Thursday, October 29, 2009
Kennedy for City Council Website
The campaign is in full swing! If you're looking for the Kennedy for City Council website, click here: Campaign Page
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Pete Hamill - In Awe of Angela's Ashes
From this fantastic piece by Pete Hamill:
Author and raconteur Frank McCourt, in his autobiography, “has examined his ferocious childhood, walked around it, relived it, and with skill and care and generosity of heart, transformed it into a triumphant work of art,” writes Pete Hamill.
Frank McCourt has written a triumphant book. His memoir of an Irish childhood is in turns hilarious, heart-scalding, bitterly angry. It takes us through a world of daily, repetitive, cyclical horror in “the lanes” of Limerick in the 1930s and 1940s, providing the sort of soul-murdering detail that no survivor can ever forget. But McCourt’s soul was not murdered. This book is the proof of his survival. This book, this affirmation of humane values in the face of all odds, is his triumph.
“When I look back on my childhood I wonder how I survived at all,” he writes on the first page. “It was, of course, a miserable childhood: the happy childhood is hardly worth your while. Worse than the ordinary miserable childhood is the miserable Irish childhood, and worse yet is the miserable Irish Catholic childhood.”
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
City Council Campaign
If you're looking for the Kennedy for City Council page, this is its temporary home! We're getting the website up and running at: kennedyforcda.com, which currently routes to here. You can also join our Facebook campaign group at: http://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=101246641063.
Keep checking in for more updates and a new website!
Mike
Monday, June 08, 2009
Gearing up for the Campaign
This is the temporary website for the Mike Kennedy for City Council Re-Election Campaign!
If you're interested, we'll be bringing up a more official website soon, but to get involved you can join the Facebook group here: http://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=101246641063&ref=nf or email me at: mike@idahokennedys.com and we'll take it from there.
I do have an announced opponent, and though I haven't made an "official" kickoff announcement, we'll be planning that this summer and be off and running. Thanks for your support!
Mike
Tuesday, March 03, 2009
Gearing up for St. Patrick's Day - An Oldie but Goodie
On vacation in Rome I noticed a marble column in St. Peter's with a golden telephone on it. As a young priest passed by I asked who the telephone was for. The priest told me it was a direct line to Heaven and if I'd like to call it would be a thousand dollars.
I was amazed, but declined the offer. All throughout Italy I kept seeing the same golden telephone on a marble column. At each, I asked about it and the answer was always the same: a direct line to Heaven and I could call for a thousand dollars.
After Italy I finished up my vacation with a tour of Ireland. I decided to attend Mass at a local village Church. When I walked in the door I noticed the golden telephone. Underneath it there was a sign stating: "DIRECT LINE TO HEAVEN, 25 CENTS."
"Father," I said, "I have been all over Italy and in all the cathedrals I visited I've seen telephones exactly like this one. But the price is always a thousand dollars. Why is it that this one is only 25 cents?"
"The priest smiled and said, "Darlin', you're in Ireland now. It's a local call."
I was amazed, but declined the offer. All throughout Italy I kept seeing the same golden telephone on a marble column. At each, I asked about it and the answer was always the same: a direct line to Heaven and I could call for a thousand dollars.
After Italy I finished up my vacation with a tour of Ireland. I decided to attend Mass at a local village Church. When I walked in the door I noticed the golden telephone. Underneath it there was a sign stating: "DIRECT LINE TO HEAVEN, 25 CENTS."
"Father," I said, "I have been all over Italy and in all the cathedrals I visited I've seen telephones exactly like this one. But the price is always a thousand dollars. Why is it that this one is only 25 cents?"
"The priest smiled and said, "Darlin', you're in Ireland now. It's a local call."
Sunday, June 15, 2008
The Prayer of St. Francis
Lord, make me a channel of your peace;
where there is hatred, let me sow love;
where there is injury, pardon;
where there is doubt, faith;
where there is despair, hope;
where there is darkness, light;
and where there is sadness, joy.
O Master, grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled as to console;
to be understood, as to understand;
to be loved, as to love;
for it is in giving that we receive,
it is in pardoning that we are pardoned,
and it is in dying that we are born to Eternal Life.
Amen.
where there is hatred, let me sow love;
where there is injury, pardon;
where there is doubt, faith;
where there is despair, hope;
where there is darkness, light;
and where there is sadness, joy.
O Master, grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled as to console;
to be understood, as to understand;
to be loved, as to love;
for it is in giving that we receive,
it is in pardoning that we are pardoned,
and it is in dying that we are born to Eternal Life.
Amen.
Friday, January 11, 2008
Pete Hamill on Ireland, John Kennedy, and Fathers
November 22, 1963
By Pete Hamill
That day I was in Ireland, in the dark hard Northern city of Belfast, with the fine wire of the winter rain driving in sheets from the roiled sea. Along the Falls Road, women in shawls bent into the punishing November wind, like damp mobile bundles. The men stood in the beery warmth of the BeeHive pub, or the Rock Bar, their faces raw, caps pulled down hard, smoking pipes, drinking stout, watching their women in the rain-slick streets. Once a small boy in a yellow raincoat darted from a candy store, pulling an empty red wagon. I don’t know where he was going, or why he had that wagon, or where he is this very moment. But he became the kind of small detail we all remembered later. For me, it was his wagon, the ruin of my father's face and, of course, the rain.
For my father, it was the first time in 31 years he had been home to the city of his youth, and to understand the rest of the day, I must tell you something about Billy Hamill. He's a short round guy with a hoarse voice now, but in the old pictures he looks like a very tough lightweight, two muscled legs jutting from soccer shorts, his face breaking in a cocky grin. He grew up in Belfast, a Catholic in a murderously bigoted Protestant town, and by the time he was 21 he understood that the future must lie somewhere across a sea. Like all the exiles before or since, he left for America.
He lived in Red Hook in Brooklyn and played soccer with St. Mary’s. Old men have told me he was a fine soccer player. He thought he had magic legs, he told me once, and there were great afternoons when those legs moved as if they had brains of their own, taking him down past defenders, driving the ball where he wanted it to go. Until one afternoon in Brooklyn, moving rapidly, he did not see the German coming up fast from the side, nor his leg cocked like some human hammer; but suddenly my father was on the ground, his left leg smashed below the knee, the bones jutting through the skin. He remembered them tearing a slat from the fence and lying on the frozen earth while they lashed it to his leg, and waiting two hours for an ambulance.
He remembered lying in Kings County Hospital, the boot still tied to his destroyed leg, listening to two detectives question a stabbed stranger across the ward. And he remembered the next morning, the leg already poisoned by gangrene, how they had to cut the boot off with scissors, and later, the sound of the saw going through the bone above his knee, and knowing that whatever might happen next a part of his American dream was gone forever.
But my father raised seven children who love him and that November we made good on an old vow and went to Ireland together. The old hatreds had not vanished; but we did have some great nights of song and laughter ,and great waterfalls of beer. He was back in the country he had spent half a lifetime singing about and he did not have to get up in the mornings if he did not want to. It was no small thing.
On the evening of the 22nd, I was in a cousin's home, playing with children, the TV blaring, drinking a bit, when suddenly the sound blacked out and an announcer came on to tell us that President Kennedy had been shot in Dallas. A few minutes later, the announcer was back on again, the phone ringing on his desk, his voice breaking saying that the President of the United States of America, John Fitzgerald Kennedy, was dead.
I fled into the night to find my father. For men like Billy Hamill, it was even more important that John Kennedy had become President than it was for me. In its way, Kennedy's election was a personal matter for my old man; it meant that his children and theirs would not be disqualified from birth from becoming leaders of the mightiest nation on this earth It meant that perhaps after all, the exile and the longing and the crippled dream of America had all worked itself out; it was certainly no small thing now to say that you were Irish.
I found him leaving his brother's house. He was crying and his face looked white and ruined. We all walked through the frail rain to the second floor lounge of the Rock Bar. "The dirty murdering sons of bitches," he said, over and over, as we climbed the stairs. "The dirty sons of bitches."
Behind us, as we sat at a round table, was a long hall with a TV set at the end showing Kennedy's visit to Ireland a few months before, and my father said that it might be the last time we would see his face whole because we knew that he had been shot in the head, and then Kennedy was at Shannon airport, telling Ireland that he would be back in the spring. The film ended.
And then the damndest thing happened: "The Star Spangled Banner" began to play, and every man in that bar, maybe 50 of them, stood up and faced the TV screen and saluted.
They were saluting the leader of another country and really it was a salute to an Irishman's son who had made them proud, and then my father started to sing the anthem in his hoarse voice and all of us were crying because we knew finally he had become an American.
I don't remember very much about the rest of that night; we all got very drunk and went home. I remember seeing a man drive his hand into a tree, and women sobbing dryly as they always do in Ireland. And while the fine rain fell through the dark Irish night, my father told me, as he tried to sleep, that he had not cried so hard since the day long ago when he had lost his magic leg. In that moment, I loved him more than I ever had before, and I love my father very much.
By Pete Hamill
That day I was in Ireland, in the dark hard Northern city of Belfast, with the fine wire of the winter rain driving in sheets from the roiled sea. Along the Falls Road, women in shawls bent into the punishing November wind, like damp mobile bundles. The men stood in the beery warmth of the BeeHive pub, or the Rock Bar, their faces raw, caps pulled down hard, smoking pipes, drinking stout, watching their women in the rain-slick streets. Once a small boy in a yellow raincoat darted from a candy store, pulling an empty red wagon. I don’t know where he was going, or why he had that wagon, or where he is this very moment. But he became the kind of small detail we all remembered later. For me, it was his wagon, the ruin of my father's face and, of course, the rain.
For my father, it was the first time in 31 years he had been home to the city of his youth, and to understand the rest of the day, I must tell you something about Billy Hamill. He's a short round guy with a hoarse voice now, but in the old pictures he looks like a very tough lightweight, two muscled legs jutting from soccer shorts, his face breaking in a cocky grin. He grew up in Belfast, a Catholic in a murderously bigoted Protestant town, and by the time he was 21 he understood that the future must lie somewhere across a sea. Like all the exiles before or since, he left for America.
He lived in Red Hook in Brooklyn and played soccer with St. Mary’s. Old men have told me he was a fine soccer player. He thought he had magic legs, he told me once, and there were great afternoons when those legs moved as if they had brains of their own, taking him down past defenders, driving the ball where he wanted it to go. Until one afternoon in Brooklyn, moving rapidly, he did not see the German coming up fast from the side, nor his leg cocked like some human hammer; but suddenly my father was on the ground, his left leg smashed below the knee, the bones jutting through the skin. He remembered them tearing a slat from the fence and lying on the frozen earth while they lashed it to his leg, and waiting two hours for an ambulance.
He remembered lying in Kings County Hospital, the boot still tied to his destroyed leg, listening to two detectives question a stabbed stranger across the ward. And he remembered the next morning, the leg already poisoned by gangrene, how they had to cut the boot off with scissors, and later, the sound of the saw going through the bone above his knee, and knowing that whatever might happen next a part of his American dream was gone forever.
But my father raised seven children who love him and that November we made good on an old vow and went to Ireland together. The old hatreds had not vanished; but we did have some great nights of song and laughter ,and great waterfalls of beer. He was back in the country he had spent half a lifetime singing about and he did not have to get up in the mornings if he did not want to. It was no small thing.
On the evening of the 22nd, I was in a cousin's home, playing with children, the TV blaring, drinking a bit, when suddenly the sound blacked out and an announcer came on to tell us that President Kennedy had been shot in Dallas. A few minutes later, the announcer was back on again, the phone ringing on his desk, his voice breaking saying that the President of the United States of America, John Fitzgerald Kennedy, was dead.
I fled into the night to find my father. For men like Billy Hamill, it was even more important that John Kennedy had become President than it was for me. In its way, Kennedy's election was a personal matter for my old man; it meant that his children and theirs would not be disqualified from birth from becoming leaders of the mightiest nation on this earth It meant that perhaps after all, the exile and the longing and the crippled dream of America had all worked itself out; it was certainly no small thing now to say that you were Irish.
I found him leaving his brother's house. He was crying and his face looked white and ruined. We all walked through the frail rain to the second floor lounge of the Rock Bar. "The dirty murdering sons of bitches," he said, over and over, as we climbed the stairs. "The dirty sons of bitches."
Behind us, as we sat at a round table, was a long hall with a TV set at the end showing Kennedy's visit to Ireland a few months before, and my father said that it might be the last time we would see his face whole because we knew that he had been shot in the head, and then Kennedy was at Shannon airport, telling Ireland that he would be back in the spring. The film ended.
And then the damndest thing happened: "The Star Spangled Banner" began to play, and every man in that bar, maybe 50 of them, stood up and faced the TV screen and saluted.
They were saluting the leader of another country and really it was a salute to an Irishman's son who had made them proud, and then my father started to sing the anthem in his hoarse voice and all of us were crying because we knew finally he had become an American.
I don't remember very much about the rest of that night; we all got very drunk and went home. I remember seeing a man drive his hand into a tree, and women sobbing dryly as they always do in Ireland. And while the fine rain fell through the dark Irish night, my father told me, as he tried to sleep, that he had not cried so hard since the day long ago when he had lost his magic leg. In that moment, I loved him more than I ever had before, and I love my father very much.
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
Monday, May 21, 2007
Home Sweet Home!
Jack's back. And so is Mom.
Yesterday, after six days of finally improving weight in the hospital and diagnosis of some milk allergies and low muscle tone, the doctors decided that Jack could go home to continue his regimens.
This was welcome news to everyone, but especially to those of us reliant on Mom to keep the house in order.
I won't list the number of people who helped us, both because it's too long and because it's slightly humbling. But we are in all of your debt for the prayers, food, chauffeur services, and babysitting (and cleaning help, much to my delight and chagrin!). And thanks to our friends at the city and the police association and the school district, who brought kind words and beautiful flowers to brighten up the hospital room!
Jack's prognosis is good. He'll be on a strict regimen of supplements and weigh-ins, with Mom toughing out a new "no-dairy at all" diet, which is harder than one would think. Jack will also have some neurologist exams and muscle tone exercises to 'pump him up', as his brother Max did before him.
All in all, we've been blessed again, and life continues onward and upward.
Thanks for everything.
Yesterday, after six days of finally improving weight in the hospital and diagnosis of some milk allergies and low muscle tone, the doctors decided that Jack could go home to continue his regimens.
This was welcome news to everyone, but especially to those of us reliant on Mom to keep the house in order.
I won't list the number of people who helped us, both because it's too long and because it's slightly humbling. But we are in all of your debt for the prayers, food, chauffeur services, and babysitting (and cleaning help, much to my delight and chagrin!). And thanks to our friends at the city and the police association and the school district, who brought kind words and beautiful flowers to brighten up the hospital room!
Jack's prognosis is good. He'll be on a strict regimen of supplements and weigh-ins, with Mom toughing out a new "no-dairy at all" diet, which is harder than one would think. Jack will also have some neurologist exams and muscle tone exercises to 'pump him up', as his brother Max did before him.
All in all, we've been blessed again, and life continues onward and upward.
Thanks for everything.
Friday, May 18, 2007
Saying goodbye to Mommy for the night
This was a hard night. I brought kids 1-5 into Spokane for a reunion with Mom and baby Jack, who is in the Children’s Hospital at Sacred Heart. They haven’t seen their Mom since Tuesday morning at 6:45 am, at which time we all thought they’d be home the next day at the latest.
As it happens, Jack’s “failure to thrive” has him in the hospital much longer, possibly a week, maybe less, maybe more, depending on whether he can prove that his little body can begin to keep calories in him and gain some real weight. They’ve put Jack through a battery of tests for everything from possibly horrible diseases like Muscular Dystrophy to simple potential allergies to some element of his mother’s milk diet. They’ve taken tissue biopsies all the way down to his intestines, numerous blood draws and “sweat test” patches to keep ruling out things we don’t want to think about.
All of this while he has a feeding tube inserted through his nose that goes all the way into his tiny tummy. It doesn’t seem to bother him but it’s taped to his face like spray paint on the Mona Lisa – it just shouldn’t be there.
So tonight, after a week of unbelievable help from literally dozens of people, flowers and calls of support from more than that, not to mention the most sincere, genuine, unexpected and moving offering of personal and group prayer I think I’ve ever been blessed with from our schools superintendent and members of the School District 271 leadership team, we reunited the older kids with their little brother and their Mom.
I realized tonight that I’ve been more frazzled by all of this than I was aware of. And I’m more than a little embarrassed by the realization (again) of just how much hard, important work my wife does every day as a stay-at-home parent. I have known for years that she works much harder than I do, which is not at all false modesty. But I really hadn’t processed in a while just how many constant and all-consuming details go into life as a single parent. Because when I travel on business or am gone from home for extended work periods, in many ways that’s what she is. Even with all the help and support I’ve received from all corners of our life, I still am feeling pretty wiped out as I sit and type tonight. She does this much stuff 24 hours a day 7 days a week for the last 12 years without the slightest complaint. Me I’m grousing about lots of little things.
But in all that what has struck me the most is that the hardest part so far was when a weary set of kids had to say goodbye to their Mom at the elevator after 3 hours of wonderful plain togetherness. Our 2-year old was almost totally distraught. Our 9-year old was silently crying in a way I hadn’t seen her do in I can’t remember how long. Our 4-year old was bleary eyed and kept asking Mommy why she couldn’t go home with us. Our 7-year old was a trooper in helping carry things to the car while she stared off into the distance not fully comprehending or wanting to leave. And our 11-year old eldest was a proud big brother champion who didn’t want me to see his tears as we sat in the car in the parking garage getting ready to pull out for the trek home from Spokane.
And most of all, the strongest woman I’ve ever known, my wife, was trying gamely to be strong in front of the kids while grappling with the emotions of day four of an uncertain hospital stay for our smiley happy three month old who is clueless that anything is wrong.
This week has been one of those focusing events in our life, in mine anyway, that seems like a message from above saying “be still, watch your kids sleep quietly, and be reminded that this is truly the most important thing you’ll do on this earth.” I don’t reflect on those times enough.
These last few days I’ve been working to remind myself of the little blessings that permeate our lives. I’m glad that modern medicine is as good as it is. I’m deeply touched by the cheery, varied, and unending assistance that friends and family have provided all week. I’m blessed to have health insurance so that at least a big chunk of this major expense will be covered (fingers crossed). I’m happy that if this had to happen at all it did so in the spring and not the middle of a snowy winter. And the list of dumb things I’m forcing myself to be thankful for goes on an on.
But more than anything else I wish Kathleen were in bed in the next room with baby Jack in her arms - anticipating in her ever-vigilant “Mommy sleep” the inevitable 2 am visit from a partially sleepwalking child of whatever age who climbs into the bed and snores the gorgeous music that only a child can create. I wish the dog were in the house standing sentry at the foot of the bed always on Kathleen's side while I’m in the other room typing or reading something with half an eye on a fake news comedy show.
Maybe one day this week will take its place as a little gift to my memory, reminding me that in the small, routine times when the world is totally in order it’s then that I need to pause and give thanks. Maybe.
Get better fast Jack. Gain some weight and get yourself back home. And please don’t forget to bring your Mom with you. She’s the glue holding together the lives of seven people who love and miss you both very much.
As it happens, Jack’s “failure to thrive” has him in the hospital much longer, possibly a week, maybe less, maybe more, depending on whether he can prove that his little body can begin to keep calories in him and gain some real weight. They’ve put Jack through a battery of tests for everything from possibly horrible diseases like Muscular Dystrophy to simple potential allergies to some element of his mother’s milk diet. They’ve taken tissue biopsies all the way down to his intestines, numerous blood draws and “sweat test” patches to keep ruling out things we don’t want to think about.
All of this while he has a feeding tube inserted through his nose that goes all the way into his tiny tummy. It doesn’t seem to bother him but it’s taped to his face like spray paint on the Mona Lisa – it just shouldn’t be there.
So tonight, after a week of unbelievable help from literally dozens of people, flowers and calls of support from more than that, not to mention the most sincere, genuine, unexpected and moving offering of personal and group prayer I think I’ve ever been blessed with from our schools superintendent and members of the School District 271 leadership team, we reunited the older kids with their little brother and their Mom.
I realized tonight that I’ve been more frazzled by all of this than I was aware of. And I’m more than a little embarrassed by the realization (again) of just how much hard, important work my wife does every day as a stay-at-home parent. I have known for years that she works much harder than I do, which is not at all false modesty. But I really hadn’t processed in a while just how many constant and all-consuming details go into life as a single parent. Because when I travel on business or am gone from home for extended work periods, in many ways that’s what she is. Even with all the help and support I’ve received from all corners of our life, I still am feeling pretty wiped out as I sit and type tonight. She does this much stuff 24 hours a day 7 days a week for the last 12 years without the slightest complaint. Me I’m grousing about lots of little things.
But in all that what has struck me the most is that the hardest part so far was when a weary set of kids had to say goodbye to their Mom at the elevator after 3 hours of wonderful plain togetherness. Our 2-year old was almost totally distraught. Our 9-year old was silently crying in a way I hadn’t seen her do in I can’t remember how long. Our 4-year old was bleary eyed and kept asking Mommy why she couldn’t go home with us. Our 7-year old was a trooper in helping carry things to the car while she stared off into the distance not fully comprehending or wanting to leave. And our 11-year old eldest was a proud big brother champion who didn’t want me to see his tears as we sat in the car in the parking garage getting ready to pull out for the trek home from Spokane.
And most of all, the strongest woman I’ve ever known, my wife, was trying gamely to be strong in front of the kids while grappling with the emotions of day four of an uncertain hospital stay for our smiley happy three month old who is clueless that anything is wrong.
This week has been one of those focusing events in our life, in mine anyway, that seems like a message from above saying “be still, watch your kids sleep quietly, and be reminded that this is truly the most important thing you’ll do on this earth.” I don’t reflect on those times enough.
These last few days I’ve been working to remind myself of the little blessings that permeate our lives. I’m glad that modern medicine is as good as it is. I’m deeply touched by the cheery, varied, and unending assistance that friends and family have provided all week. I’m blessed to have health insurance so that at least a big chunk of this major expense will be covered (fingers crossed). I’m happy that if this had to happen at all it did so in the spring and not the middle of a snowy winter. And the list of dumb things I’m forcing myself to be thankful for goes on an on.
But more than anything else I wish Kathleen were in bed in the next room with baby Jack in her arms - anticipating in her ever-vigilant “Mommy sleep” the inevitable 2 am visit from a partially sleepwalking child of whatever age who climbs into the bed and snores the gorgeous music that only a child can create. I wish the dog were in the house standing sentry at the foot of the bed always on Kathleen's side while I’m in the other room typing or reading something with half an eye on a fake news comedy show.
Maybe one day this week will take its place as a little gift to my memory, reminding me that in the small, routine times when the world is totally in order it’s then that I need to pause and give thanks. Maybe.
Get better fast Jack. Gain some weight and get yourself back home. And please don’t forget to bring your Mom with you. She’s the glue holding together the lives of seven people who love and miss you both very much.
Sunday, April 22, 2007
Jack's Baptism
Today John Patrick Kennedy gets baptized into the Catholic faith. It's a great day that he'll never remember, but his terrific godparents, Natalie and Madeleine Sheils will be great mentors and leaders for him throughout his life.
Welcome, Jack!
A Prayer by Archbishop Oscar Romero
It helps, now and then, to step back
and take a long view.
The kingdom is not only beyond our efforts,
it is even beyond our vision.
We accomplish in our lifetime only a tiny fraction
of the magnificent enterprise that is God's work.
Nothing we do is complete, which is a way of saying
that the kingdom always lies beyond us.
No statement says all that could be said.
No prayer fully expresses our faith.
No confession brings perfection.
No pastoral visit brings wholeness.
No program accomplishes the church's mission.
No set of goals and objectives includes everything.
This is what we are about.
We plant the seeds that one day will grow.
We water seeds already planted,
knowing that they hold future promise.
We lay foundations that will need further development.
We provide yeast that produces far beyond our capabilities.
We cannot do everything, and there is a sense of liberation
in realizing that. This enables us to do something,
and to do it very well. It may be incomplete,
but it is a beginning, a step along the way,
an opportunity for the Lord's grace to enter and do the rest.
We may never see the end results, but that is the difference
between the master builder and the worker.
We are workers, not master builders; ministers, not messiahs.
We are prophets of a future not our own.
Amen.
and take a long view.
The kingdom is not only beyond our efforts,
it is even beyond our vision.
We accomplish in our lifetime only a tiny fraction
of the magnificent enterprise that is God's work.
Nothing we do is complete, which is a way of saying
that the kingdom always lies beyond us.
No statement says all that could be said.
No prayer fully expresses our faith.
No confession brings perfection.
No pastoral visit brings wholeness.
No program accomplishes the church's mission.
No set of goals and objectives includes everything.
This is what we are about.
We plant the seeds that one day will grow.
We water seeds already planted,
knowing that they hold future promise.
We lay foundations that will need further development.
We provide yeast that produces far beyond our capabilities.
We cannot do everything, and there is a sense of liberation
in realizing that. This enables us to do something,
and to do it very well. It may be incomplete,
but it is a beginning, a step along the way,
an opportunity for the Lord's grace to enter and do the rest.
We may never see the end results, but that is the difference
between the master builder and the worker.
We are workers, not master builders; ministers, not messiahs.
We are prophets of a future not our own.
Amen.
Monday, April 16, 2007
Schedule for CdA Comp Plan Public Meetings
Schedule Announced for CdA Comprehensive Plan Public Meetings
The City of Coeur d’Alene needs your participation as the community takes the next step in the process of updating its Comprehensive Plan. Join friends and neighbors to learn about the plan that will serve as a guide for future development within the city. Meetings will be held:
Monday, April 23rd
Christ the King Lutheran Church
1600 Pennsylvania Avenue
6:30 – 8:30 p.m.
Thursday, April 26th
Lake City High School
6101 Ramsey Road
6:30 – 8:30 p.m.
Thursday, May 3rd
Special Walk-in Open House
CdA City Hall – Council Chambers
710 E. Mullan
Noon till 9:00 p.m.
Wednesday, May 16th
Lake City Senior Center
1916 Lakewood Drive
6:30 – 8:30 p.m.
Wednesday, May 23rd
St. Pius X Catholic Church
625 Haycraft, Community Room
6:30 – 8:30 p.m.
For more information, visit the City of Coeur d'Alene's website, or call Sean Holm at 769-2274.
The City of Coeur d’Alene needs your participation as the community takes the next step in the process of updating its Comprehensive Plan. Join friends and neighbors to learn about the plan that will serve as a guide for future development within the city. Meetings will be held:
Monday, April 23rd
Christ the King Lutheran Church
1600 Pennsylvania Avenue
6:30 – 8:30 p.m.
Thursday, April 26th
Lake City High School
6101 Ramsey Road
6:30 – 8:30 p.m.
Thursday, May 3rd
Special Walk-in Open House
CdA City Hall – Council Chambers
710 E. Mullan
Noon till 9:00 p.m.
Wednesday, May 16th
Lake City Senior Center
1916 Lakewood Drive
6:30 – 8:30 p.m.
Wednesday, May 23rd
St. Pius X Catholic Church
625 Haycraft, Community Room
6:30 – 8:30 p.m.
For more information, visit the City of Coeur d'Alene's website, or call Sean Holm at 769-2274.
Thursday, March 08, 2007
Ben Bernanke on Affordable Housing
OK - I'll concede it - this linked document is mostly boring for non-banker types. BUT - it shows that the issue of affordable housing and the many repercussions for communities that lose touch with a diverse pool of housing options is getting attention at the highest levels.
Here is an informative (if a bit wonkish) speech by Ben Bernanke, Federal Reserve Chairman that touches on the issue. The section about affordable housing and Government Sponsored Enterprises (GSEs) like Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac comes about midway down the speech. Here's a blurb from Bernanke's speech, particularly the section on the topic:
"Affordable Housing and the GSE Portfolios
What public purpose should be served by the GSE portfolios? An obvious and worthy candidate is the promotion of affordable housing. The Congress has frequently expressed the priority it attaches to affordable housing through, for example, the provision of various housing programs and tax incentives aimed at increasing the availability of moderately priced homes and rental housing.
The Congress has also determined that financial institutions have a role in providing credit to low- and moderate-income households. Most notably, the Community Reinvestment Act (CRA) obligates insured depository institutions to help meet the credit needs of their entire local communities, including low- and moderate-income borrowers and neighborhoods, consistent with the institutions’ safe and sound operation.
Along similar lines, in 1992 the Congress established an affordable housing mission for Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac by directing HUD to create specific mortgage purchase goals for these GSEs. However, evidence that Fannie and Freddie have had beneficial effects on the supply of affordable housing (over and above the benefits of their securitization activities for the mortgage market as a whole) has been difficult to find. After conducting several studies of the effects of GSEs on the mortgage market and establishing the GSEs’ disappointing results, HUD in 2004 raised the numerical goals that these institutions must reach to fulfill their affordable housing mission. As noted by HUD, “With respect to these public purposes, Congress does not simply expect the GSEs to strive toward achievement of these purposes but rather to lead the mortgage finance industry and to ensure that citizens throughout the country enjoy access to the public benefits provided by these federal entities.”
Thus, a standard for determining the public benefit of Fannie’s and Freddie’s portfolios seems readily available: Do the GSE portfolios support affordable housing? At the present time, Fannie and Freddie appear to fail this test. Indeed, by OFHEO’s estimation, less than 30 percent of the GSEs’ current portfolio holdings are oriented toward affordable housing (Lockhart, 2007)."
Here is an informative (if a bit wonkish) speech by Ben Bernanke, Federal Reserve Chairman that touches on the issue. The section about affordable housing and Government Sponsored Enterprises (GSEs) like Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac comes about midway down the speech. Here's a blurb from Bernanke's speech, particularly the section on the topic:
"Affordable Housing and the GSE Portfolios
What public purpose should be served by the GSE portfolios? An obvious and worthy candidate is the promotion of affordable housing. The Congress has frequently expressed the priority it attaches to affordable housing through, for example, the provision of various housing programs and tax incentives aimed at increasing the availability of moderately priced homes and rental housing.
The Congress has also determined that financial institutions have a role in providing credit to low- and moderate-income households. Most notably, the Community Reinvestment Act (CRA) obligates insured depository institutions to help meet the credit needs of their entire local communities, including low- and moderate-income borrowers and neighborhoods, consistent with the institutions’ safe and sound operation.
Along similar lines, in 1992 the Congress established an affordable housing mission for Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac by directing HUD to create specific mortgage purchase goals for these GSEs. However, evidence that Fannie and Freddie have had beneficial effects on the supply of affordable housing (over and above the benefits of their securitization activities for the mortgage market as a whole) has been difficult to find. After conducting several studies of the effects of GSEs on the mortgage market and establishing the GSEs’ disappointing results, HUD in 2004 raised the numerical goals that these institutions must reach to fulfill their affordable housing mission. As noted by HUD, “With respect to these public purposes, Congress does not simply expect the GSEs to strive toward achievement of these purposes but rather to lead the mortgage finance industry and to ensure that citizens throughout the country enjoy access to the public benefits provided by these federal entities.”
Thus, a standard for determining the public benefit of Fannie’s and Freddie’s portfolios seems readily available: Do the GSE portfolios support affordable housing? At the present time, Fannie and Freddie appear to fail this test. Indeed, by OFHEO’s estimation, less than 30 percent of the GSEs’ current portfolio holdings are oriented toward affordable housing (Lockhart, 2007)."
Wednesday, February 21, 2007
NIC Presidential Search
Today the North Idaho College Presidential Search Committee held the first meeting, and the caliber of people in the room helping to give advice and counsel to the NIC Board of Trustees was very high. For one more week, the committee is seeking input on what criteria the community seeks in a new president.
There are 11 members of the NIC community (including professors, staff, and a very impressive student and 11 members of the community at large (including business people, government representatives, retired residents, just to name a few).
Here's a website with information and timelines on the search.
If anyone has information, thoughts, or ideas on the topic, feel free to send your input to any committee member or email: PresSearch@nic.edu.
There are 11 members of the NIC community (including professors, staff, and a very impressive student and 11 members of the community at large (including business people, government representatives, retired residents, just to name a few).
Here's a website with information and timelines on the search.
If anyone has information, thoughts, or ideas on the topic, feel free to send your input to any committee member or email: PresSearch@nic.edu.
Salvation Army Kroc Corps Community Center
This page has a video flythrough of the Salvation Army Kroc Corps Community Center. Pretty amazing.
Thursday, February 15, 2007
Idaho's Working Poor Special on IPTV
From Idaho Public TV Website:
Airing February 15 & 18
Idaho's Working Poor
According to a new study, only half of Idaho's existing jobs pay a living wage for parents with two children, even when both parents are working full time. The Northwest Federation of Community Organizations issued its report at the same time Idaho's legislators rejected or held off considering several measures aimed at helping the working poor.
This week on Dialogue, host Joan Cartan-Hansen and her guests, State Senator Elliot Werk, D-Boise and State Representative Janice McGeachin, R-Idaho Falls, will debate what legislators can do to improve economic and social conditions for thousands of Idahoans. The two legislators are expected to discuss proposals like an increase in the minimum wage, reducing the sales tax on food, and starting community colleges to increase educational opportunities. Why have legislators rejected theses ideas? What other proposals are on the table?
Viewers are encouraged to e-mail questions before February 15th or call in with their questions during the show. If you wish to pose a question during the program you can call IPTV during the program (the phone number will appear on the screen) or use this email link before or during the program.
* Links: Job gap study (Northwest Federation of Community Organizations)
Guests:
State Senator Elliot Werk, D-Boise
State Representative Janice McGeachin, R-Idaho Falls
Airing February 15 & 18
Idaho's Working Poor
According to a new study, only half of Idaho's existing jobs pay a living wage for parents with two children, even when both parents are working full time. The Northwest Federation of Community Organizations issued its report at the same time Idaho's legislators rejected or held off considering several measures aimed at helping the working poor.
This week on Dialogue, host Joan Cartan-Hansen and her guests, State Senator Elliot Werk, D-Boise and State Representative Janice McGeachin, R-Idaho Falls, will debate what legislators can do to improve economic and social conditions for thousands of Idahoans. The two legislators are expected to discuss proposals like an increase in the minimum wage, reducing the sales tax on food, and starting community colleges to increase educational opportunities. Why have legislators rejected theses ideas? What other proposals are on the table?
Viewers are encouraged to e-mail questions before February 15th or call in with their questions during the show. If you wish to pose a question during the program you can call IPTV during the program (the phone number will appear on the screen) or use this email link before or during the program.
* Links: Job gap study (Northwest Federation of Community Organizations)
Guests:
State Senator Elliot Werk, D-Boise
State Representative Janice McGeachin, R-Idaho Falls
Tuesday, February 13, 2007
Saturday, February 03, 2007
Thank you guys.
Tonight my family sat, laid, and lounged in the living room and watched a movie together. The kids brought their sleeping bags and we popped popcorn. It was Norman Rockwell, sappy, even, but totally normal and comfortable.
But it was also a tremendous reminder to me that in the midst of whatever else is going on, despite whatever stress or strain or anxiety is afoot, there are 7 people in the world that don't want anything other than love, attention, and a hug.
I'm not a world-class parent. I get frustrated at the kids way too often, and I am pretty limited in my patience levels. But these little people, and their amazing Mom, forgive and forget, always moving on to the next moment, constantly optimistic and loving.
I can't repay them for their love, and I can't promise superior parenting. But I can say thank you guys, because you give me more than I can ever give back.
So thank you. I love you.
But it was also a tremendous reminder to me that in the midst of whatever else is going on, despite whatever stress or strain or anxiety is afoot, there are 7 people in the world that don't want anything other than love, attention, and a hug.
I'm not a world-class parent. I get frustrated at the kids way too often, and I am pretty limited in my patience levels. But these little people, and their amazing Mom, forgive and forget, always moving on to the next moment, constantly optimistic and loving.
I can't repay them for their love, and I can't promise superior parenting. But I can say thank you guys, because you give me more than I can ever give back.
So thank you. I love you.
Tuesday, January 30, 2007
John Patrick Kennedy
Welcome to the world, Jack!
January 30, 2007
7 lbs. 12 oz.
21.5 inches long
Mom and Baby are doing great and resting comfortably. Jack decided to arrive with a bullet (and a scare to his folks). His cord was wrapped around his head twice and tightly, so he was as purple as his ancestors getting ready to take on a British drunk in a Galway bar.
But given some good doctors and nurses, some oxygen and he turned the corner quickly. Thanks again to Kootenai Medical Center for a job well done!
Though he was a day late based on the first due date given, he was way early by Kennedy baby standards. And that's a blessing - Mom was quite ready.
Since this is our sixth child born at Kootenai Medical Center, we have all the holes punched on our "Frequent Delivery" card, so we can now get a free latte!
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