Shari Della Penna
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"Small acts of kindness can change and humanise our world."
   Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks 1948-2020
   ​Chief Rabbi of Great Britain, 1991-2020
                         Author, Advocate, Advisor

What’s the Emergency?

2/26/2019

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    “Is this an emergency?” I whisper.
    Mrs. Yee hands me a cherry sucker and unwraps a grape one for herself. 
    “Maybe, maybe not,” she says. “In either case, we should not panic.”
                                                   from Peanut’s Emergency
                                                     written by Cristina Salat
                                                   illustrated by Tammie Lyon
                                    Whispering Coyote/Charlesbridge, 2002

    I’m not too good in real emergencies. I tend toward panic and forget which reasonable actions I need to take. Fortunately for me and those around me, I haven’t been close to many true emergencies.
    When we three kids were all really little, my dad had a heart attack. My level-headed mom called for an ambulance and traveled to the hospital with him. We stayed home with Gram.
    When my brother was young, some baddy not-friend knocked him off his bike. My brother’s leg broke and mended in a cast for a long time. Maybe six weeks, but maybe longer. I didn’t find out until I got home from school, in time to sign my name on it.
    One time when I was babysitting, Mikey, my young charge, hid in the bushes in front of his house. I couldn’t find him. I called Mom. She called some other neighbors. Everyone called and called him, but Mikey was nowhere. And then, there he was. Maybe he just got tired of hiding. 
    That was an emergency. A child lost. Separated from his parents (and babysitter) and neighbors. But he knew where he was. He knew the language. He didn’t have to talk to strangers. There were no strangers. He was safe.
    So what is a real emergency?
    When the first shot rang out over Fort Sumter at the start of the Civil War, that was an emergency.
    When Lee Harvey Oswald killed John F. Kennedy, that was an emergency.
    Stranded people waiting for rescue in the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina, that was an emergency. 
    According to U S News and World Report, “a national emergency is a national crisis or a situation where circumstances threaten the country and call for an immediate response.” https://www.usnews.com/news/national-news/articles/2019-01-08/what-is-a-national-emergency-and-when-can-a-president-legally-declare-one  The article continues: “What actually constitutes an emergency, though, is up for debate and requires the president to use existing law to justify a declaration.”
    According to nbcnews.com, “Section 2808 of the Title 10 U. S. Code says if the president declares a national emergency ‘that requires use of the armed forces,’ the defense secretary ‘may undertake military construction projects ... not otherwise authorized by law that are necessary to support such use of the armed forces.’” https://www.nbcnews.com/politics/politics-news/what-national-emergency-n957711 
    Now the question is, are we experiencing a real national emergency? The president himself said he didn’t need to take this action. He just wants what he wants when he wants it: now. https://www.businessinsider.com/trump-says-didnt-need-declare-national-emergency-border-wall-2019-2 (Scroll down past the bullet points.)
    Crime hasn’t spiked. Drugs are not overflowing our southern border. Families are awaiting asylum.
    Because the Department of Homeland Security does not communicate with the Department of Health and Human Services, thousands of children are still unaccounted for. 
    That is not a national emergency. It is a moral crisis. A tragic reality of rash decisions based on fear and fear-mongering.
    We Americans don’t need more Wall. We need a bridge, a bridge of understanding and compassion. No amount of money can provide funds enough to build that.  
                                               -—stay curious! (and informed)

    I am reading The Lilac Girls, by Martha Hall Kelly (Ballantine Books, 2016). It’s the intertwining story of three young women: a concentration camp survivor, a female German doctor, and an American socialite, caught up in the Nazi regime. It takes place in New York City and Lublin, Poland. It’s historical fiction that includes graphic descriptions of victimization, strength that comes from family, and New York social life, all wrapped within the altruistic nature of human beings. Well-researched and well-written. Recommend.
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Leader of the Pack

2/19/2019

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    “George Washington didn’t chop down a cherry tree. Everything we think we know about our presidents may not always be true,” she added.  …. “A writer made up the cherry-tree story to try to emphasize what he thought was George Washington’s honesty. If all of you want to be good leaders or honest [leaders], treat each other with equal respect, and just tell the truth.”
    “I can do that,” I said. And I could.
    I just had to figure out how.
                                           from Ellie May on Presidents’ Day
                                                      written by Hillary Homzie
                                                 illustrated by Jeffrey Ebbler
                                                            Charlesbridge, 2018

    Mom always said it’s better to be a leader than a follower. Dad, I think, tended to agree.
    Me, although I always wanted to be famous (and I still do!) I never really wanted to be recognized in a rock-star kind of way. Name recognition was what I have always been after.
    “Oh!” I heard in my mind’s ear. “I’ve her heard of her.”
    I never wanted to be a lime-lit-leader: Choice provider. Decision-maker. Ultimatum-giver. I’ve done those roles, but I don’t like them.
    Real leaders are influencers, not demand-ers. They care about the people who look to them. They give thoughtful advice. They shoulder responsibility. They tell the truth, even when it’s hard. They stand up to criticism when it’s deserved and rally against it when it’s not. Real leaders know the difference.
    They set priorities that meet the needs of their people. All their people. They give a leg up to those who need it. They are kind. They are courteous. They’re strong. 
    Real leaders understand justice and know it is different from fairness. But real leaders strive to make justice equally accessible to everyone. A real leader makes sure to follow the law, too. And a real leader shows respect for lawmakers. A real leader listens to all sides of an argument and knows how to compromise.
    Yesterday was Presidents’ Day. The day is a tribute to George Washington. His birthday, February 22, has been celebrated as a national holiday since President Chester A. Arthur declared it so in 1885. In 1968, the Uniform Holidays Bill was passed to provide more three-day weekends. Abraham Lincoln’s birthday is February 12, so some states and private entities have included him in the celebration. Some all-inclusive types have over generalized to include every President, even those history has deemed not quite up to par. But tradition (and United States law) says the day belongs to George, alone.
    He stayed with his men during a treacherously cold winter at Valley Forge. He paid them from his own money because the Colonial Army didn’t have the funds.
    He and his wife, Martha, owned enslaved people since before their marriage. His concern about slavery grew, especially during and after the Revolutionary War. He saw the stark contradiction in the freedom our young soldiers were fighting for and the institution slavery was becoming.    
    He also knew addressing abolition would rip apart the fragile fabric of the new country he fought so hard to build. So he encouraged the new Congress to use the legal system to work toward freedom for all people. At his death, George Washington freed the people belonging to him. He was the only president to do so.  
    He refused to be king.
    He stepped down after two four-year terms, refusing a third.
    He helped form alliances with former enemies. 
    He told the truth, even when it was hard. (He never said he chopped down that tree!)
    George Washington was a real leader for all those reasons and more. In his own lifetime, he was rock-star famous. 
    His people loved him and trusted him. They knew he had their best interests in his choice-providing, decision-making, ultimatum-giving actions.
    He was a good man. And a good leader. Need I say more?

                                                  -—stay curious! (and honest)

    I just finished reading Button Man by Andrew Gross. The main character is based on his grandfather, Freddie Pomerantz, a prominent player in the garment industry in the 1920s and 30s on the lower East Side of New York City. His fight against the Jewish Mafia introduced me to a piece of history I had always heard of, but didn’t know much about. The plot is fast, the characters are well-drawn. I recommend this one!    


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I am Getting Very Sleepy

2/12/2019

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In a cave in the woods,
in his deep, dark lair,
through the long, cold winter
sleeps a great brown bear.

Cuddled in a heap
with his eyes shut tight
he sleeps through the day.
He sleeps through the night.

The cold winds howl
And the night sounds growl,
    But
         the bear
             snores on!

                                                        from Bear Snores On!
                                                      written by Karma Wilson
                                                   illustrated by Jane Chapman
                  Margaret K. McElderry Books/Simon & Schuster, 2002

    Once, okay more than once, when I was a teenager, I slept for 24 hours straight. My mom woke me throughout the day. I’d answer “okay,” and roll over and over and over. Maybe that’s not so unusual. Teenagers need 8-10 hours of sleep per night, but sometimes more (lots more) to maintain proper functioning. 
    My dad was a night owl. I was, too. We’d stay up late on the weekends (is 4 a. m. early or late?) watching silly, scary, or classic movies. Everything from Edward G. Robinson to Donald O’Connor was fair game. 
    Then it would really be morning, like when the sun comes up. I’d sleep till noon, or 1:00. Maybe 2 or sometimes even 3. Mom was exasperated. With Dad and with me. But when the next weekend rolled around, we’d stay up late again.
    Even when I was pretty young, I liked to stay up late and get up late in the morning. Sometimes I’d have a sleepover at my grandparents’ house. My gram lived there too. When I woke up, I’d crawl in bed with her and sleep some more. She hardly ever got up before 10:00. She’d have orange juice and two pieces of buttered toast for breakfast then start her day.
    When I was in school and when I went to work, I depended on my alarm clock to buzz me awake every day.
    I don’t know why, or even when it happened, but I’ve become a morning person. I’m not that cheerful, although I am grateful to have another day and I don’t like to talk too much first thing, but I can.
    I set up my coffee pot before I go to bed and hit the go button on the way to feeding the cats. But I don’t set an alarm (except for Tuesdays, when I want to make sure I have enough time to post this by 6:30—my self-imposed deadline). But I usually wake up before the alarm rings.
    Ben Franklin told us that early to bed, early to rise makes a man (person) healthy, wealthy, and wise. Science names morning people “larks” and evening people “owls.” There is a real difference. A study was done recently that compared several factors in common with people on either end of the chronotype spectrum. Night owls had larger incomes and more access to cars than the larks. Their cognitive abilities were similar, though. The state of their health, too. So much for Ben’s idea.
    A pair of epidemiologists at Southampton University in England named different traits than Franklin did. They studied several hundred teenagers and published their findings in 2011. Larks tend to be more persistent and cooperative than owls. They are also more agreeable, conscientious, and proactive than owls. They tend to procrastinate less, too. 
    Larks are happier, generally. Probably because their “best times” of the day are when most of the world expects them to be productive and alert. 
    But an article in Psychology Today mentions another important difference. Night owls are more creative and larks are more punctual. Are creativity and punctuality really opposites? Maybe night owls disregard rules more than larks. Like taking their time and out-of-box thinking. Maybe larks feel more comfortable doing what is expected of them. Like being on time and coloring within the lines?
    And, really, since most of us fall toward the middle of the chronotype spectrum, does any of this matter? Maybe only if we need to function at a time we are *not* at our best. 
    So, is 4:00 a.m. early or late? I guess, it depends!
                                                     -—stay curious! (and alert)    












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For Mom

2/5/2019

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. . . sometimes, when you want something so much, you let yourself pretend it’s true.
    But pretending doesn’t make real things less real—it just covers them up for a little while. And when they get too real to be covered up anymore, those real things are just as they always were. Except they feel harder to deal with than you remember.
                                  from: The Ostrich and Other Lost Things
                                                      written by Beth Hautala
                                                          Philomel Books, 2018
    
    I come from a long line of strong women.
    My great-grandma was a Suffragette. (They’re called Suffragists, now.) My grandmother was strong-willed. My mom was independent, opinionated, (in a mostly good way) and an individualist. She was a “boot-straps” kind of woman. 
    Mom worked when I was growing up. She was the office manager for a small music school where we three kids took lessons. Then she was an executive secretary for a medium-sized local grocery chain. 
    Before that she volunteered for a local hospital. She answered the phone and directed visitors to patients’ rooms. She was my room mother and my Girl Scout leader. She trained other leaders, too. She volunteered for the Society for the Blind and won an award for her dedication.
    Mom was a forward-thinker. She bought a computer when a desk-top was as big as her whole desktop. She used it to pay her bills, e-mail friends, and play games. She liked “Bejeweled” and different word games. She took on-line market surveys and sometimes got paid for trying different products.
    Mom was a music-lover. She played clarinet in several community bands. She performed and went on trips with them. She was the librarian for a local orchestra. She worked with the conductor to make sure all the sheet music was in order and in good condition for rehearsals and performances. 
    Her favorite sweatshirt had the word FRONT printed on the front and a picture of J. S. Bach on the back. She enjoyed a good joke, but never at anyone’s expense.
    But the things a person does or did, does not define the person.
    When she was diagnosed with breast cancer on her 77th birthday, Mom took the information in stride as well as anyone could, I suppose. She was not resigned, not in denial, not outraged. We went to buy birdseed. She feed her backyard birds and the 20-pound bags were heavy for her to lift out of her trunk. She drove. Something like a bad diagnosis was not going to get in the way of her everyday life. 
    Wherever my mother lived, it was not in the state of denial. She believed in facing things head-on. She kept all her appointments, took all her medicine (poison), and continued to volunteer, play her clarinet, and feed the birds. For a long time.
    She passed her 5-year survival anniversary. The lung-cancer diagnosis was a bad surprise. She didn’t let it stop her, until it did.
    Mom was a little bit sick for a long time. She was very sick only for a little while. 
    My mom answered “perfect” whenever someone asked “How are you?” But mom was *not* perfect. Remember the time she cleaned out my mouth with a real bar of soap for saying a word I don’t remember now? She made me wear ankle-socks when all the girls wore Bobby socks and knee socks. She (and my dad) never approved of my friends, and let me know that. 
    I’m not strong in the independent way my mom was. But I think of her when I go to the gym. I exercise because I know it is good for me.
    I think of Mom when I remember to live in the moment. She taught me that I could not change the past or influence the future, so the present is the only place to live. (I think you *can* influence the future, though. Actions have consequences and plans come to fruition when the intention is followed by the doing.) 
    She cared deeply about others, but she did not wear her heart on her sleeve. She loved her family, but she did not show her vulnerabilities. She was tactful, but did not mince her words. 
    Yesterday was the ninth anniversary of Mom’s death. I just stopped by to say “thanks, Mom.”
                                                   -—stay curious! (and brave)
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         I'm a children's writer and poet intent on observing the world and nurturing those I find in my small space .

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