Why I Love My Home

(CNN) -- In Fargo, North Dakota, the word "destruction" is being spoken. The reference is to the potential power of the feared floodwaters.

But even if the outcome is as dire as the starkest of predictions -- even if the Red River overflows its banks to an extent and for a duration never before seen in Fargo -- the things that truly matter in town will not be destroyed.

Proof of that is evident. Once in a great while, a community has the opportunity to understand anew what that word -- "community" -- really means; once in a while, a town defines itself as a town. The week just past has been such a time for Fargo.

The people of the city, joined by volunteers from other cities in North Dakota, Minnesota and beyond, have done what they can do to shore up the levees and barricades, to put up whatever defense they can muster against the river. Neighbor standing next to neighbor, they have worked with those sandbags in the daylight and at night, in the cold and in the snow.

Our society has grown accustomed to assuming we can accomplish just about anything with the touch of a button, the movement of a cursor on a computer screen. That too-easy word -- "community" -- has become overused in its online context. All the so-called communities on the glowing screens, all the friends and friendships to be bestowed with the click of a mouse.

And then comes a moment when the essence of community, in its bedrock definition, is required, and we witness it as it unfolds, person by person, minute by minute.

They don't know in Fargo whether, in the end, they will have vanquished the river.
If you've ever been to that part of the upper Midwest, you are aware that self-sufficiency is one of the defining qualities of the lives the people lead. They have grown up knowing it has to be that way.

Most Americans seldom pass through North Dakota. The families who live there have long understood that when something important needs to be done, they'd better count on doing it themselves. There is a pride in that that, although not often expressed aloud, is part of the air itself.

The mayor, Dennis Walaker, speaking of the battle against the river, said, "we want to win this. We want to win this badly." Yet he was realistic. He told the people of Fargo, "I don't care how old you are. You've never seen anything like this in the Valley."

The instructions given to the residents by the city's elected leaders have, perhaps inadvertently, reflected both a faith in the localness that has always been the foundation of Fargo, yet also a need for faith in something more powerful, something about as far from local as can be.

It could be heard in the words of Tim Mahoney, a Fargo city commissioner. He asked volunteers to go to one of two places to help fill sandbags: to the Fargodome sports stadium or to the Assembly of God church.

In the 3½ years since the terrible hurricane hit New Orleans and the Mississippi Gulf Coast, there has been a phrase that has entered the language: a "Katrina moment." The way it usually is spoken is not meant to flatter; a Katrina moment, as a rule, refers to a failure by government to provide the necessary assistance at a moment of crisis.

But there are moments, and there are moments. Whatever Fargo may become in the months and years ahead, what has already taken place there as the river has risen will serve to define the spirit of the town for generations yet unborn.

We are told so often that the world has become borderless, that in a digital age, we're all citizens of a universe without geographic definition. On those computer keyboards of ours, or so we are asked to believe, we're all everywhere at once.

It's not true. Everyone is from somewhere solid and real, from a spot on a map; everyone was born into a community in the oldest sense of that word. In the community of Fargo this past week, as the residents have worked shoulder to shoulder to fight the river, they have learned the meaning of that all over again. But of course, being from Fargo, they never really forgot.

Hoping and Praying

My thoughts are with my home state this week where the people are showing their usual resiliancy and courage in the face of never before heard of flood levels.

My New Job - CEO

Embattled bank JPMorgan Chase, the recipient of $25 billion in TARP funds, is going ahead with a $138 million plan to buy two new luxury corporate jets and build "the premiere corporate aircraft hangar on the eastern seaboard" to house them. The new aircraft hanger will include a vegetable roof garden.

Since they're not buying more planes, only fancier planes, we should think this is a good idea?

The vegetable garden will attract birds, which will conveneniently be sucked into the new luxury corporate jet engines, so the cost can be justified by all the poultry and veggie dinners the executives will now get for free.

See - I can justify the decision, so I ought to be named CEO of a bailed out company!

Signs of Spring, Travel, and A Random Thought

There are signs of Spring everywhere in Texas. The blue bonnets have started to bloom on the roadsides, the wisteria is in full bloom, and my oak trees are starting their annual yucky green pollen shed.

I'm getting that illogical urge to start buying plants for the backyard I won't see all summer (since I'll move to Minnesota end of April). The temps are in the mid-70's, and just perfect for yardwork.




I've been traveling a fair bit this month. First up, Miami, where the weather was chilly and windy, I held a snake, and spent a week staying up way too late drinking with customers. There's a whole post about it further down.


6 days home, then off to Bangkok, where the weather was HOT and humid, I bought a beautiful sapphire bracelet, and spent a week staying up way too late drinking with customers.



Here, a customer from Belarus is trying to convince me to drink vodka with him. We were in Patpong, the red light district of Bangkok, sitting at an outdoor bar. It was at least midnight, and the temps were still in the 90's. You'll notice that my hair is curly - my flat iron didn't work, and I gave in to the curl all week.



Finally, on my way home to Texas I stopped in San Francisco, where the weather was just perfect, I never left the hotel except to go to meetings (and once for supper), and slept 14 hours Saturday night trying to recover from horrible jet lag.

Monday night I flew the last leg of my journey, and I came home to a clean house (thank you Alicia). My cats were happy to see me and well taken care of (thank you Kathi).

Natasha Richardson died from hitting her head on a bunny slope. I didn't die from hitting my head on a driveway slope. Go figure. That's my random thought.

Alicia's Story

Alicia grew up in the mountains of Guatemala - poor, but then, everyone was poor. Her parents were alcoholics and abusive, so she ran away at the age of 11 to the city.

The streets of Guatemala City weren't any better. Alicia faced incredible poverty, and was raped several times while just trying to survive. While she was gone her older brother and younger sister (Beto and Paula) escaped to the promised land of the United States. Beto went to work for a successfully lawn care company in Fort Worth, and Paula started cleaning houses, eventually starting her own family and running a successful business.

Alicia wasn't so lucky. After years on the street she met a man and started a family. Her husband beat her, but was good to the children. Her family had no idea where she was, and in 2001, they hired a detective to find her. Since so much time had passed, Alicia didn't trust the woman on the phone that said she was her sister. Many questions about her childhood later, Alicia admitted she was the girl that ran away from home at 11.

After having 5 children, Alicia escaped to the United States to join her brother and sister. She didn't speak a word of English, but attended ESL (English as a Second Language) classes 3 times a week. The same kind woman that helped her brother and sister also set Alicia up with house keeping clients, including me.

Tonight, I learned that Alicia's 11 year old daughter committed suicide by ingesting rat poison. She was involved with an 18 year old boy, and had been caught at a party - typical teenage things. She bought rat poison, went to a cemetery where her mother used to take her for picnics, wrote a goodbye note, and died an incredibly painful death.

When Alicia talked to her remaining children, they told her to stay where she was and not to come back. They were able to attend school now (school is not free past the 8th grade), they all had shoes to wear, and they were even able to buy soft drinks on their way to school sometimes. All because of the money Alicia was sending back for them. How could they possibly give that up? They were all very angry at their sister.

How can I possibly imagine any of this, with my 'privileged' upbringing in a country where I was so lucky to be born?

My heart hurts tonight.

South Beach Not For the Faint of Heart

I spent the last week in Miami for a conference, and although it was a work event, there was fun to be had as well.

Our first day we had lunch at the News Cafe on South Beach, where Ferrari's whiz by and tourists look lost. There are also a few snake handlers that make their living by walking around and having the tourists pay to have their picture taken. Since I was a tourist this day, I went for it.

This is Samantha, a baby albino reticulated python, whose owner is 'socializing' her for human contact. Of course he told me the socializing part after he put her around my neck. She really was a sweetheart - soft, warm, and strong. I could feel her muscles as she moved, and knew that she could crush me easily even though she was still just a baby.

Later that week I had the chance to hold an alligator, but figured I had pushed my luck enough for one week.

And, as you can see, my black eye is gone (well, almost gone - makeup helps), and I have cleverly combed my bangs to the side to hide what is still a sizable lump from my accident a month ago.

Next week another conference in Bangkok. I wonder what adventures await there?