that free housing because I'm too white. If I had a baby mamma, maybe then I could cash in," that I turned and walked back.

I asked him, "Do you know how racist that is? Do you know how you sound?" He started sputtering that he wasn't a racist, he just hated the president. I listened until he wound down, then said, "You don't know what you sound like. You don't know whose lives that free housing might save. You don't know who is around you and who might be watching or listening." And I turned and walked away. 

I'm certain I could have done more. I could have had a longer argument, but I wasn't going to change his mind. What I hope is that I gave the young man, the man in his early 20s, a chance to think about something different. The opportunity to remember his school friends, his neighbors who may not look like him. What I hope is that I stopped one racist, for one moment, from spewing out his thoughtless invective over my neighborhood.

What I did is nothing compared with the work of Dr. King. But if we all were to stop, listen to ourselves and those around us, and try to consider the need to see people as people, separate from ethnicity or religion, we might be able to make more compassionate choices and engage in more balanced fiscal responsibility. When we do this en mass the possibilities are astonishing. When we speak out for a more equitable society we help build a world of more possibility.

And that's what I'm doing, not only for Martin Luther King Jr. Day; I'm doing it every day. Please join me.

(c)2012 Laura S. Packer

Poem: One for old snaggletooth

One For Old SnaggletoothBy Charles Bukowski

I know a woman
who keeps buying puzzles
chinese
puzzles
blocks
wires
pieces that finally fit
into some order.
she works it out
mathematically
she solves all her
puzzles
lives down by the sea
puts sugar out for the ants
and believes
ultimately
in a better world.
her hair is white
she seldom combs it
her teeth are snaggled
and she wears loose shapeless
coveralls over a body most
women would wish they had.
for many years she irritated me
with what I consider her
eccentricities -
like soaking eggshells in water
(to feed the plants so that
they'd get calcium).
but finally when I think of her
life
and compare it to other lives
more dazzling, original
and beautiful
I realize that she has hurt fewer
people than anybody I know
(and by hurt I simply mean hurt).
she has had some terrible times,
times when maybe I should have
helped her more
for she is the mother of my only
child
and we were once great lovers,
but she has come through
like I said
she has hurt fewer people than
anybody I know,
and if you look at it like that,
well,
she has created a better world.
she has won.

Frances, this poem is for
you.

On failing to blog daily in December

This was not an easy post to write. It feels very vulnerable and very honest and very whiny. Feel free to skip it. Let me add that I was inspired by the Bloggess' honesty to write this. She is one brave lady.

Some of you may recall I had some pretty big aspirations for December; I was going to publish regularly in not one, not two but three blogs. To no ones' surprise I didn't manage to do this. I did get some good stuff out, but I failed in my larger goal.

I've been thinking about why, both why I set up such a large goal and why I failed. Which leads me to some thinking about blogging in general and where I may go with it. Stay with me here, I promise it's not all navel gazing.

I've written before about the tension between written and spoken language (though this post is no longer an accurate reflection of this tension for me). I identify as both a storyteller and a writer. Both art forms help me understand the world, my place in it, what I believe and help me say something to the world, though they do it in very different ways. These two identities are inextricably linked, but I find myself fighting more resistance when writing than I do when telling.

Oddly enough, standing up in front of people is less frightening that sitting down in front of the screen. There are lots of reasons for this, but one crucial piece of it is interaction. When I tell a story I can see the impact immediately. When I write that happens rarely, if ever. That's why blogging appeals to me; there is a chance that someone will feel or think something in response to my writing and they just might let me know.

As I look at this, my inner demons are telling me this may be one of the most self-centered, whiny things I've ever written for public consumption. Talk about a cry for attention! But aren't we all motivated by a desire for interaction? For conversation? For touch, for a smile, for the knowledge that what we do has an impact upon an individual or the world? Blogging makes that possible and I'm sure I'm not the only blogger who uses this form because it allows for conversation with the reader. Of course I write for my own edification, but I am not enough of an introvert that I'm content with shouting down a well. I want to know that what I say is heard.

So I think I set such a lofty goal for myself in the hopes that it would help me find an audience, that I would be able to converse with you and find out if what I say is meaningful, useful or entertaining. I also wanted to use this as a springboard to better writing habits, to understand my own thought process more, to begin work on a book; I hoped knowing I was writing for someone to read immediately would help.

So what happened? A couple of things.

1. At least in the U.S. December is a crappy month to try to set aside significant time for a new creative endeavor. The whole world conspires against you.
2. I got tired of listening to myself. I didn't rally the necessary support to write  regularly. Instead of hoping for reader responses (which isn't fair, how many blogs do I comment on? Right.) I should have simply found friends to bounce these ideas around with. The posts would have been stronger and I would have enjoyed the process more.
3. Self-sabotage, fear, intermittent depression, inner demons (who ask me why would anyone want to read this anyway, you know those voices, I'm sure) on and on and on.
4. And when these factors converged (December, poor planning, not organizing support, demons) I froze. I had nothing to say. I let other things get in the way. Doing the dishes and checking cnn became far more urgent than writing. Hello resistance, my old friend.

What have I learned?

I love this format, it's a great marriage of the immediacy of storytelling and the contemplative work of writing. I need to remember that blogging, like any other creative undertaking, can't be done in a vacuum so I need to rally support, friends who will help me be a better writer and more regular blogger. And I need to remember that resistance, in all its forms, is a damnable beast, but a coward. By doing the thing that frightens me, in this case writing this very post and feeling afraid that either no one will read it or you will all disdain me afterwards, I move forward.

And that is why this post isn't entirely navel gazing. We all get afraid sometimes. When we face our fears we often discover they aren't as overwhelming or as dire as we thought. And if they are, we can find allies to help us defeat them.

I'll keep writing. I hope you keep reading. And if you're so inclined, say "hi" from time to time. I'd love to hear from you.

(c)2012 Laura S. Packer