Remembering the Women Who Died Making it America

You’ve heard the phrase, “By the grace of G-d go I.” It means, it could have easily been me, my friends, or, in this case, my great-grandmother. Thankfully, it wasn’t anybody in my family. I’m here as testimony to that. I’m talking about the horrible fire that 2-chalk2014flyerbhappened in a shirtwaist factory in New York City.Sisters and mothers and daughters, and friends worked together in that factory and at the turn of the century-the early 20th Century-it was part of the bustling clothing and apparel industry in Lower Manhattan.  But, on March 25th, 1911 a fire broke out; exits were blocked; fabric dust ignited; women were burned alive or died trying to escape from the flames and lives were lost. It only took 30 minutes for 146 to perish.

I stumbled upon a website you can find the places where the women lived. If you walk around Manhattan, on March 25th you’ll be able to see TRIANGLE1-blog480where they lived as other women commemorate their lives, and also, their tragic deaths, in chalk, on the sidewalks by their addresses. Women are volunteering to write on the sidewalks. I wish I could be there to help. Perhaps it’s because many of the dead were immigrants, or the children of immigrants who had few choices as to where they could earn the money they needed to help their families make ends meet. They made things with their own hands, in America, working for the American dream. It could have been somebody I loved. It wasn’t. I am lucky.



Gratitude to Friends; New Friends; Friends I Do Business With and Supporters in 2014

Debra designed this logo

My business partner Debra Grobman  and I are very thankful that Cherri Senders, the publisher of, is supporting our efforts to spread the word to buy made in USA whenever possible. Our business associate, USAF vet, Alice Fisher, has been a great consultant and resourceful communications pro to us.  Ms. Alice probably will kill me for not asking her to edit this blog entry, but what the heck. Somethings you just want to write without other eyes looking at it first.  We owe so much to her for fixing up and working on the Search Engine Optimization of Patriot-Made Audiocasts.

Sikh is “sick” but that’s good!

We’ve met so many incredible people over the past year.  It’s been truly fascinating. Vishavjit Singh,  o f by way of old dear college buddy of mine, (SUNY Buffalo State College) Howie Greene who is all grown up now and works as a real estate broker at Level Group, Inc Real Estate and Professor at Kingsborough Community College, in my beloved Brooklyn, NY.

My machtunim—heavy on the ch (hhh) sound like Juan and Julio (it’s a Yiddish word) aka-brothers-in-law have been very supportive of my business ventures and the company that Debra and I formed called Flatlands Avenue Productions, LLC. Continue reading Gratitude to Friends; New Friends; Friends I Do Business With and Supporters in 2014

The Summer of Wars

Map Where is Mali
From the Wall Street Journal
Map Where is Mali
From the Wall Street Journal

That’s how I’m going to remember 2014. Gaza; Ukraine, Mali; Algiers; Netherlands, Malaysia Airlines. Rockets; missiles; Iron Dome; diplomacy; presidents; ministers of finance, defense, and state. Journalists who aren’t used to covering death showing their humanity.

Here’s where I confess to my workmates and colleagues. I’ve not read any email this morning. I’ve been watching CNN’s coverage of Hamas-v-Israel and the Dutch victims of the Malaysian airline that was shot out of the sky by most likely Russia-provided missiles to pro-Russia Ukrainian rebels. I’ve been watching and listening to the talking heads explain what’s going on with our Secretary of State Kerry and how much work he’s trying to do in a day, in so many areas of conflict. Then, a feed from the Netherlands, and the crime lab where the remains of people are being taken so that their deaths can be investigated, and possibly, explained.

Cut-away to a feed that wasn’t supposed to be seen; Dr. Sanjay Gupta, reporting on the medical side of things, as a producer hands him a microphone. He was there, watching what viewers of the cable network saw just a few minutes of, a procession of 74 hearses entering the gates of the Netherlands’ government facility.   I glimpse the face of the usually confident, pleasant looking physician. His eyes are sad, practically blank, in shock. So many bodies, each in their own car, passing by him. He looked horrified. In the background the chatter of a show host or anchor, as she explains that yet another commercial airline jet has disappeared in a barren patch of turf in  Africa.

This summer is the Summer of Wars. We are mortified that a form of transportation that most of us have used, or will use, a U.S. made plane, shows that it is all too vulnerable to conflict, or, in the case of the latest disappearance, perhaps even weather (it’s too early to know for sure.) that we pay attention to areas on the map we cannot name-Mali. The look of one man, a look of horror, and what I imagine is a sick feeling in his gut drives home that no matter what I’m trying to do to earn a living, and take care of my home and family, it’s just dust in comparison to the wave of human emotions that are being triggered by war, and conflict.  Blood is being spilled and tears are pouring from mourners and those who are stunned by mans continued inhumanity to man.   What will happen when emotion turns to reaction? How many more wars will be justified by this summer, our summer of 2014? 

Happy Veteran’s Day

vets day centerpieceI’m not a Veteran. My husband was disabled way before he could be considered for the draft, and when the draft board did ask him to report, he dutifully did. And he was given the status that recognized, “Hey, this guy’s in a wheelchair! Don’t think we should draft him to fight.” But, I’ve known guys and yes, women, around my husband’s age, and those my age, and young enough to be our children, who have been in uniform, have served years overseas on a military post, or in battle.  My father spent a few months in Korea, and it was just a few years ago that he shared with his kids what he did and some of the people he met along the way.  He’s still involved in Veteran’s organizations.

My husband and I visit my mother-in-law in an assistive living place and she dines with a man who loves to regale us with stories of the Nazis that he killed.  We know another man who was a bombardier who destroyed cities and towns in Germany.  I recently talked to a man whose service consisted of being in an officers training program, and his service consisted of marching in drills, every weekend, when he wasn’t studying for his university exams in Canada.  He knows he was lucky.  He didn’t get shipped out to a land that wasn’t his own. Yet, that was  part of his duty, that and entertaining troops who came home on leave.

Not all veterans tell their stories. Some embellish them, others forget some details, or adopt the details of a buddy’s adventure.

Remembering stories is all well and good.  We must remember not to be too stingy with our tax dollar. Push the politicians to spend a little less on foreign aid to countries that don’t really like us, and on missiles that will most likely be decommissioned and destroyed before they even get fired into enemy turf.  Let’s help our country  keep promises that were made to recruits and volunteers that if they served they, and their families would be taken care of.

And, yes, has a very special message that we should remember.  Those who had few other options in life other than to be patriotic and volunteer for service in Iraq and Afghanistan need a lot more than our pity these days.   Those who bravely believed what government leaders were telling the world, and joined up, well–they were deceived. They were hurt, emotionally, physically, as well as slaughtered just for being American. Some have  sharply told me, “And, we were there to help them!”  Yes. Thank you for doing what I, in my heart, knew, was fighting a war in a nation that didn’t send hijackers to our nation, and for going after the guys who did, in an awful land where you were never respected.  Thank you for staying awake at night, and plugged in and monitoring the communications from, I hope, nefarious people who wish to wipe my country off the face of the earth. Thank you for ignoring silly comments made by citizens, who are frustrated with covert operations on each other.  Thank you for not taking those three-day holidays off.

Seems I Find Time to Post Here When Great People Die

Lovely story of the passing of a Dame

When you, my dear reader, have the chance, do click and go to the link that I’ve placed above this sentence.

It’s one of the most lovely tributes I’ve come upon on the Internet. It was done by The Australian, just minutes ago, and while I couldn’t see the video that they’ve embedded, I was able to hear the audio. What a lovely mix of the eulogist’s text, beautiful memorial music, and archival content of the mother of media mogul Rupert Murdoch.

I read, while listening to this fine-tuned aristocratic voice, that she married at the age of 18 a man who was aged 42-the original media man of the family, Keith Murdoch. This woman was widowed at the age of 43. She raised 4 children. She has at least 70 grand children. But she’s most well known for her good works and sponsorship and support of charities, hospitals and the arts.

She was 103 when she died, and as a consequence of the time she lived in, she was the first woman to do many things in Australia. Rest in peace. May the young get to know you and how you lived, Dame Elisabeth.