If you had told me a few months ago Meg Whitman would have a shot at getting the (R) nomination I would have told you it was a long shot.

Poizner could match her dollar-for-dollar, had run statewide races and was a serving official with an “inside” for his party nomination.

I’m surprised how ineffective his campaign has been and that he seems to be on the verge of collapse.

Promises to be an interesting fall…

OK – that’s a little grand – but I’ve been on Twitter for a while now. Now many may be asking, “What is Twitter and why would I care?”

A quick definition:

Twitter is a service which allows you answer the question, “What are you doing/thinking?” by sending short text messages 140 characters in length, called “tweets”, to those subscribing to your message stream.

So why am I using it? I’ve found some interesting uses for the stream.

• I have found it useful to post thoughts which have become blog posts. The idea for March 8′s posting came as a result of folks reading and responding to my twitter feed.
• Twitter has allowed me to quickly tell folks in one fast message of an interesting event and enjoy a spontaneous get-together.
• I prefer this to email as I only get streams from folks I know and the spam-factor is low.

I’m asking you to join in this experiment of better communication – join my twitter feed and (perhaps) get the view of our city through a different set of eyes!

Thank you for all your kind thoughts regarding my dear friend and mentor from the National Youth Science Camp,  Haywood McCallum.  Haywood was severely injured during a robbery outside his home in Richmond, Virginia on October 11, 2008.    Haywood is still in the ICU and an arrest has been made.  As you can see – progress is slow – but it great to see him smiling!

The following was the eulogy I read at Dr. Art Shorten’s memorial service in Youngstown, Ohio.

An Open letter to Art Shorten
April 8, 2009

I was thinking about this and realized – I don’t like being talked about, especially if I’m in the room. My preference is being part of the conversation, being talked to.
So I’m writing this letter to you.

Today we’re surrounded by the people who love you. I know you can see us – so the nice thing is we can have a chat about what’s important.

I was told to chat about what you meant for family, what kind of a mentor you have been – and personally – where do we go now.

I suppose I can sum it all up with something you said at Fataima’s wedding,

One very important thing is a sense of humor. Being able to laugh at yourself, and to life in general. Again, it doesn’t really matter what your religion is, where you live, what money you make, what you own, what you wear. The important thing is how you treat other people, including each other.

It wasn’t really important to say those things, everyone who knows you, witnessed your embodiment of those simple and profound thoughts.

I was home in Florida with my parents when we got the news you had fallen ill. We were spending the day near the beach.

I wish you were there, the folks and I were walking in Fernandina Beach when a drop-top Cadillac full of girls from the local college pulled up beside a BMW with two guys on spring break.

The girls did a traditional Florida hair flip at the guys and said,
“What school y’all from?”
“Yale”
“WHAT SCHOOL Y’ALL FROM!?!?!?”

I guess you had to be there…

One very important thing is a sense of humor. Being able to laugh at yourself, and to life in general.

One of my favorite quotes is:

The bond that links your true family is not one of blood, but of respect and joy in each other’s life. Rarely do members of one family grow up under the same roof.

You have raised and brought together an amazing family.

I know you recall how my parents came into your life. I honestly don’t know what went through your mind when you first saw these two skinny kids from Pakistan who dropped in the USA with a few clothes in their suitcase. My parents were well educated, and short on life experiences.

Dad mentioned part of the appeal of the Fulbright fellowship in Youngstown was that married housing was included.
Dad had not studied American History, or even knew much about this country. He said he knew New York, San Francisco and Miami – what’s Ohio?

He mentioned offhand, he had really wanted to go to the UK. If you were a Pakistani – going to the UK was “making it.”

When I asked “really?”

He said, “Yes, but I didn’t know much. Once I was here I knew this is where I wanted to be. I’m so glad I went to Youngstown, because we got to meet the Shortens.”

Mom and Dad both recalled how they felt in those early days – they were thousands of miles from their homeland and relatives. “They took care of us and loved us with our first born when we had no one – but with them, we had a family.”
“We knew that was our home – Rick’s room was our room. It was just understood. We’d come over with our bags and move right into that room”

Dad recalled you bought the first plates they had – and we ate from those plates for years.

Dad remarked how much he was astounded by your generosity when he met you.

He recalled you had a new Triumph convertible you were very proud of. Dad admired it and you said, “here are the keys, take a ride.”

I don’t know if you understand what that simple gesture meant. But more than 40 years after, my dad had a faraway look in his eye, the smell of the car in his senses and revisited with great fondness a day of driving with his wife, in a convertible sports car through an Ohio landscape. That a man would trust another with a prized possession like this – unbelievable. But it was simply you being true to the man you are.

When Dad was doing his residency in Michigan and Mom was at home with three small children, she remembers you telling her, “If you ever need to talk, call me collect – all my kids do”

The important thing is how you treat other people

It’s hard for me to describe all the things you taught me. The things that stick out are simple -

• How to scratch a dog so they are in 7th heaven
• Do the Word Jumble before you do the crossword as a warm up. Well, at least that worked for you.
• Call a librarian if you want to figure out how to put up a dartboard.
• If you eat a bowl of Granola, don’t fill the bowl the same way you would if you were eating cocoa puffs
• The cartoon section of the paper is best when you can share it with someone

In my life, I have had moments of indecision, but you always had a gentle manner and a strong guiding compass with which I could get my bearings.

There is no question the Shorten’s drive for service and fairness is a trait that rubbed off on me and serves me every time I step onto the City Council dais.

I know reaching my goals in life meant a lot more when I knew you got a chance to see them.

• They became real.
• Your smile and words meant the world to me.

Fataima’s daughter, Leila is a precocious 5 year old and she knows what I mean. Some months back, she had just started to read.

• She read to her mother.
• She read to her father
• She read to her sisters
• She read to her dolls and
• She read to her Uncle Omie.

But she HAD TO sit in your lap and read to you to make it real.

I have a hard time understanding her. She goes through every word breathlessly with the cadence of, well, an excited five year old.

I don’t know if you heard much, but your smile, your hug and your approval were her tiara, and she was walking on clouds.

The important thing is how you treat other people – especially the littlest ones

One thing I will always associate with you is wood, sawdust, and the beautiful things you used to make. The grandfather clock and religious icons, the decoys and shelves.

Neruda wrote a poem – Ode to Wood
Oh, of all I know
and know well
of all things wood is my best friend.
I wear through the world
on my body,
in my clothing,
the scent of the sawmill
The odor of red wood
That’s why when I touch you,
you respond like a lover
You show me your eyes and your grains,
your knots and your blemishes
your veins like frozen rivers
I know the song they sang on the voice of the wind
I hear a stormy night galloping of a horse through deep woods
I touch you and you open like a faded rose that revives for me alone
offering an aroma and fire that had seemed dead.

It always amazed me how you spoke of wood, how you looked at it and saw something beautiful inside, beyond the block, or plank…

• “Look at this cherry”
• “This is a great piece of oak”
• “Walnut would be a good idea here.”

I suppose that’s how you saw us. How you saw everyone. You always looked beyond our roughness, our odd edges, the knots and bumps. You always saw something beautiful inside everyone you met. With gentle humor, kind stories and your patience you helped us see a glimpse of ourselves. We always hope we can meet our expectations in the mirror – I want to be the man you saw me to be in your eyes.

The love of everyone you touched always covered you like a fine sawdust. Everyone could see it. It was in your hair, your clothes and on your skin. Heck, you could smell the sweetness.

• I suppose that’s why folks smiled bigger when they were near you
• I suppose that’s why folks laughed easier when they were near you
• I suppose that’s why folks felt loved when they were near you

One very important thing is a sense of humor. Being able to laugh at yourself, and to life in general. Again, it doesn’t really matter what your religion is, where you live, what money you make, what you own, what you wear. The important thing is how you treat other people, including each other.

I’ve tried to keep those teachings in my heart, and I hope to master the skill, the “Art”, of seeing people with gentle eyes at the beauty beneath the exterior people show.

You know, I smell sawdust in here…

With Love,
– Omar