The other day, I found something I had written in May 1967. I didn’t believe my eyes. Fifty years ago I wrote that I wanted to do exactly what I am doing today.
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Rose Ann Miele
If you ask me if I enjoy my life, I would say, without hesitation, I do. I take great pleasure in living in Boulder City, even though I miss some dear friends and family, my favorite restaurants and the cultural amenities I enjoyed in my birthplace, Chicago.
Attitude … Ask anyone who knows me whether I’m in their “like” or “can’t stand her” category, and they’ll tell you I have attitude. But all of us have it. Some of us simply express it more openly.
Quite often, I get a phone call or an email about a person or a family in need of housing, or a job, or a few bucks to pay the rent or the electric bill, or money to get a prescription or pay a doctor or dentist bill. I’ve even run into folks who needed money to get their driver’s licenses renewed.
There are times, especially during the Christmas season, when I can walk down the street or enter a room and almost reach out and touch the feeling around me.
I spent the first 45 years of my life in Chicago, with only a few brief months living in California and studying in Mexico. I grew up immersed in political activity. There were weeks of nonstop “buzz” surrounding each and every election, so naturally, I thought that was how one was supposed to act during an election. And voting was an absolute must.
“That’s our house,” I hollered. I was referring to our very own City Hall. That building was my home for many years. I often spent more time in City Hall than I did in my own house.
You can disagree with me, but since we’re all human, and we live in societies governed by humans, we should attempt to discuss issues with each other. We won’t always agree, but we should take a stab at learning what we have in common before we refuse to take the time to dismiss each other’s positions.
I don’t know exactly how I heard about Family Promise of Las Vegas, a nonprofit organization that helps families move from the street, or their car, or crammed in with relatives or having the family separated and living in shelters. I do know that as each year passes, this organization and its volunteers bring comfort to many and enrich the entire community.
You know how we go through the day, and then someone does something really stupid, and we get angry? Let’s talk about some of those things.
The other day, while changing TV channels, I stopped when I heard a young woman announce that 60 percent of the American people don’t believe in the American dream. Now before you tell me to fact-check that number, forget about it. I want to take a look at the American dream.
Recently, I had a business meeting with a person who happens to be my friend. The conversation turned to people acting one way in their professional or work life and another way at home or with friends and family.
It never bothers me to share my age. Generally, I don’t think about turning 65, but there are times when it becomes quite apparent that I’m older than many folks I interact with on a daily basis.
Igrew up in a household filled with strong, realistic Italian-American women. Words of praise and encouragement did not flow freely from their lips. They called it the way they saw it, and there were no celebrations for getting all A’s on a report card or being chosen for the church choir. These women were about work and food and guilt.
Since I began working as the Boulder City coordinator of the Nevada Community Prevention Coalition in July of 2013, I’ve been taking a closer, or maybe, more serious look at kids and parents in Boulder City.
Forty years ago this month, I went to a political rally in Chicago at a well-known gathering place called Wozniak’s. Countless Chicago Democrats frequented this bar and restaurant to talk politics and raise a glass or two. If you were a patronage worker or one within the inner circles of the “Daley Machine,” you knew Wozniak’s.
Whether you believe me or not, I’ve never, not once, asked for any specific gift for Christmas. I got what I got, and that’s how it was.
The other day, I spent 90 minutes online watching the Prevention Institute webinar, “Cultivating Prevention Champions: Making the Case to Local Elected Officials.” Although I’m someone who calls and writes elected officials regularly, I found the webinar well worthwhile.
Saying I loved going to school never made me the most popular kid in the class or on the block, but I loved going and learning. I especially loved elementary school when Mr. Pelligrini took Sister Henrica’s place and taught history, geography and current events. Watching “Meet the Press” and PBS programs were homework. We’d have discussions and get excited about what we were learning.
When I was a kid in the 1950s, there was no such thing as having a discussion with my parents. They made the rules and I followed.
Picture yourself at home, alone. Because of your failing eyesight, you can’t drive. From time to time, your arthritis is so painful you can’t get out of bed. Your spouse of 57 years has passed away. Your children live in three different states, with the closest being 750 miles away.
“Be Kind ... It Takes All Of Us” is the theme of Boulder City’s 65th annual Damboree Parade. Those words got me thinking about not only how we treat each other but also how connected we are to everyone. What we say and how we say it not only affects everyone we talk to but also what we get back from them.
Being from a Chicago neighborhood that grew out of a tradition of being more than a little rough around the edges, and adding just the right amount of my familial, Sicilian cynicism, has made me the outspoken, in-your-face kind of person I am today.