So long Oprah, but I won’t miss you

Don’t get me wrong, I’m no less inspired by the nation’s number one iconic girlfriend than every other woman in this country, but unlike the rest of the world, I’m not grieving over the end of her talk show.

I long ago lost interest in watching the day-to-day broadcasts. Sure, I would still tune in sometimes, but I was no longer a loyal Oprahphile. Was it the celebrity worship that turned me off? Tom Cruise jumping on a couch, Tom Hanks and Julia Roberts plugging their latest movie? Was it the ridiculous makeovers that so clearly weren’t going to work long-term for the victims? After all, didn’t the mountain man with the wild hair and beard go right back to his former self? Was it the browbeating of author James Frey for fabricating anecdotes in “A Million Little Pieces?” And what was that whole issue with Ilyana Vanzant, a spiritual leader and life coach, who had a falling out with the media mogul more than a decade ago? I loved the demonstration of forgiveness on the recently aired show, but did it really take Oprah more than 10 years to get there? Come on…she’s Oprah…forgiveness is the most elementary aspect of emotional maturity.

Emotional maturity is what Oprah is all about. She reached that higher level of humanness in front of all of us over a quarter of a century of television shows. She listens to criticism without putting up defenses. She doesn’t jump to conclusions. Integrity is at her core and long-term relationships are her trademark.

Oprah’s company, Harpo Studios sponsors shows by Dr. Phil, Dr. Oz, Nate Berkus, and Rachel Ray. This fall, Rosie O’Donnell will launch her own talk show on OWN, Winfrey’s cable network. Maria Shriver is reportedly being courted to do another show on OWN, also. Country singer Shania Twain’s docudrama series about her life kicked off last Sunday.

Who doesn’t salivate over the good fortune that rains on Oprah’s inner-circle. When she loves you, you are blessed. That reality dawned on me years ago before she became royalty.

In 1990 I was pregnant with my first son. Six months earlier I had miscarried twins at six weeks, so doctors were taking no chances with this pregnancy. As soon as I began bleeding I was put on bed rest for the duration of the first trimester. That left the tiny public relations firm for which I worked, short-handed. The owner let me go, and I was doomed to nine months of watching Oprah on the couch alone. I began to conspire ways to get on her show. It wasn’t as difficult in those years. Lots of women who wrote letters about a personal issue received invitations. What could I come up with?

I plotted and planned, mulled and pondered. Hmmm…my black sister-in-law—the wife of my then husband’s brother—wouldn’t talk to me. She was miffed over something I’d said three years before and wouldn’t let it go. Maybe Oprah could help us resolve our difficulties. After all, it had racial and relationship overtones. What would play better on the Oprah show? And what about my marriage to a younger man? In those years, relationship experts were touting older women-younger men connections because, they said, there were more women than men in the country. I thought it was a ridiculous idea until I met my children’s father in a graduate school program and fell for him. With our first baby on the way, that year, I was walking the walk.

But the schemes and dreams remained in my head. I never proposed any of them to Harpo Studios while I sat on my couch day after day for those nine months. Still too insecure, I imagined myself on Oprah’s stage with cameras rolling, tongue-tied and panic-stricken. A decade later, after life had thrown me some real curveballs—divorce, death, disappointment— and emboldened me to find my voice, I had some tales to tell. I wrote about them in both obscure and noteworthy publications. Wherever I could publish my essays, I took the opportunity. By then, my sister-in-law and I had become as close as sisters and whatever difficulties we’d had in the past were long forgotten.

My evolution wasn’t consciously orchestrated like Oprah’s. After all, she just had to snap her fingers and spiritual leader Eckhart Tolle was at her doorstep. I was lucky to find a licensed social worker who accepted my health insurance. But somehow I grew more introspective, more honest, and more open about my personal struggles. By keeping tabs on Oprah and her guests, I learned that leading by example could help others find their own path to improved circumstances.

I kept my eye on her even though I seldom tuned in over these last 15 some odd years. She taught me that I could elevate my life—that it wasn’t necessary to accept things as they were if you wanted them to be different. Acceptance of yourself and others was the key to a full and rich life, Oprah told us. She taught me that you could face ugly truths, acknowledge them, take responsibility, and move on. She taught us all by her own openness.

Have I reached her level of self-actualization? Not even close. But I recognize the possibilities. The victories in my life have come in waves over the years. I created a minor platform through writing and reached some goals. I even co-host a cable television show these days. But there’s always another mountain to climb and I’m setting out on a new journey now.

So is Oprah. That’s why I won’t miss her show. It’s done. She’s said everything there is to say and to continue it would negate that which she has represented for the past quarter century. When your show rakes in millions, the pressures to keep going must be intense. But Oprah knows there’s so much more out there for her—acting roles to try out, a network to mold, charities to support—and, once again, she’s demonstrating her willingness to face a truth head on.

Her wave of self-actualization has ebbed, and it’s only a matter of time before it starts flowing again.

Joyce Pellino Crane can be reached at joycepellinocrane@gmail.com. She writes a blog at wordtrope.com/blog.

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A day in the life of a newspaper editor

I spent the afternoon in Starbucks hoping to connect with the community.  But the only person  I recognized was a parttime English teacher at the high school.  I began to wonder if everyone who walked in had just come off the highway. With such a steady stream of customers it seemed like there should have been more familiar faces. What does it mean when you’re the editor of your hometown newspaper and you hardly recognize the people who pass through Starbucks?

Every Wednesday I spend the day out of the office and in the community.  I try to come face-to-face with people I don’t otherwise see.  The best stories come this way.  In January I was in the library interviewing our town’s state representative.  He mentioned in passing that Burger King and Boston Market were vacating their storefronts in the downtown shopping plaza.  I jumped into the story and posted it online. It pulled in 2,000 hits.

I spent this morning reporting a story on a proposed elevator for one of the town’s elementary schools. The superintendent showed me the architectural plans. The principal walked me through the building. The story is starting to come together just in time for Town Meeting when voters will decide whether to appropriate $500,000 for the elevator’s installation.

The town moderator is writing a story on “Ten things to understand about Town Meeting.”

Overall, it was a productive day.  But next week I’m going to Kimball’s coffee shop.

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Recalling life, not death

Andrew Curry Green

Boston Globe, published on September 10, 2001

by Joyce Pellino Crane

NORTHWOOD, NH – The Boy Scouts at summer camp this August looked no different than the images of a young Andrew Curry Green some 20 years ago when he sailed on the same New Hampshire lake whose banks will memorialize his life and not the tragic circumstances of his September 11 death.

No granite. No copper. No bricks. This memorial will be a wooden boathouse on the lake’s waterfront where Andrew Peter Charles Curry Green of Chelmsford spent many joyous summers first as a Scout in his early teens, and then as a camp staff member as a young adult.

It is a way for his widow and those who grew up with him each summer at Scout Reservation Wah Tut Ca to sweep his spirit away from the crumbled cement, fractured steel, tumbling towers, and violent hearts that claimed him, back to the flowing waters of Northwood Lake where he practiced kindness and community service.

A born leader with a dynamic personality, his sudden death at age 34 seemed inconceivable.

“The way he died was so unique in this country,” said his widow, Shannon Curry Green. “It’s hard to wrap your brain around it.”

Camp Wah Tut Ca is located just outside of Concord, NH, off Route 4, which briefly runs alongside Northwood Lake. One of a handful of area Scout camps, it draws troops from throughout the Merrimack Valley to participate in weekly summer activities. The camp’s rustic tent sites are sheltered under groves of pine trees and its lakefront access is deep inside–a beautiful azure clearing to a dark and wooded pathway.

The 1980`s photographs of Andrew as a teenager, wearing swimming trunks, towering over the other boys, sun streaked waves and mischievous smile, could have been shot this summer. Little has changed at the camp where Boy Scouts work toward qualifying for their Eagle badges—the Holy Grail of Scouting—and swim and sail as the sun browns and bleaches.

Yet, outside the camp’s boundaries, the world changed five years ago when United Airlines Flight 175 and American Airlines Flight 11 with Andrew on board, smashed into New York City’s World Trade Center.

One of 92 people on the plane, he was returning to his Santa Monica home after spending September 10, 2001, in Burlington on business. Hired in the late 1990`s by Cambridge-based Cahners Business Information (now New York-based Reed Business Information) to do business development, Curry Green had spearheaded the acquisition of a small Los Angeles-based online publishing company and then transitioned to eLogic as its business development manager. In early 2000 he began commuting weekly from his Dorchester home to California, taking Flight 11 out of Logan Airport regularly.

Finally, in fall 2000, Andrew and Shannon, Chelmsford High School sweethearts, moved to California and the routine long distant traveling ended. But in September of the next year, Curry Green visited the Boston area to encourage officials of a key corporate client to renew a contract with eLogic Corporation, said Shannon Curry Green. Without the contract, a threat of lay-offs was reverberating throughout the company, and Curry Green hoped to spare the handful of employees who would be affected. She was uncertain whether he was successful, she said.

The next day, he flew out of Logan at 7:59 a.m. after spending the evening with his mother Pat Green in Chelmsford.

“That was a gift,” she said. “I got to say goodbye…even though I didn’t know it then.”

“…sudden death is so traumatic,” said Shannon Curry Green, a self-employed visual artist who now lives in New York City. “Your whole world shifts and they’re gone.”

Andrew Curry Green edged toward death earlier in his life. In June 1985 when he was 18, Curry Green prevented his family’s Chelmsford home from burning but in the process severely injured himself. A frying pan with oil was left on a burner and caught fire. A nearby fire extinguisher malfunctioned, so he grabbed the pan and walked a few steps to the door. As the air hit the flames, they morphed into a fireball, and Curry Green, the second of four children, was burned over 90 percent of his body. He languished at Massachusetts General Hospital in Boston for two months, at one point coming close to succumbing to his injuries, according to his mother. Ultimately, he healed, said Shannon, but the skin that tanned each summer was now scarred.

“From then on we were cemented together,” she said. “We were a solid couple.”

They were married on September 8, 1990 in Bedford, NH.

From the rubble of Ground Zero, no physical particle was recovered of Andrew’s 6 foot, 4 inch frame, but members of the Key Foundation of Lowell are determined that every Scout who attends Wah Tut Ca will know that Andrew did good things there and they want him remembered for the way he lived and not how he died.

“Andrew was full of life,” said Brian Lobao, who mentored Curry Green through an elite class of Scouts called the Order of the Arrow. “He loved the outdoors. His death was really the antithesis of his life. To die in such a violent way, it just doesn’t fit the person.”

Lobao, 50, spent 23 years as Lowell’s Wannalancit Lodge 451 advisor for the Order of the Arrow, the national honor society of Boy Scouts begun in 1915. A Lowell native, Lobao grew up attending Boy Scout Troop 3 in the Highlands section. In Curry Green, he found some symmetry to his own life. Curry Green’s parents eventually separated and Lobao was raised by a single mother. Both were elected by their peers to the elite order—Lobao in 1972, and Curry Green in 1981.

Curry Green, an Eagle Scout, was a founding member of the Key Foundation, formed in 1987 by about 50 alumni of the Wannalancit Lodge. He became its executive director in 1993 until 1998. Lobao assumed the presidency in fall 2001.

Over the years, the Foundation has evolved into an organization that supports programs that had been important to the members during their youth, Lobao said.

“The experiences that were there for us, we support in the present,” he said.

It will take about $100,000 to build Andrew’s 1400 square foot boathouse, Lobao said.

So far Foundation members have raised about $60,000 in less than two years, through a fundraising celebration of Andrew’s birthday on March 22, when he would have turned 39, and two swimming events held at Northwood Lake in 2005 and 2006.

Over the next week, Lobao said the Foundation members will decide whether to break ground this year or next, depending on material costs. The existing 1937 boathouse has long needed to be replaced, according to Lobao, because of rotting wood and inadequate space.

Lobao said the Scouting experiences led to enduring relationships among Andrew’s friends.

On August 5 about 22members of the camp’s staff, the Key Foundation, and the Boy Scout organization, swam the lake’s three-mile length for pledged amounts of money and another 80 watched. The event raised more than $10,000 toward the boathouse. His mother attended and Shannon participated.

“The important thing is to enjoy your child every day you’ve got him because you never know when he’ll live the last day of his life,” said Pat Green, who expressed gratitude for the 18 years he lived beyond the burn injury.

For Shannon Curry Green, the life shift was dramatic. She returned to her parents’ Chelmsford home after Andrew’s death and through group therapy with three other 9-11 widows, began to heal. Part of her recovery, she said, was to muster the courage to move to New York City—the last place where Andrew had existed.

“I just wanted to be where he was last,” she said. “…I wanted to be a part of the rebuilding.”

When the Boy Scouts who attend Wah Tut Ca—which stands for brother and friend–enter the boathouse named in Andrew’s memory, they, too, will be a part of the rebuilding.

A Key Foundation video presentation written and produced by Lobao about Curry Green ends with these words:

“We don’t know what lies in their future, yet while these boys are at Wah Tut Ca they can, for a brief yet important time, be just boys…there will be smiles and laughter…Andrew’s name will be about summer, water, and boats, sunsets and pine trees…”

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The Best Laugh of My MONTH! :)

MomsRising News

The Best Laugh of My Week

watch?v=RvSmRoiPTcs

Ancient Roman emperor Elagabalus is interviewed by a Martin Bashir impersonator. It’s a bit heady, but what can I say…it was made for an 11th-grade Latin class.

Cop Out

If you can make it through this mediocre movie, the last scene with Seann William Scott is fall-on-the-floor hysterical. Here’s the trailer:

Cop Out Trailer

Overview

User Rating:

6.1/10 3,483 votes »

MOVIEmeter:

Down 45% in popularity this week. See why on IMDbPro.

Director: Kevin Smith

Read more

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Motorola Droid, Smarter Than a Phone, but Not Perfect

Front and side views of the Motorola Droid

by Joyce Pellino Crane

After using the Android operating system for three months, living without it, would be like living without a car at my front door. It’s doable, but I’d have to readjust to a slow-boat mindset.

Truthfully, I don’t ever want to go back to a regular cell phone.

My Motorola Droid operates so closely to a mini laptop that it’s easy to take for granted the fingertip information and forget how amazing mobile access truly is. I not only receive email on my Smartphone, but I also receive email attachments—only a few mobile units have that capability and some require you to buy additional software to do so.

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Washington Post Sets Record Straight

It’s the Style, NOT Mensa Invitational

Dear Joyce:

Thanks for taking the time to check out the provenance of the “Mensa Invitational” list you then posted on your blog.

You’re so close, though.

The “blog post” (see below) you referred to was actually the introduction to one of the weekly contests of The Style Invitational, which I run.  And two Style Invitational contests from 1998 are the sources of many — but not all — of the neologisms in the lists above. (For example, “decafalon” isn’t a one-letter change from “decathlon,” is it? Or “caterpallor”?)  Much better to see the real thing — every week at washingtonpost.com/styleinvitational. read more »

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Osteopornosis: A degenerate disease

File this under “The Best Laugh of My Week”

This landed in my inbox today. It was identified as the Washington Post’s Mensa Invitational, which asks readers to take any word from the dictionary,  alter it by adding,  subtracting, or changing one letter, and supply  a new definition.

But a quick Google search revealed that the Post takes no credit for it. On January 28, 2007, a WP blog post with the byline “The Empress” said the following:

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A Best Friend’s Tribute to Olivia Marchand

Nicole Kibblehouse’s Presentation at Saturday’s Memorial Mass at St. Catherine’s of Alexandria Church

WESTFORD, Mass. – For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Livy’s best friend. I know that none of you were probably as close to her as I was before she died, and that’s why I’m standing here this morning.

I don’t want you to remember her as the picture you see in the newspaper or on the news everyday, I want you to remember her as if she was your best friend. I want you to know the little things that should never be forgotten.

Liv is the most understanding person I’ve ever met and the best listener by far. I can ramble on and on all day about the most random and uneventful stories, and she will still ask me questions and laugh. She’s dependable. I can text or call her at any time and she will always answer.

The only time she lets me down is if she hangs out with someone else besides me.

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