Click on Blue Link and Enjoy from My dear Friend Frank– One Million years — Young.
A Sister’s Eulogy for Steve Jobs
By MONA SIMPSON from the New York Times
I grew up as an only child, with a single mother. Because we were poor and because I knew my father had emigrated from Syria, I imagined he looked like Omar Sharif. I hoped he would be rich and kind and would come into our lives (and our not yet furnished apartment) and help us. Later, after I’d met my father, I tried to believe he’d changed his number and left no forwarding address because he was an idealistic revolutionary, plotting a new world for the Arab people.
Opinion: The Genius of Jobs (October 30, 2011)
Even as a feminist, my whole life I’d been waiting for a man to love, who could love me. For decades, I’d thought that man would be my father. When I was 25, I met that man and he was my brother.
By then, I lived in New York, where I was trying to write my first novel. I had a job at a small magazine in an office the size of a closet, with three other aspiring writers. When one day a lawyer called me — me, the middle-class girl from California who hassled the boss to buy us health insurance — and said his client was rich and famous and was my long-lost brother, the young editors went wild. This was 1985 and we worked at a cutting-edge literary magazine, but I’d fallen into the plot of a Dickens novel and really, we all loved those best. The lawyer refused to tell me my brother’s name and my colleagues started a betting pool. The leading candidate: John Travolta. I secretly hoped for a literary descendant of Henry James — someone more talented than I, someone brilliant without even trying.
When I met Steve, he was a guy my age in jeans, Arab- or Jewish-looking and handsomer than Omar Sharif.
We took a long walk — something, it happened, that we both liked to do. I don’t remember much of what we said that first day, only that he felt like someone I’d pick to be a friend. He explained that he worked in computers.
I didn’t know much about computers. I still worked on a manual Olivetti typewriter.
I told Steve I’d recently considered my first purchase of a computer: something called the Cromemco.
Steve told me it was a good thing I’d waited. He said he was making something that was going to be insanely beautiful.
I want to tell you a few things I learned from Steve, during three distinct periods, over the 27 years I knew him. They’re not periods of years, but of states of being. His full life. His illness. His dying.
Steve worked at what he loved. He worked really hard. Every day.
That’s incredibly simple, but true.
He was the opposite of absent-minded.
He was never embarrassed about working hard, even if the results were failures. If someone as smart as Steve wasn’t ashamed to admit trying, maybe I didn’t have to be.
When he got kicked out of Apple, things were painful. He told me about a dinner at which 500 Silicon Valley leaders met the then-sitting president. Steve hadn’t been invited.
He was hurt but he still went to work at Next. Every single day.
Novelty was not Steve’s highest value. Beauty was.
For an innovator, Steve was remarkably loyal. If he loved a shirt, he’d order 10 or 100 of them. In the Palo Alto house, there are probably enough black cotton turtlenecks for everyone in this church.
He didn’t favor trends or gimmicks. He liked people his own age.
His philosophy of aesthetics reminds me of a quote that went something like this: “Fashion is what seems beautiful now but looks ugly later; art can be ugly at first but it becomes beautiful later.”
Steve always aspired to make beautiful later.
He was willing to be misunderstood.
Uninvited to the ball, he drove the third or fourth iteration of his same black sports car to Next, where he and his team were quietly inventing the platform on which Tim Berners-Lee would write the program for the World Wide Web.Steve was like a girl in the amount of time he spent talking about love. Love was his supreme virtue, his god of gods. He tracked and worried about the romantic lives of the people working with him.
Opinion: The Genius of Jobs (October 30, 2011)
Whenever he saw a man he thought a woman might find dashing, he called out, “Hey are you single? Do you wanna come to dinner with my sister?”
I remember when he phoned the day he met Laurene. “There’s this beautiful woman and she’s really smart and she has this dog and I’m going to marry her.”
When Reed was born, he began gushing and never stopped. He was a physical dad, with each of his children. He fretted over Lisa’s boyfriends and Erin’s travel and skirt lengths and Eve’s safety around the horses she adored.
None of us who attended Reed’s graduation party will ever forget the scene of Reed and Steve slow dancing.
His abiding love for Laurene sustained him. He believed that love happened all the time, everywhere. In that most important way, Steve was never ironic, never cynical, never pessimistic. I try to learn from that, still.
Steve had been successful at a young age, and he felt that had isolated him. Most of the choices he made from the time I knew him were designed to dissolve the walls around him. A middle-class boy from Los Altos, he fell in love with a middle-class girl from New Jersey. It was important to both of them to raise Lisa, Reed, Erin and Eve as grounded, normal children. Their house didn’t intimidate with art or polish; in fact, for many of the first years I knew Steve and Lo together, dinner was served on the grass, and sometimes consisted of just one vegetable. Lots of that one vegetable. But one. Broccoli. In season. Simply prepared. With just the right, recently snipped, herb.
Even as a young millionaire, Steve always picked me up at the airport. He’d be standing there in his jeans.
When a family member called him at work, his secretary Linetta answered, “Your dad’s in a meeting. Would you like me to interrupt him?”
When Reed insisted on dressing up as a witch every Halloween, Steve, Laurene, Erin and Eve all went wiccan.
They once embarked on a kitchen remodel; it took years. They cooked on a hotplate in the garage. The Pixar building, under construction during the same period, finished in half the time. And that was it for the Palo Alto house. The bathrooms stayed old. But — and this was a crucial distinction — it had been a great house to start with; Steve saw to that.
This is not to say that he didn’t enjoy his success: he enjoyed his success a lot, just minus a few zeros. He told me how much he loved going to the Palo Alto bike store and gleefully realizing he could afford to buy the best bike there.
And he did.
Steve was humble. Steve liked to keep learning.
Once, he told me if he’d grown up differently, he might have become a mathematician. He spoke reverently about colleges and loved walking around the Stanford campus. In the last year of his life, he studied a book of paintings by Mark Rothko, an artist he hadn’t known about before, thinking of what could inspire people on the walls of a future Apple campus.
Steve cultivated whimsy. What other C.E.O. knows the history of English and Chinese tea roses and has a favorite David Austin rose?
He had surprises tucked in all his pockets. I’ll venture that Laurene will discover treats — songs he loved, a poem he cut out and put in a drawer — even after 20 years of an exceptionally close marriage. I spoke to him every other day or so, but when I opened The New York Times and saw a feature on the company’s patents, I was still surprised and delighted to see a sketch for a perfect staircase.
With his four children, with his wife, with all of us, Steve had a lot of fun.
He treasured happiness.Then, Steve became ill and we watched his life compress into a smaller circle. Once, he’d loved walking through Paris. He’d discovered a small handmade soba shop in Kyoto. He downhill skied gracefully. He cross-country skied clumsily. No more.
Opinion: The Genius of Jobs (October 30, 2011)
Eventually, even ordinary pleasures, like a good peach, no longer appealed to him.
Yet, what amazed me, and what I learned from his illness, was how much was still left after so much had been taken away.
I remember my brother learning to walk again, with a chair. After his liver transplant, once a day he would get up on legs that seemed too thin to bear him, arms pitched to the chair back. He’d push that chair down the Memphis hospital corridor towards the nursing station and then he’d sit down on the chair, rest, turn around and walk back again. He counted his steps and, each day, pressed a little farther.
Laurene got down on her knees and looked into his eyes.
“You can do this, Steve,” she said. His eyes widened. His lips pressed into each other.
He tried. He always, always tried, and always with love at the core of that effort. He was an intensely emotional man.
I realized during that terrifying time that Steve was not enduring the pain for himself. He set destinations: his son Reed’s graduation from high school, his daughter Erin’s trip to Kyoto, the launching of a boat he was building on which he planned to take his family around the world and where he hoped he and Laurene would someday retire.
Even ill, his taste, his discrimination and his judgment held. He went through 67 nurses before finding kindred spirits and then he completely trusted the three who stayed with him to the end. Tracy. Arturo. Elham.
One time when Steve had contracted a tenacious pneumonia his doctor forbid everything — even ice. We were in a standard I.C.U. unit. Steve, who generally disliked cutting in line or dropping his own name, confessed that this once, he’d like to be treated a little specially.
I told him: Steve, this is special treatment.
He leaned over to me, and said: “I want it to be a little more special.”
Intubated, when he couldn’t talk, he asked for a notepad. He sketched devices to hold an iPad in a hospital bed. He designed new fluid monitors and x-ray equipment. He redrew that not-quite-special-enough hospital unit. And every time his wife walked into the room, I watched his smile remake itself on his face.
For the really big, big things, you have to trust me, he wrote on his sketchpad. He looked up. You have to.
By that, he meant that we should disobey the doctors and give him a piece of ice.
None of us knows for certain how long we’ll be here. On Steve’s better days, even in the last year, he embarked upon projects and elicited promises from his friends at Apple to finish them. Some boat builders in the Netherlands have a gorgeous stainless steel hull ready to be covered with the finishing wood. His three daughters remain unmarried, his two youngest still girls, and he’d wanted to walk them down the aisle as he’d walked me the day of my wedding.
We all — in the end — die in medias res. In the middle of a story. Of many stories.
I suppose it’s not quite accurate to call the death of someone who lived with cancer for years unexpected, but Steve’s death was unexpected for us.
What I learned from my brother’s death was that character is essential: What he was, was how he died.
Tuesday morning, he called me to ask me to hurry up to Palo Alto. His tone was affectionate, dear, loving, but like someone whose luggage was already strapped onto the vehicle, who was already on the beginning of his journey, even as he was sorry, truly deeply sorry, to be leaving us.
He started his farewell and I stopped him. I said, “Wait. I’m coming. I’m in a taxi to the airport. I’ll be there.”
“I’m telling you now because I’m afraid you won’t make it on time, honey.”
When I arrived, he and his Laurene were joking together like partners who’d lived and worked together every day of their lives. He looked into his children’s eyes as if he couldn’t unlock his gaze.
Until about 2 in the afternoon, his wife could rouse him, to talk to his friends from Apple.
Then, after awhile, it was clear that he would no longer wake to us.
His breathing changed. It became severe, deliberate, purposeful. I could feel him counting his steps again, pushing farther than before.
This is what I learned: he was working at this, too. Death didn’t happen to Steve, he achieved it.
He told me, when he was saying goodbye and telling me he was sorry, so sorry we wouldn’t be able to be old together as we’d always planned, that he was going to a better place.
Dr. Fischer gave him a 50/50 chance of making it through the night.
He made it through the night, Laurene next to him on the bed sometimes jerked up when there was a longer pause between his breaths. She and I looked at each other, then he would heave a deep breath and begin again.
This had to be done. Even now, he had a stern, still handsome profile, the profile of an absolutist, a romantic. His breath indicated an arduous journey, some steep path, altitude.
He seemed to be climbing.
But with that will, that work ethic, that strength, there was also sweet Steve’s capacity for wonderment, the artist’s belief in the ideal, the still more beautiful later.
Steve’s final words, hours earlier, were monosyllables, repeated three times.
Before embarking, he’d looked at his sister Patty, then for a long time at his children, then at his life’s partner, Laurene, and then over their shoulders past them.
Steve’s final words were:
OH WOW. OH WOW. OH WOW.
It will be Rocking – Friday April 29th, Sat April 30th , and Sun. May 1 St.
See Website for full Details — wakeupnowconference.com
Do not miss this EVENT
Check out the site forbiddenknowledgetv.com
Frank Wolak is a man of diversity; the highlights of his career path are as follows: second Lt. US Army Engineer, West Point Graduate, Master of Science, Nuclear Engineer MIT, oversaw construction of a nuclear reactor in Alaska, and over the last 30 years he has studied and researched the positive side of life and all its possibilities.
Frank discussed the concepts that affect our personal life and all its challenges and the intense positive energy of the Universe and its role in granting the answers to what we desire. He walked us through the 24,500-year cycle and the present movement between the third and the fourth dimensions. If you are a seeker and you take advantage of the opportunity that the Universe will offer, you can move on to the next dimension.
Frank spoke with great knowledge about how we all have free will, how we obtain it and how we need to keep it. The theme I enjoyed the most was that we are all God. You are a creator, and you are a God. Love of everything makes us as I say “Big”, and Fear is humanity’s biggest issue – as I say it makes us very small. We as humans have been in a brainwash mode since we were babies. We have been fed fear to keep us in a sub-potential role here on earth.
Frank spent a good portion of his discussion on the role of the right and left-brains. Frank is saying as we shift in the next year or so, we or some of us will start shifting more into a right brain world, a God consciousness world. The shift to 4th dimension will be an era of no time/space, only energy.
And to the infinite only ask what you agreed to, and you will be satisfied forever. And one last thing: Frank made us do an exercise – make a list from your heart of the things that you desire and give it to the infinite. Put the list in a safe place and forget about it. Wonderful things will happen to you and when you get the list out of that safe place, you will see the infinite spirit has lived up to the agreement it made with you, when you came to hang, here on earth.
Sleep Tight – in the future you will not need to sleep, for energy doesn’t sleep. Oh and one more Frankism – Don’t reject anything that is put in front of you.
Release date: March 7th 2011, Albuquerque, NM
Event dates: April 29, 30, & May 1, 2011
Location: Albuquerque, NM, Santa Ana Star Casino, Bosque Convention Ctr.
Contact Info: Nancy Wallace, 505-966-5017, email@example.com
Links: http://wakeupnowconference.com, http://childsmiraclemind.org
Albuquerque Wakes Up in a Big Way
The Wake Up Now! Conference engages cosmic truths, UFOs, conspiracy theories, the paranormal, and re-evolution, while supporting new educational options for children. It is now obvious that our children are changing dramatically and that our educational system is struggling to meet their needs and achieving minimal success. This is a Wake Up Call.
So, what do cosmic truths, UFOs, conspiracies and the paranormal have to do with our children? Our minds are expanding. Our world is changing. Our level of input from TV, computers and other sources keeps growing exponentially. Our kids need to be prepared to handle the onslaught of information and the challenges of the future while maintaining a sense of order, balance and joy.
The primary purpose of the Wake Up Now! Conference being held at the Santa Ana Casino’s Bosque Conference Center, April 29 through May 1, is to bring new and emerging information to the public through highly regarded speakers who represent decades of experience and research on the linked subjects of Cosmic Truths, UFOs, Conspiracy Theories, the Paranormal, & Re-evolution. Re-evolution is defined as the changes in the human population being seen firsthand through earth’s youth. Changes in consciousness and mental function are being reported in children and adults. Humanity is clearly perched on the precipice of something big.
The funds raised through this conference benefit the building fund for The School of Now, a project of A Child’s Miracle Mind, Inc, a 501C3 not for profit corporation. The School of Now is a radically new support and education system designed for the children now arriving into our human family.
A Child’s Miracle Mind, Inc. was founded by Nancy Wallace who says, “We draw upon new and advanced approaches, to consistently explore knowledge, remedies, and relief to aid and assist parents and children who have been labeled ADHD, ADD and/or problem children.” It is the organization’s goal to heighten school performance and personal growth. The organization uses alternative methods, tests and techniques, along with nutritional changes, emotional counseling and intuitive counseling to address the challenges.
A dreamer is one who can only find his way by moonlight, and his punishment is that he sees the dawn before the rest of the world.” ~ Oscar Wilde
The following anonymous quote came with the last Hospice survey that surviving family members get. It is just a nice reminder for all ‘imperfect’ humans. Enjoy!
“To ‘let go’…
…does not mean to stop caring; it means I can’t do it for someone else.
…is not to cut myself off; it’s the realization that I can’t control another.
…is not to enable; but to allow learning from natural consequences.
…is to admit powerlessness; which means the outcome is not in my hands.
…is not to try to change or blame another; it’s to make the most of myself.
…is not to care for; but to care about.
…is not to fix; but to be supportive.
…is not to judge; but to allow another to be a human being.
…is not to be in the middle, arranging all the outcomes; but to allow others to affect their own destinies.
…is not to be protective; it’s to permit another to face reality.
…is not to deny; but to accept.
…is not to nag, scold or argue; but instead to search out my own shortcomings and correct them.
…is not to adjust everything to my desires; but to take each day as it comes and cherish myself in it.
…is not to regret the past; but to live and grow for the future.
…is to fear less and love more.”
Best Blessings of Love, Light, Laughter,
Fear makes you small, love and peace makes you Big.
A cosmic source