The long hard road is the one that shows a person what they're made of. It may seem clear that one should take the easy road, and in many situations, that is an appropriate choice. But when one has the chance to make a difference, not just for oneself but for others, too, the long hard road and the long hard choice may very well be the right one. Be assured that in the short run, this road may very well wear one down and leave one exhausted at times, but in the long run, it will allow the person travelling that road to be able to confront the nay-sayers and say in a steady voice, "It was worth it."

Quick, what were you doing when you heard the news?

If you're asking What news?, you're probably under 50 years old. Today, November 22, is the 46th anniversary of President John F. Kennedy's assasination in Dallas, Texas.

Those of us old enough can attest that it had the same effect on us as the 9/11 attacks of 2001 had on us--and those born in the interim--all those years ago.

I was in school, getting ready to head home. As a "walker", I had to wait with the other walkers until the buses left with the bus kids. This was a yin/yang type situation: the bus kids got to leave a few minutes before the walkers, but the walkers usually managed to get home before the bus kids. We also got to do stuff for our respective teachers, such as running the day's roll to the office, clapping the dust off the erasers (way cool when you're 6 or 7 and the teacher has given you this responsibility).

The bus kids had were in the process of boarding their rides as I ran the roll to the office for my fifth grade teacher. Another walker, heading back to her classroom from the office, tears on her horrified face, sobbed, "The president's been shot." No way, I thought, unable to fathom such a horrible deed. I knew Lincoln had been assasinated almost a century earlier. But Kennedy? Who would do such a thing?

I had to announce myself several times to the office staff, as students were to physically hand the day's roll to one of the secretaries. Everyone in the office, secretaries, principal, teachers, were listening to a radio in stunned silence.

At home, minutes after leaving school, I found my mom with the TV on, something she rarely watched during the day. She had tears in her eyes and her voice was shaky as she told me the news.

The television stayed on the rest of the day. In a move that was unprecidented for the time, the networks broke from their daily schedules to bring updates on the assasination.

The remainder of the day went by in a numbing blur, the same numbing blur that most of us remember all too well during the days following the 9/11 attacks. Most of us were in shock, wanting this to be a horrible nightmare.

Since JFK's assasination, many things have changed--46 years worth of change. The only JFK sibling left alive is his sister Jean Ann Kennedy.

It is our duty, whether in memory of that fateful November day in 1963 or the September morning in 2001, to try to make this world a better place for all of us.

If not for the memory of the past, then do it for the future.

Okay, I'm in a "rant and rave" mood...Seems like as soon as a TV show turns out to be decent, it disappears. Yeah, I know, some good shows have lasted a while. ERlasted, what, 11 or 12 seasons. Good show, interesting story lines, believable characters. Hill Street Blues, St. Elsewhere and Third Watch also lasted a number of seasons.

But now there seems to be a glut of "reality" shows. Personally, I don't care for them. Yeah, they're probably cheaper to produce than good dramas or sitcoms (anyone remember laughing over the Cosby Show? Everyone could relate!).

But the "reality" shows? C'mon. I mean, really...Survivor? I'm going to get dropped onto an island to eat weird stuff? And Wife Swap...what's with that? On TV, it's entertainment; in real life, you get booted out of office and hit with divorce papers and paying alimony out the wazoo!

Okay, that's my rant for today.

I am now back in school to get my Master's in Florida Studies. However, I'm currently planning to head off in several different directions. I could 1) stay in Florida Studies, 2) switch my major to journalism (where I got my B.A.) or 3) go to seminary.

There are those who might wonder about those three choices. I did, at one time, plan to go to medical school, but that has not been an option for a number of years. Also thought of getting my B.A. in either math or biology. Yes, it is possible to love math and writing and to actually be decent in both.

But the pros and cons for the three current choices are as follows:
1) Florida Studies--From what I've discovered, this is an interesting Master's program. It's actually a Master's in Liberal Arts program and has the person checking out the History of Modern Florida, an environmental class or two, as well as other classes. Very interesting, mentally challenging, definitely more involved than I would have originally thought. However (this is the down side), I'm not sure how I would translate that into job viability, especially if I decide to move out of Florida in the future. What would someone do with a MLA in Florida Studies while living in, say, Oregon?

2) Journalism--The up side is that I would learn more about journalism and have a chance to hone my skills here. There are several journalism classes where grads and undergrads are thrown in together while other classes are separate. The down side is that with a B.A. in journalism, is a journalism Master's better? (If one pumpkin pie is good, do you go for two?) Hmmm...

3) Seminary--Yes, as in priesthood. As is something I've wanted to do for years and years and years. There are those who will tell me that I'd have to be a conformist. I doubt it. Being female and going into the priesthood is non-traditional. Also, there have been several Episcopal priests who, as far as I'm concerned, are (or were) non-conformists.

John Anderson was a white Episcopal priest who was known for going on civil rights marches during the early 1960s. Fortunately, his wife was a civil rights attorney.

Another priest, Robert Castle, graduated from St. Lawrence University the same year my parents graduated from St. Lawrence. He is retired now, but was frequently at odds with the church's powers because he dared to put the Word to work: he'd help people in his ghetto churches come up with rent, make bail--sometimes for himself, as well as helping those around him. He once was one of several who dumped garbage on a New Jersey city hall steps to protest the Viet Nam war, was arrested at Senator Alfonse M. D'Amato's office "during a demostration to support sanctions against South Africa" (The New York Times, "A Priest Bids Farewell To Pulpit, Police and Films," by Nina Siegal, Dec. 5, 1999), as well as other rable-rousing. The up side was that when Newark was engulfed in race riots, he was one of the few whites who dared to try to calm those rioting and actually had rioters listen to him because they knew he cared. He also had a book published in the late 1960s (Prayers from the Burned-out City), has acted, and was highlighted in a Jonathan Demme documentary, Cousin Bobby.

A third Episcopal priest is Barbara Cawthorne Crafton. I've never met her, but she was one of the first women ordained into the Episcopal church in the US. Her book The Sewing Room is filled with essays, most of them dealing with her years as a priest.

The punchline is that we all have to follow our dreams. Sometimes this means a little trial-and-error before we head off onto the right path. But that's life. We all need to remember several things: Follow our own path. Make sure it's not hurting those around us. Always question, rather than assume. And play nice.

Okay, so most of us (here in the US, anyway) have heard of Michael Moore. I'm sure there are those who think of him as a kook, just as many love his movies. But love him or not, he gets you thinking.

I am offering you this YouTube link from his site (http://www.michaelmoore.com/). Personally, I had to laugh.

I finally graduated in May from USFSP with a B.A. in Mass Communications. It feels great to finally have graduated. However, with the way the economy is, I probably could have picked a better time to have graduated. Jobs are being lost, including in the news media.

What's a recent grad to do? I'm in the process of trying to get funding for an indie production company. I'll be specializing in video and photo documentaries, while continuing with my writing.

Anyone interested can check out my sites as follows:

My portfolio: http://rjshwedo.weebly.com
My production site: http://robinshwedoproductions.weebly.com

Every family has a history of funny, quirky stories. Sometimes, the endings don't reveal themselves for years. Frequently, the stories show that God, however we see Him (or Her), has a sense of humor.

One example of the sense of humor kind of family story is this:
From the time I was almost 12 until just after I turned 16, we lived in the northeast corner of Connecticut. The first three years were in the little town of Thompson, just across the line from Webster, Massachusettes, the last year-and-change in South Woodstock. While we lived there, my mother joined a community choral group which performed concerts throughout the year, doing seasonal and holiday music.

At the time, mid- to late-1960s, fire departments in the small towns in that end of Connecticut used sirens on top of the stations to call off-duty and volunteer fire fighters, should the need arise.

Christmas time one year, the choral group was doing their annual holiday concert. The hall where they were performing was packed with people in their dressed-up finery. As everyone entered the hall, they were handed a program with the list of songs the choir was scheduled to sing.

Everything went off without a hitch. However, half-way through the program, the choir had just finished one song and was pausing before starting the next one when suddenly sirens could be heard from atop Putnam's fire station. The sirens kept sounding...and sounding...and sounding. A number of men from the audience began leaving the audience, whispering "Sorry, I'll try to make it back" to their families.

Then, in the distance, neighboring towns' fire sirens began their mournful answers. By the time the local fire stations finished calling their ranks, nearly a third of the men had left the audience. Turned out an entire city block in downtown Putnam was engulfed in flames.

The only irony was when the choir director finally raised his baton--and an eyebrow--to begin the next song on the program. The rousing tune began with the line, "Torches, torches, run with the torches..."

You can't make this stuff up.

Now for the suprise-ending type of family story:

Recently, my mother called. Part of our family mythology entails my mother's childhood friend, Nancy Cowles.

When Mom and Nancy were growing up, it was a well-established fact that if one saw either girl, the other one was obviously nearby. As adults, both Mom and Nancy were each other's Maid of Honor. Mom was already pregnant with me when Nancy announced her pregnancy. Unfortunately, Nancy died while giving birth to Jennifer. Mom saw Jennifer twice since Nancy died. The first time was when Jennifer and I were babies. Nancy's mom brought her granddaughter to my grandmother's house. Mom and I were there, and Mom got to ooh and ahh over her lost friend's little girl.

The second time was maybe eight or nine years ago. Mom had moved to Murray, Kentucky with my step-father. While in Murray, Mom had a weekly spot on the publicly funded radio station where she would read short essays she'd written about her life, a life filled with quirky relatives, neighbors and animals. Later, she published the group of essays in a book titled The Color Chartreuse.

Mom did several book readings in Connecticut and New York. One of the readings was in Dobbs Ferry, NY, where she'd grown up, along with Nancy. After the reading, a lady my age came forward and introduced herself. It was Jennifer, Nancy's daughter.

By this time, my step-father, Bill, had passed away. A few years later, while still in Murray, my mother met a lovely man named Jim. The two hit it off immediately. They've now been married for five years and live in Allentown, Pennsylvania.

One day, Mom received a phone call from Jim's daughter. Seems she'd been talking with her best friend about books they had read. "Oh, my step-mom's a writer," Jim's daughter stated. "She wrote a book called The Color Chartreuse." Her best friend, who'd been her Maid of Honor, who Jim had watched grow up from childhood, was none other than--you guessed it--Jennifer Cowles.

And now you know...