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Just got off the phone with my friend, Anna Limontas Salisbury, a great broadcast journalist from Brooklyn. She is in New Jersey today with her parents, both ill. Anna has her own family back in Bed Stuy: a husband, daughter and son, and a three-family building to run as well as stories to write, food to cook, and bills to pay. But she's, hopefully, on a couch in her parent's house, sleeping or better yet in a bed. Her father was admitted to the hospital and she doesn't think he will be coming home. They are visiting nursing homes with hospice centers, as well.
Anna tells me how she has been sending out her resume and cover letter for certain jobs, but even with connections, nothing. Now she understands and is thankful because as a freelancer she can jump on a train or bus to her folks and be of service to them.
So often we fight life's natural stream and infinite knowledge of what is for our good and those in our circle. Anna is caring for her parents in these precious, numbered days, and her work will continue, prosper, in fact, and she will have with her, tucked into her soul the knowledge that she was there when she was needed.
That's community. That's a luxury. That's love. We see it happening all the time in low income families, as well. They may receive assistance from the government, and they may be chided for it, but let me tell you, they remember their families and they stick by them and care for them when push comes to holy terror shove. Sure there are abuses to the system, always will be, but I am stating today that I sense the need is greater than the scam.
Big chunks of my time of service while going through my excavation of identity and purpose will be revealed in my book, "The Year of the Brown Shoes." I am just now understanding all that happened and my part in it.
So keep going, Anna. You are where you are supposed to be. Call anytime.
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