Local governments often tout technology as a way of making life easier for their residents, offering services such as electronic complaints, property database information, crime statistics, etc. Many of these services save the everyday citizen lots of money, reduce the carbon footprint related to travel, and help bring government into the amazing world of the digital age. Automation also helps save taxpayer dollars in regards to staffing, storage of physical records, time in research and others aspects of citizen services that used to require face to face interactions. While many of us marvel at these new and exciting methods of e-government, there are situations where your leaders count on your ignorance of technology and your familiarity with “the old ways” in order to make more money than they could ever do previously. Ignorance may be bliss, but it can be expensive as hell.

If you’ve ever had to pay for parking at a meter, you’ve no doubt encountered the situation where you’ve run out of change and scramble to find a miracle under the seat, or in the ashtray of your vehicle. The ancient sounds of quarters, dimes, and nickels falling into a meter, along with the familiar “zip” of the knob, is something current generations will probably never experience outside of a museum. In the past ten years, we’ve gone from very manual parking systems, meters with digital displays, vending style parking machines, to mobile device applications which take of everything necessary for you to park and get on with your business or beach day. However, much of the actual business process and transaction remains unchanged… you pay for the time you need to park, and if you under pay, you risk being issued an expensive citation. People have been accustomed to this method for decades and decades, and no one seems to question it… except me.

When ever one converts a business process to a digital format, there’s perhaps one rule you should always follow… you don’t re-create the same routine with a computer, you make it better, and you make it more efficient. You take the opportunity to look at the process holistically, and take advantage of the technology to do things that couldn’t be done before. That’s why it’s often referred to as a new “solution.” Otherwise you’re just wasting software to automate something that’s completely outdated, which doesn’t improve the process as much as it could be, or even not at all. It’s like if you made a program to create a digital sun dial, but didn’t include the option to set an alarm, have a calendar, or maybe even tell you audibly what time it was. I know this because I’ve been an information technology professional for over thirty years, and I know a thing or do about deploying new systems, solutions and processes. Yet our parking systems do exactly that, and are counting on your ignorance of technology and everyday citizens simply being used to the tradition of feeding a meter. You think it’s better because it’s on your phone and you don’t need physical coins, but what you don’t realize is that it could be modernized… but that would mean more money in your pocket, and less for those running the meters.

Yesterday I was parking in Miami-Beach and while using a phone based app, I tapped on my car’s license plate ID instead of that of my partner Eric’s car. I paid over ten dollars to park in a spot and then realized we were in his car, not mine. When I looked at the app, I noticed there wasn’t an option to change the vehicle I was using so I entered a customer service chat. Immediately a notice is displayed basically saying if you paid for parking and you made a mistake, you need to pay again. To add insult to injury, the representative on the live chat just validated what I just read. So parking last night ended up costing us twenty dollars for something that should have been half as much. But why didn’t the technology on my phone allow me to change the vehicle? It would certainly be a simple database update on active session, but then the city would lose out on some free cash. In essence, it’s the same as paying the wrong meter when you park, and Miami-Beach is counting on your accustomed feeling of permanency and featureless interactions when parking. They don’t want you to even think of the technological ability to fix such an error.

This becomes more apparent when you overpay for parking. In the old days, if you overpaid a meter, you paid it forward with sure delight as the next person parking discovers the meter paid, and their stay is free thanks to you. This tiny gesture surely had the ability to change your day for the better! However thanks to the digital age, if you paid for parking for thirty minutes, and you left after five, the city keeps the remaining funds and the next car starts from scratch. So why isn’t the system designed for you to end a parking session when you leave? Why should you pay for more time than you’re actually using the spot? Are you being penalized for not accurately timing the event accurately for which you parked for? Yup, you are. Of course people are so used to this kind of transaction, they don’t question it in the least. They are oblivious to what technology can offer them, and have been conditioned through the years to accept the loss. Meanwhile, parking operators are laughing all the way to the bank.

Probably the worse example of this kind of digital thievery occurs when you leave one spot, and drive to another location and park again. Now your mobile device displays two active parking sessions, when you’re only parked in one spot. What gives anyone the authority to bill you for something not being used? This is double dipping in the most literal of ways… you are being billed simply for thinking you needed to park somewhere longer than you needed to. Again, the population perfectly accepts this because they’re completely ignorant of the technological ability to convert the old process into a new and more efficient solution. A fool and their money are easily parted, so goes the famous saying… and it’s obviously true.

A parking system designed by me would have the option to create a bank of money within the parking application. You could put $20 in the bank per say, and then use it as needed… similar to the way electronic tolls are billed. When you use a spot, you would start the parking session, but when you left, you would end it. Sessions could be adjusted for time as they are now, but they could also be edited for a different vehicle in case you paid for the wrong one… or even to pay for a friend. This would inherently give you the option of transferring a current session to another spot. The entire point of metered parking is to pay for the spot, so who cares where it comes from, as long as the spot is payed for. This eliminates double dipping… “yeah okay” says the public official reading this. The city or parking company could still make lots of money on interest, holding onto all the money that’s just sitting there waiting to be used, but the consumer wouldn’t pay a single penny more than they had to. It’s a win win.

I had posted this idea in a community forum and I can’t tell how many persons scolded me for it. They were also thinking in terms of the past, completely dismissing technology, and accusing me of being irresponsible with my estimate of time. Seriously? That makes as much sense as denying someone state of the art cancer treatment because ten years ago it was considered a death sentence. If the technology can make something better, shouldn’t we hold our elected officials responsible for making it so? Why should they intentionally re-create the same process, just because citizens are used to it, and then reap the benefits of automation and efficiency? Shouldn’t the cost savings be passed onto the consumer? Apparently not.

I challenge you all to think of ways technology could obviously save you money, but it’s better for business and government to keep you familiar and accustomed to old ways of doing things because it makes them much more money. I’ll give you a head start… a bank charges you extra money for bouncing a check, and then transferring money from your savings account to cover it. You had the money there, it was available, however historically a person had to manually make the adjustment and that took time. Now it’s merely a line of code… an “if then” statement, completely automated and costs nothing. So why are we still be charged so much for the milliseconds it took for software to accomplish this? Think outside the box, people may hate you for it, but you’ll be a lot more the wiser… and possibly more frustrated than ever… like me.

I was looking through my Facebook feed the other day, and I saw a comment from one of my online friends, Mikey Mayweather.    He always has something nice to say whenever I post, always filled with love and humor.   Mikey lives across the country in California, is a DJ and an artist… filled with amazing energy.    He’s also a black man.   We have quite different interests and backgrounds, but my life is enriched by his presence, there’s no doubt about that.    We both “love” love, so in that alone, there’s enough in common to forge this virtual bond of sorts.  I do not know if we’ll ever meet in person, but it’s amazing what he’s taught me without even using words.    One recent morning I saw his response to one of my posts, and I thought about how blessed I am that the color of our skin doesn’t separate us in anyway at all… if anything it brings us closer together.   I know that he’s got my back and I have his so to speak, and perhaps that’s what we’re actually saying in the few phrases and salutations we do exchange online.    The events of January 6^th made me realize that so many individuals in our country are missing out on some amazing human beings and the lessons they have to teach us… all because of race.   This brought me great sadness, however at the same time, brought to light that my life is truly enriched by embracing diversity… and we all could be.

“Still, there’s a wonderful world waiting for us that dare to acknowledge our inner workings… interactions with a rainbow of peoples and cultures, each and everyone waiting to pass along information that will only enrich our experience on this planet. “

I don’t want to sound self righteous here, that’s not the place this post is coming from.    It’s coming from a very happy and joyous awareness, a type of excitement from knowing that the human experience is fully open to me, free to learn as much as I can during my lifetime.   I’m also not going to be naïve, I know there are elements in my psyche that still contain racism, we have to acknowledge them in order to work against them.   But my openness to explore and address what these feelings have to say, only makes my acceptance of others even greater.  I learned that lesson while reading a book called White Fragility, introduced to me by another amazing online friend, Annmarie Slater.   Being raised as white permanently programs us in ways that we can’t fully comprehend, especially since there’s so much we’ll never experience, primarily because we’re living as white people in a nation that favors us.   Still, there’s a wonderful world waiting for us that dare to acknowledge our inner workings… interactions with a rainbow of peoples and cultures, each and everyone waiting to pass along information that will only enrich our experience on this planet.  As someone that lives my life as an up-lifter, I just wish others could share this kind of love with me.

I have photos on my wall in my home office, of people that have inspired me all my life.    Most of them are African American woman, as their personal struggles and battles they’ve fought have given me strength to move forward on days where I’ve felt like giving up.   Each with their own story, none of which I would have known if I had closed the doors of inclusiveness into my life.    As I’m writing this post, I’m looking at the photo of the latest framed addition, that of Ma Rainey.  Known as the Mother of Blues, she wasn’t just a strong-minded person, she was ahead of her time as a woman… not just as a person of color.   Ma Rainey was also open about her sexuality, and sung about her same sex experiences with her lovers.    The positioning of her photo makes it appear as though she’s smiling down at me, separate from the other photographs in the room, just the way she was separate from so many of her time in history.   I had seen the film Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom on Netflix just the other weekend, and the awareness of her has enriched my life even further.  For some reason, her energy fully resonates with me, almost as if I knew her back in the day.    Her voice fills the room as I’m writing, her words available to me through the technology of Amazon’s Echo devices.  Almost a hundred years after her songs were recorded, they continue to move, inspire… and enrich. 

That’s definitely the word of the day for me.

This Christmas will be the first one I celebrate without the awareness that my mom is just a phone call away. I remember last year, when she called me to have Eric and I go to her home, so she could give us the gifts she purchased online. She was always addicted to watching QVC, and the last Christmas gift we would ever receive from her would end up being a food storage container, one each for Eric and myself. We still use them today, I can almost hear my mom explaining how they go straight from the refrigerator to the microwave and how covenant they are. From watching QVC so much, she had learned to sell a product just as well as the hosts she loved watching for hours on end. She would even go as far as to record QVC on her DVR… a very dedicated fan for sure.

“There’s no room to complain this Christmas, we are truly fortunate despite everything and fully aware of what others are experiencing, and there’s a certain responsibility that goes along with that level of awareness.”

I also remember how difficult it was for my mom to breathe last Christmas, and how living life day to day become a constant struggle. After she passed away, I had a dream where she came to me and told me how incredibly happy she was, that the body she was in had become so very heavy, and it was weighing her spirit down to the point where didn’t want it anymore. She was so thrilled to be light and floaty, enjoying her new found freedom to the fullest. It was such a happy dream, and it continues to offer great comfort to me. I truly miss my mom, but in no way do I miss her suffering and seeing her spiral into steep decline during the last months of her life.

This Christmas has been one of gratitude, as Eric and I are extremely aware of our blessings and have shared them as much as possible. We have worked with a program called Neighbors4Neighbors, to help families in need, and this has brought home the meaning of Christmas probably more than anything else. There’s also much to be thankful for, as we both experienced COVID19 infections and lived on to talk about it and offer advice when needed. We have amazing jobs and know how so many are without one during this dark time, so we never take for granted the necessity of waking up in the morning to get ready for work. There’s no room to complain this Christmas, we are truly fortunate despite everything and fully aware of what others are experiencing, and there’s a certain responsibility that goes along with that level of awareness.

I hope that everyone reading this post receives a blessing… or even a Christmas miracle if that’s the path you follow. In truth, the only thing we have in life is each other, and it’s important to stick together regardless of the issues which kept us apart in the past. We need to help one another whenever possible, and always keep the spirit of unconditional love in our hearts, no matter what spiritual practice we follow. This Christmas I hope that people realize the true concept of the holiday, and look way past the artificial lines of division society places on us… in the end we all have love and humanity in common.

May you be blessed by your creator in ways you never dreamed possible. Blessed be. XOXO

In the early morning hours of June 9^th, I found myself almost sitting up in bed, my arms reaching out into the darkness, trying to grab, or even hold onto, a female presence.   I didn’t know who she was or what she looked like, only that something was concluding… a dream of some kind maybe.  I didn’t put much thought into it and fell back asleep.    I’m often visited or have interactions of some sort while sleeping… sometimes they are subtle, just an awareness of someone watching me or present… sometimes it’s a loud voice yelling, sometimes a whisper.    Strange as it may sound, I’m seldom frightened and usually tell who or what ever it is, to just “go away, I’m sleeping.”    I still wonder if the interaction that morning was actually much more than it seemed, perhaps it was even my mom… saying goodbye.  

I was working from home when I noticed the phone call from my brother in Atlanta.    He usually texts me, so immediately I knew something had to be wrong.    I instantly thought of my mother, recent events having me somewhat anticipating this call.    I wasn’t thinking of what happened much earlier that morning, but I had known for some time my mom was giving up on the battle against the lung disease that would claim her life.    For over six years she had been tethered to an oxygen machine of some sort, having been diagnosed with idiopathic pulmonary fibrosis… basically scaring of the lungs.   Little by little breathing had become more difficult for her, while her desire to live less and less.   About a month before her passing she had shared my post on FaceBook, probably the first time she had done so, about my Uncle Joey that died in World War II at the age of 21.   “I remember the day you picked me up from school…”  she had written, and I immediately knew what she actually was saying.    It was like I could translate her words into some kind of higher meaning, and I began to sob at the dinner table the evening I read it.    My partner Eric became extremely concerned and asked me what was wrong.   I explained to him that my mom’s post was actually her way of asking her brother to come pick her up once again.     I sobbed and expressed my sense of knowing she wouldn’t be around much longer.  

My brother’s voice on the phone was very caring and at the same time almost professional sounding.    Being a minister for a large hospice organization, he had done this many times before…  although never for his own family.    

“Where are you right now?”  he asked with almost a quiver in his voice.

“I’m at home, I’m here.”   I responded with an escalating level of anxiety as the sensation of deep concern and loss began to build up inside of me.

“Mom has passed, Bibi found her on the floor.    She’s on the other line.”  

My heart sank so very low.   The moment my sister and I had dreaded since we were young children had finally arrived.    The knowledge of how it would occur, where we would all be… it was all known in the present moment, part of my awareness… and part of my life forever.    My brother connected my sister to the call and I could hear her sobbing loudly and painfully.    The memory of it brings me to tears as I can clearly hear her voice… and the pain, with amazing clarity.  I doubt as the years pass it will ever dull, become less loud, or become a whisper as so many memories often do.    I became choked up and called to my sister, speaking about how much I loved her, how sorry I was… and that I would be over there soon to be with her.    My brother began giving me instructions and for some reason, I can’t hardly remember them.   He wanted my sister’s children to be able to see their grandmother one last time, but that would mean removing her body from the floor and placing her in bed.    The wise decision was made to leave my mom where she was until the police could arrive an conduct their investigation.

After hanging up the phone I immediately called my partner Eric and told him what happened.   The memories of calling others to pass on the information of my best friend’s death over twenty years ago came flooding back to me.    This was a horrible but necessary action, one that would potentially become more frequent as I got older.    Eric was completely shocked, the emotion in his voice easily recognizable.    He said he would immediately leave the office and meet me at home.    I ended the call and jumped into the shower… the first ever without the awareness of my mom being alive and just a phone call away.

When I arrived at my mother’s home with Eric, there were a couple of police cars outside and a female officer standing under a tree in the parking area.    As I approached the front door, a neighbor approached me, masked and keeping her distance, as most concerned people do during the COVID19 pandemic.    “I’m so sorry to hear about your mom, I loved her very very much.”    It was easy to see the expression of sorrow in her eyes, even though she was speaking through a facial covering.    I felt bad I didn’t recognize this neighbor as I was somewhat in a state of confusion.    I thanked her and walked inside, immediately catching a glimpse of another officer standing by my mother’s bedroom door which was shut.   My sister immediately ran up to me and we hugged, sobbing as we embraced each other.    My brother Gary and his wife Ana we also there, and after embracing them as well, we all sat down, having the conversations one does after losing someone unexpectedly.    What happened… who saw her… who didn’t want to see her… did she look bad and the like.    It was such a bizarre feeling and at the same instance, a time of coming together and knowing this was a part of life, and that we weren’t experiencing it alone.    Yes my father had passed away decades before of cancer, but the experience was completely different in every way… this was our mom, the matriarch of the family.

I don’t think two days had even passed when Eric came up with the idea of heading back to the Florida Keys, and enjoying Key West together as a family.    Eric and I had taken my mom there in 2014, and she so enjoyed the drive and the food.    The keys was actually a favorite place for her, having taken many road trips there with my Aunt Olga and Uncle Gene.   It also wasn’t uncommon to take my mom to the Keys for spontaneous lunches or Mother’s Day, she loved looking at the water and she absolutely loved seafood.   My entire family embraced the idea with a level of enthusiasm never seen before.    It would be such an appropriate tribute to my mom and the very first time ever… yes ever… that we would all be together for a period longer than a few hours.    It seemed like my mom’s spirit was thrilled as well, to have most of her kids together at the same time.    The only possible exception would be my eldest brother Jon, whom I hadn’t really spoken with or seen in over ten years.  A complicated history of family trauma, hurt feelings and anger had been keeping us apart.    The question in everyone’s heart’s and minds was whether my mom’s passing would be the spark of love we needed to begin healing… in more ways than one.

Weeks passed and the news was suddenly flooding the group text chat on our phones… something we had done for several years, with an occasional lapse in participation mostly by me, in an attempt to assert my individuality and or importance.   Being the youngest of five children isn’t easy at times, and I’ve often felt like an afterthought in the grand scheme of family politics and social interaction.    Still, recent revelations had brought us all together with one exception, my brother Jon… and we were all missing him tremendously.   “Jon and Michele are coming to the keys!”  one of my brothers, I can’t remember which one, texted in a joyous excitement that could be felt in the illuminated characters on the screen.    We all became instantly excited, not only because we would see him and his wife again, but the prospect of being all together for the first time in a very long while.    Of course the prospect of being a family again was also on our minds, something my mom would be credited with as one of her final accomplishments.   The knowledge of all this coming together with such ease and a minimal amount of effort could not be overlooked.   Our family was absolutely horrible to plan anything with, and in the time frame of just a couple of weeks, had managed to locate an open resort in Key West during a pandemic, charter a sail boat for my mom’s memorial service, and reunite with my brother Jon and his wife Michele.     Truly amazing, and clearly a miracle of divine proportion and design.

“Holding back tears himself, he described how my mom brought us into this world through our birth, and in her death, brought us all back together.”

I so love walking down Duval Street in Key West, it has a unique energy that has this kind of charm to it.    It’s within a part of the island called “Old Town Key West” and it’s perfectly named since so many of the buildings look the same as they did a century or more earlier.     As Eric and I were walking this particular Friday afternoon, I received a text message that my brother Jon was with the rest of family walking in our direction.   I had a mixture of feelings… apprehension, excitement, even a little bit of anxiety thrown in for good measure.    As we turned a corner, there he was, looking much the same as I last remembered him.   He smiled and approached me with love and open arms.    I gave him a huge hug and started to tear up with emotion, holding onto him tight and letting him know I didn’t want him to ever leave my awareness again.    Michele, Jon’s wife, was there too, complete with her infectious smile and a welcome equally as warm.   It was the first of many miracles that would occur during our time in the Keys together, one that I know my mom extremely was proud of.     Her spirit and energy was readily felt during our entire stay, and at times I found myself looking for her as if she was somewhere to be seen.

The next day we all boarded a beautiful sailboat that my brother Gary had located online.    My sister had chartered it for the late afternoon going into sunset, a perfect ending to my mother’s journey in the physical.    My father’s ashes would join her too, having been stored for years in the garage and even lost at times.   We had never settled on a time and place to honor him, and this seemed like the perfect place for my mom and him both.   In retrospect it almost seemed like their spirits planned this from the start, as a kind of perfect farewell.    My father being an avid fisherman (even commercially at one point) and my mother loving the sea, made this all seem like a carefully orchestrated event.  My brother would deliver a beautiful service, dressed in his ministry robes as my mom would have wanted… and been so proud of.    Holding back tears himself, he described how my mom brought us into this world through our birth, and in her death, brought us all back together.   The words couldn’t have been more appropriate as we gathered together once again as a family, our bonds stronger than ever.     As my mom’s ashes went into the water, the winds on the ocean picked up fiercely, as a very dark and ominous thunderstorm approached…  black massive clouds against the backdrop of a beautiful orange and red Florida Keys sunset.   My mother’s spirit couldn’t have felt more present, she might as well have been there in the physical, as my memories of that evening seem to reflect that very notion.

The weekend continued onward with countless expressions of gratitude from every member of my family… my cousin Barbara and her husband Tom had even joined us, and even though their religious and political alignment are in stark contrast with my own, there was no shortage of love and compassion.  My mother would have wanted no less, she was such a firm believer of forgetting the past and loving everyone for the person they are.    She loved my cousin Barbara very much, often recalling how she took care of her and her sister Debbie when they were babies.     I guess being the little girls of her own sister, they both had a very special place in her heart.   Of course this gathering had to end eventually, and we found ourselves hugging and saying goodbye that Sunday afternoon after lunch.   Although something was very noticeable… we were all very different people from when we arrived to these chain of islands in the Atlantic and Gulf waters… we were a family once again with he awareness and responsibility that goes along with it.    Vowing to never be separated again, we parted ways looking forward to the next time we would all be together.  

Today would have been my mom’s 83^rd birthday, and I could see no better tribute than to publish this account of our journey.   As I put my final words together, tears are running down my face, reminding me of the love that I felt for my mom.   They aren’t tears of sadness at all, they are a reminder that special people exist in our lives and when they’re gone, their memory holds a special place in our heart.    As human beings we are never perfect individuals, we make mistakes as we learn and continue to grow until our very last day on this planet.    My tears reflect not only the memory of my mom, but the joy of knowing what it is to be a family once again.     There could be no better gift to give my mom for her birthday other than the emotion of complete gratitude… for my life and for those that surround me today because of her.  

Happy Birthday Mommy.

I don’t want to know how racist you really are.

I don’t want to know how your world view is based on a meme that validates your fear and ignorance.

I don’t want to know how much you devalue facts, reasoning and logic.

I don’t want to know that you don’t have single friend that isn’t white as a bed sheet.

I don’t want to know that your religious beliefs include supporting and promoting sexual predators that boast about their behavior.

I don’t want to know that you get all your information from a single source.

I don’t want to know that you’ve never spent hours with your head buried in an encyclopedia.

I don’t want to know that your vote is based on how big your paycheck is.

I don’t want to know that you don’t know the difference between fact and opinion.

I don’t want to know that you consider science and mathematics the enemy.

I don’t want to know that years of research, study, statistical analysis, empirical evidence and observation mean nothing to you.

I don’t want to know that you have no idea what the previous statement even means.

I don’t want to know that you stop caring about your fellow human the moment they’re born.

I don’t want to know you don’t like animals.

I don’t want to know that you crush spiders even though they’re saving your world from destruction by insects.

I don’t want to know that you have a closet filled with weapons designed for war, to kill as many humans as possible in the shortest amount of time, and claim it’s for hunting.

I don’t want to know when your child is murdered at school, because the weapons in your closet are perfectly legal.

I don’t want to know that you think it’s okay to lock humans and children in cages.

I don’t want to know you’re clueless of how blessed you are, and you look down at others with so much less.

I don’t want to know that I was right about that something which bothered me, and I couldn’t put my finger on it.

I don’t want to know that you fell in love with someone you never met in just two days, and now you’re crushed and don’t want to live because they’ve blocked you.

I don’t want to know so many people can relate with that kind of relationship.

I don’t want to know that you hate anyone with a faith in a higher power.

I don’t want to know that you don’t even believe in yourself.

I don’t want to know that you claim not to be homophobic, but you’ll vote for someone that actively fights against my right to love who I choose.

I don’t want to know that you don’t realize voting has nothing to do with politics, and everything to do about how people live, work and survive.

I don’t want to know you don’t vote.

I don’t want to know anymore.

Before social media, I was so much more hopeful for our planet.

Before I knew, I thought we’d overcome just about everything.

Before I knew how diseased we were, I thought we were somewhat healthy.

I don’t want to know anymore.

One day, in a beautiful little community, a neighbor named Bob elected to paint his house with polka dots because he saw it on a tv show, and thought it would make for even greater curb appeal. It looked really cool on TV, but when he finished the job it didn’t look so great. He thought to himself “Maybe it needs some time to get used to…” and he left them on the house. His family wasn’t so sure about them either, but they went along with his idea.

As days turned into weeks, and then into months, it became very apparent that the dots weren’t working. They were horrible. The neighborhood started to complain and the exterior design of the house became an eye sore. The family was embarrassed at first, however as the anger up and down the street grew, so did their defiance. They just couldn’t admit to themselves that they had all made a huge mistake. The paint was expensive, the process arduous, and to change it back now would be an admission of their complete lack of good taste. They began to tell others that they would keep the dots, and in fact, they actually loved the dots and planned to add more in the near future. Before long, they actually found themselves liking the dots, since they had put so much time and energy in defending them, and they saw the dots as a statement of their individuality.

This angered the neighborhood even further, and one day someone threw an egg at the front door in protest. The egg splattered and quickly spoiled in the summer heat, making a huge stink. Sally, the neighbor next door, hated the dots as well, but she didn’t like the idea of someone throwing an egg at the house and making such a mess. As a form of support, she began to tell others she liked the dots also, and she wanted them to stay. At first, Sally thought this would help stop the constant bickering in what used to be such a peaceful neighborhood, but it only made it worse. Shortly after, someone threw an egg at Sally’s front door and this bothered her tremendously. She decided she would paint her house with dots as well… after all, they were throwing eggs at it anyway, and it was a painted lovely shade of pink without any dots. Sally thought to herself, “I’ll show them!”

So Sally painted her house with dots, and her friends began defending her, and soon the entire neighborhood started taking sides. Like a contagious disease, dots were going up on houses everywhere, and neighbors were fighting against neighbors daily. Dotted houses began to appear on every corner, and the neighborhood started to look pretty ugly… at least to half the neighborhood. The other half began to boast it never looked better! Someone with no dots suggested that a law should be made so that houses could only be painted approved designs, and that just made things even worse. The idea of someone telling someone else what they could or couldn’t paint on their home, didn’t go over well with homeowners with dots and even some with no dots… and so even more arguments began ensue.

One day, during the hottest of the summer months, a hurricane was forecast to hit the small town. The weather service warned everyone that this was one of the worse storms to ever hit the area, and they needed to prepare their homes, taking appropriate action such as placing shutters on the windows. At first everyone agreed and people actually stopped arguing for a while, and started shuttering their homes. Unfortunately Bob was taking way too long to put up his shutters, and when one of the neighbors brought this to his attention, he became very upset. Especially since the comment came from someone with no dots on his house.

Seeing this as yet another attempt to tell him and the others with dots what to do, Bob decided he wouldn’t put shutters on his house, and would ride out the storm as if it were just an afternoon shower. The surrounding neighbors got very upset, since if Bob’s house got destroyed, the resulting debris would affect those around him. When the complaints and concerns rolled in, Bob just stood his ground. Sally also decided once again to support Bob in protest. Clearly this was just another attempt by the neighbors with no dots to tell the ones with dots what to do… after all, they were obviously still so angry at the dots. So Sally refused the shutters, and eventually, all houses with dots had no shutters, even if they had already put them up when they had heard of the approaching storm.

Days later, the strong hurricane made landfall and hit the tiny divided community at nightfall. The high winds easily broke through Bob’s windows, shattering them into thousands of pieces, allowing them to barrel through his home. Bob and his family tried to hang onto anything they could, but it was no use. The winds were strong and they were blown out the beautiful bay window of their living room. Just moments later the structure succumbed to the high winds, and sadly the house was destroyed.

Meanwhile, Dave, who lived down street from Bob in a lovely 3 bedroom non-dotted house, was sheltered inside and listening to the eerie storm noises coming from the exterior of the home. His family was safe, having shuttered his windows and properly prepared for the hurricane which had finally arrived. Suddenly, Dave heard a loud crashing noise coming from the upstairs, and his family became very frightened. Unfortunately, Bob’s baby grand piano had flown into his roof, just one of many pieces of furniture and debris flying around since his house was destroyed. With a large hole now in Dave’s roof, the tremendous winds rushed inside and quickly destroyed his house within minutes, producing yet more debris. Little by little, dotted and non dotted houses were destroyed, as they didn’t stand a chance against the high winds and debris, which acted just like armed missles.

The next morning, the rising sun revealed the full damage of the hurricane which had passed during the night. House after house was destroyed, and corpses lay face down in muddy puddles. The tiny community was completely destroyed. There were no more houses and far less people, regardless of who had dots and who didn’t. Without any houses, the surviving residents had nothing to argue about and they began to wonder why they were arguing in the first place. After all, when push comes to shove, they were all just people… without their houses to display who had dots and who didn’t. Sadly, they gathered together and waited for the emergency response to arrive, which brought much needed supplies and water to the fractured town.

Sally was still alive, although, like the others, she had no home. She was very happy to see the assistance being provided, and the remaining members of the community all agreed that she should act as a liaison between emergency crews. She had lived in the neighborhood all her life and she knew everyone that lived there. Sally could tell rescuers where to look and how many people should be found in each house. The neighborhood placed their complete trust in her to make decisions in the best interest of the town… the thought of houses painted with dots or no dots, was the least thing on their minds. Later that evening, crews were dropping off a pallet of food rations for dinner, before moving forward to help other communities around the area. Sally met with the director of the rescue efforts and although exhausted, felt empowered and honored to represent her town. As Sally looked at the brightly collored orange uniform the man was wearing, he looked back at her and asked, “Beef or chicken?”