FINDING MY VOICE by Renel Brooks-Moon

Renel's voice is widely recognized in the San Francisco bay area. She is the host of "Renel in the Morning," a popular program on KISS FM. In the afternoons/evenings, she is the public-address announcer for the San Francisco Giants at AT&T Park, a job she has held for six years and counting. On July 10, Renel will be announcing Major League Baseball's All-Star Game at AT&T Park. This will be the first time in history that a woman announces an All Star game, and one of many firsts for Renel, whose infectious enthusiasm and positive example have been an inspiration to people everywhere.

Johanna interviewed Renel on June 25. Renel's story was borne from that conversation.

I've been announcing San Francisco Giants' games for seven years and every game is a new experience; it's more fun than I'd imagined. My first day of announcing was a totally out of body experience! Last week, I heard my voice announcing the Yankees line up and I was beside myself. I mean, I hear my voice saying, "Number 2, Derek Jeter! Number 13, Alex Rodriguez!" And then, Roger Clemens was called to pitch in relief and pitched to Barry Bonds. A rare occurrence indeed!

All my life I've been a baseball fanatic. My parents became Dodgers fans as a result of Jackie Robinson breaking the color barrier. My grandfather was a big fan of Negro League baseball long before that. My grandfather even taught my mom how to score games. My mother was pregnant with me in 1958 when the Giants moved here from New York, and she has been a fan ever since. So this team has been a part of my life since I was in the womb! My brother had aspirations of being a big league pitcher. My family has always been into baseball. The A's and the Giants. When I was growing up, you could actually support both teams and both leagues. Those days are pretty much over!

The Giants are a very progressive organization. There are lots of women in upper management in the organization that you don't see. The VP of Marketing for the Blue Jays came into the booth to say hello last week. Women are increasingly in heavy-duty positions. And the Bay Area is very tolerant. I feel protected and supported by the guys that I work with; they're great. We are like family during baseball season. I mean, we see each other more than we see our own families! And some of the guys in their 20s and 30s have told me that they see me as an example; that they learn from me, and I in turn learn from them. You want your work to speak to have that kind of impact. I had no idea what to expect from this group of guys, and they all could not be more supportive and caring.

I'm a Virgo and I have the qualities ascribed to that sign. I strive for perfection. I put more pressure on myself than anyone else ever could! I have a sense of responsibility now, because I am looked at as a pioneer and a trailblazer, so I don't want to screw it up!! Radio wasn't a possibility when I was a little girl. I'm so proud to have a little something to do with inspiring young girls and women and changing their thought processes and expanding their possibilities! When I was young, there were few women and even fewer women of color doing what I'm blessed to be doing now. Getting into radio was pretty much a stroke of good luck. Although Oprah Winfrey says there's no such thing as luck...but rather it's preparedness and opportunity coming together. When I graduated from college, I took an entry-level job at KCBS, worked my way up and around, and also, I have to say, was in the right place at the right time more often than not. Opportunity meeting Preparation!

I've been in the business for over 25 years and it's not easy to see my male counterparts make more money than I do, and be treated with a great deal more respect and professionalism. But I stay true to myself and keep on pushing, and so far it has served me well. If you stand up for yourself, as a woman, you're viewed as not being a team player, you're considered a bitch or too aggressive. But I will ALWAYS stand up for myself. Always. I'll be as professional and as courteous as I can be, but I will always stand up for myself, and my team for that matter. I've been demoted, I've had my show taken away and replaced by a syndicated show that turned out to be a failure, but in the words of the great Destiny's Child, "I am a survivor." I have my audience to thank for that, because when management does something shady, they write, they call; they are very vocal in their support for me. That means so much. In radio, you have to be competitive...or what are you doing? But I think you can have a healthy competitive spirit, and not be mean-spirited or nasty. I think I've proven that you can have a successful and entertaining radio program that is positive and uplifting. I don't get down like the so-called "shock-jocks," that will never be my thing or my style. It isn't necessary, as many women I'm sure understand.

Of course I feel fear. I feel fearful every day. I'm the biggest wuss! I just keep on going. I think of my dad saying, "C'mon, don't let ‘em getcha." That brings me to earth and sanity. My parents have been through so much. My mom just turned 81. She was diagnosed with breast cancer at the age of 80 and she went public with her experience. Her attitude is wonderful. Instead of "poor me, why me, God?" she'll say, "Lord, just guide me." She stood by my dad and I can't even put into words the admiration that I have for them. My dad was the first African American high school principal in San Francisco. He always had a big personality and I take after him that way. I'm definitely a daddy's girl. He passed away four years ago, but I think of him every day. I want to make him proud. He's my greatest inspiration and role model. Thinking of my parents and the experiences they endured gives me great strength. My dad and I are the same person. Same astrological sign, same sense of humor, same face!! Everything I'm doing now in my career is everything that he and I enjoyed together...music, comedy, entertainment and sports. I definitely think of myself not as a broadcast personality, but as a performer, something my husband and my immediate family will attest to!

I found my voice at Mills College in Oakland. Kind of ironic, I suppose. Or not? Mills is a women's college and is all about women finding their voices. Up until then, I struggled with my voice and my sense of self. My school years were difficult as they were during the height of integration and the civil rights movement. I had a really hard time finding my place, and struggled to be accepted by both black and white students. My first day of high school in 1972, disgruntled and I guess racist students even threw rocks at the bus and it was like Little Rock, Arkansas. in the 1950s! But again, I would think of my parents and find my strength; I CAN do this and I MUST do this. I entered Mills College in 1976 and that experience forever changed me. It forever changed me. It was that experience that helped me find my voice and confidence. I met wonderful women; African American women with the same experience as my own. It helped me find my voice as a feminist and community activist. My parents' greatest lesson was: "The biggest deterrent to racism and sexism is education. Get your education and be the best Renel you can be. And make a difference in the community and the world." Last September, I delivered the convocation address at Mills. That was AMAZING. Unbelievable. It was a full circle and profound moment for me.

As we get older, we start to just get it. I have a posse of five best friends. We've been tight for 14 years. Every December we have a blowout slumber party at my house. We met at our neighborhood Jazzercise class and we all just clicked. And all these years later we realize we were all meant to be together as sister-friends. We've been through divorces, cancer, raising children, aging parents, career struggles... you name it. There's nothing better than best girlfriends to pull you though the ups and downs of being a woman in this world!

My husband was a student at UC Berkeley when I was at Mills. That's when we met, but we didn't get together until 13 years later. He saw me performing in a talent show on campus and claims that he knew one day I'd be a performer. It takes a special kinda brotha to be married to me and all that comes with the "Renel Experience"! I think it helps that he's the oldest of six siblings, four of whom are sisters! And while his dad was in the Air Force, he had to step up and help his mom raise the family. He and his mom have a great relationship, so Tommie is pretty good with women!

My favorite thing to do is just to sit with a glass of wine in the tub. I usually take a vacation during the All Star break, but hello! Not this year! We'll probably go this fall. I love tropical weather, so I like to go to Mexico or the Caribbean. I can sit there for hours. My husband will visit with me, but then he's off to do something again. I guess I love sitting still because I don't get to do that very much in my daily life. I usually get up at 4:00AM to start getting ready for my morning show, which airs until 10:00AM. Then, I'll go to they gym or take a nap. Or prepare for the next day's show. I have to be at the ballpark by 4:00PM for pre-game interviews. Then, after the game, I'll go home and do some more preparation for the next morning's show. I usually sleep about five hours. People have called that amazing, but it's not amazing. Single moms are amazing! Moms in general are amazing! There are women who are juggling way more than I am an under great adversity. That's what I call amazing.

I wouldn't turn back the clock ever. Not on your LIFE. Life is good. Life is good. It's quite the journey, is it not? When I think of the woman I was in my 20s and even 30s I refer to myself as "her," because she was totally a different person...but she got me to the woman I now am...preparing to turn 50 next year, welcoming it, and daring to and continuing to be FABULOUS!

EXCERPT FROM GRANNY D: WALKING ACROSS AMERICA IN MY 90TH YEAR By Doris Haddock with Dennis Burke

Doris “Granny D” Haddock received a lot of attention when she walked across the country, campaigning to raise awareness and support for campaign finance reform. She probably got more attention for being an 89-year-old grandmother attempting this feat, and she knew it, but the more important and driving reason was her passion for the issue and the cause, which she spoke about frequently along the way. She walked through arid deserts and hiked the Appalachian mountains during blinding blizzards, even skiing her way into DC when the snow conditions worsened and prevented her walk from being continued. Doris is a believer in taking action and making a difference. Her passion was and continues to be infectious. Today, she is 96 years old and continues to speak publicly and travel the country for campaign finance reform.

This month we celebrate her passion and her work by sharing an excerpt from her book about the walk. (See the links below the story for more information.)

 

I spent the weekend with my daughter, Betty, and her family in Chevy Chase. Then Jim and I, at long last, got in the vehicle and drove home to Dublin, New Hampshire. My, it was delicious to see the miles fly by and not have to even think about walking them! And then my town ahead, and there it is! And the old house! My old chair! Bathtub! Books! Ahh, my tired bones!

On Tuesday morning I made my way back to my old friends - our Tuesday Morning Academy. They were happy to see me, but it was rather as if I had been ill for a time or off on a cruise. Within a few minutes, I was one of the girls again - except for one difference. One of my friends, after a few minutes of conversation about my walk, said she didn't see what was so important about campaign finance reform.

It is reported that I took her rather sharply to task with a presentation of memorable ferocity. Well, was that me? Old Doris? It was not the Doris who had sat meekly among them a year and a quarter earlier. Even at my age, I had changed quite a bit.

For the first time in my long life, I was clearly not afraid of what someone might think of me - I cared more about the issue than my vain self. That transition was worth the walk, though I must keep working on it.

Several weeks later I received a call. A group of campaign finance reformers from the Alliance for Democracy were going into the Capitol Rotunda to petition for the redress of our grievance against campaign corruption. Yes, I said - I would go with them this time. I could care less anymore if people thought I was crazy. This was a way to push the issue forward - to demonstrate the depth of our concern and to take the pain of social change upon ourselves.

So I returned to Washington. On the evening of April 20, 2000, I walked from a train at Union Station to a church building near the Supreme Court. There I was to meet thirty-one others who would risk arrest. I was a bit late, as the streets of Washington can be confusing. I entered a room where the thirty-one were seated in chairs gathered in a great circle, and my perilous seat waited empty for me.

In the few steps across the room, I reminded myself that my whole life had been spent worrying too much about what others thought about me. Go ahead, old girl, have a seat.

It was a comfortably well-worn chair, and I looked around with wonder at the smiling people around me, bathed as they were in the golden light of the old room. Many had lost themselves to their causes many years ago. Some, like me, were young beginners.

I was arrested the next morning for reading the Declaration of Independence in a calm voice in the Rotunda. I did so to make the point that we must declare our independence from campaign corruption. My wrists were pulled behind me and cuffed. I was taken away to jail along with the others. When you jump fully into the river of your values, every moment glows with a blissful joy, even when your arms hurt behind you.

But, oh, dear husband, Jim! Are you up there looking down, laughing at me in the pokey? Get used to it, dear.

The fear of not being liked - of not belonging - has been central in my life. "She's not like the others. She's different. Sometimes I wonder if she's mine at all, like I found her in a basket on my front doorstep," I overheard my mother say when I was seven.

Not knowing how else to proceed, I embraced the idea that I was different. I was a princess in disguise. The pink granite Laconia Public Library, complete with turret, became my castle, and I read every adventure book in it. At home, my nose was always in a book until Mama scolded me to do my chores.

That overheard conversation, and that uncertainty helped me to become well read and adventurous, which has made me a connoisseur of life and of people. It has sent me on a lifetime of adventures - I can't imagine how boring I might have otherwise become to others and to myself.

It does help to know that I was, in fact, loved. At Sybil's wake, when a priest asked Mama who would be taking care of her now that Sybil was gone, Mama's eyes brightened with joy when I said, "Why, she will be coming to live with me, won't you, Mama?" It may have been only the sparkle of an extinguished worry, but I have clung to it.

Do we see who we are, finally? Do we see, behind the curtain, the scars and the insecurities that have controlled us? And when we see them and look them squarely in the eye, do they lose their power over us, backing down from their bullying bluster? Indeed they do. We become free to take our lie in whatever shape it has become, and find a good and enjoyable use for it, serving others and ourselves.

Interesting! After all this chattering, I have not told you five minute's worth about my long career in the shoe industry. For so many years, that was all I could think about, and now it hardly seems worth bringing up. I think the lesson there is that a career, in the end, is a much smaller part of our lives than we can possibly imagine at the time. Our career distracts us from our real work, so we must learn to see past the limits of that blinkered world. All those years condense now in my mind to a chuckle.

The aftermath of my arrest was that I was later brought before the judge in Washington for my crime of being a troublesome person. While I hoped he would not put an old woman in jail for six months for reading the Declaration of Independence in the Capitol, as well he could, I yet worried that perhaps all of this, all of me, had been silly and he would now send me away to contemplate my silliness for a few months. As he sat expressionless in his great robe, I wondered what this wise-looking old man thought.

Judge Hamilton finally spoke, and most mercifully. He sentenced me, and the others, to the time we had already served, and he added these words of heavenly grace:

As you know, the strength of our great country lies in its Constitution and her laws and in her courts. But more fundamentally, the strength of our great country lies in the resolve of her citizens to stand up for what is right when the masses are silent. And, unfortunately, sometimes it becomes the lot of the few, sometimes like yourselves, to stand up for what's right when the masses are silent.

His honor gave me a fine hug in his chambers afterward. His staff members were tearful and I was tearful, and America felt like my own country again.

So I am happy for how my walk has turned out, and for how my life has turned out. I am thankful for the troubles that have shaped me. If you and I were having a cup of tea and you were telling me your stories, as I have told you mine, I would see that it was your hard times that made you so interesting, so wise and able to laugh at life. Aren't we lucky, friend, to be the creatures of such a genius Creator that even our darkest troubles graciously serve to deepen and wide our hearts? And all our memories, like days cast in amber, glow more beautifully through the years as the happy endings finally reveal themselves and flow slowly into the bright and mysterious river of the Divine.

Well, I am not finished ... with my life or with my passion for campaign finance reform. There is almost always time to find another victory, another happy ending. I hope that is your feeling about life, too.

• Check out the PBS documentary about her walk, entitled, Granny D Goes to Washington (DVDs can also be purchased there.)
• Check out this book and another book by Granny D, entitled, "You're Never Too Old to Raise a Little Hell" (Random House; 2003).

DARE TO BE FABULOUS! By Gretchen Wyler

Gretchen Wyler has celebrated a spectacular and distinguished career in the theater and television, including Silk Stockings, Damn Yankees, Bye Bye, Birdie, and the original Guys and Dolls. While performing on stage by night, she was managing an animal shelter by day. Gretchen went on to found The Ark Trust, producer of the annually televised Genesis Awards, honoring the media and entertainment for shedding a spotlight on animal cruelty.

I have lived in two worlds – as a working actress in show business for 50 years, and as an animal-rights activist for nearly 40. Neither of these worlds have a high success rate, but I have succeeded in both. I attribute that to my energy and my passion. I collect quotes. Words drive me. Pictures can make me smile and touch my heart, or pictures can make me sad and make my heart hurt. But words inspire me. I am often surprised – and yet, pleased – when someone has crystallized MY thoughts in their words. In a recent conversation with actor Mike Farrell, I asked him how he continued his fight to save the environment, and he replied, "My outrage fuels me." HIS words fuel ME. My favorite is, "A doer doesn't dwell on victory or defeat. A doer just does." I have always been a busy person. When I was asked in an interview what my idea of happiness was, I replied, "Being in pursuit of something," which brings me happiness. I never cared about being rich; I cared about being happily busy. I recall when one asked if I ever, just to relax, drove to the beach and watched the tide come in. I responded with a smile and said I did not, but I would if I wanted to. I am hardheaded. I used to wonder how President Ford found time to play golf, which was often reported in the newspaper. How could a president find the time – or want to MAKE the time – to play golf? I've never envied the people who have time, or MAKE time, to relax… to sleep late… to watch TV… to take vacations. I'm awake. I'm busy.

I have three favorite words. I call them "the Power Three"- strategy, manipulation, and closure. I am, admittedly, "street smart." I graduated from high school and started pursuing goals. I am action-oriented, not study-oriented. I like to fearlessly move forward. It works for me.

Goals. Realistic goals. The word "realistic" is important. I admire people who yearn for the impossible, but I would rather reach for attainable goals. I know what triggered my first goal - to be a great dancer. I was born in 1932 in a little Oklahoma town, Bartlesville. When I was 18 months old, my mother found baby Gretchen in her crib, and her eyes had crossed overnight. In 1933, there were a lot of cross-eyed people since the medical technology had not pioneered the research to straighten eyes. I knew how ugly I was and there's not one picture of me looking into the camera. My little head was always down. I was sent to dancing school at the age of 5 and, as if it were yesterday, I remember deciding I would grow up, become a great dancer, wear beautiful costumes, and no one would see how ugly I was. In 1941, breakthrough surgery straightened my eyes and changed my appearance but didn't change my dream. I was determined to be a successful dancer. I wasn't too sure how, and there are no "how-to" books on the subject, but I had a strategy. It reminds me of a favorite quote: "How do you get to Carnegie Hall? Practice, practice, practice."

Growing up was wonderful. I took center stage. In the first grade I was the leader of the rhythm band, at eleven I had a playschool for children, at fourteen, a dancing school. I was president of my class, editor of the high school paper and basketball queen. Those years gave me a great sense of leadership and a strategy to move forward and take control, knowing that there was a high price for such a position.

My parents supported my dream, but they probably thought it was just that – a dream. Meanwhile, they insisted I go to college, so I made a deal with them. Since I was a straight-A student, I asked if they would let me graduate a year early and then go to college for a year to see if I liked it. But all that changed one night. A few months before I was set to go to Northwestern, I met a beautiful woman at the wedding of a friend. She'd heard that I was a good dancer, and she invited me to join her new ballet company in Little Rock Arkansas. She had just hired a renowned ballet master from Carnegie Hall, and I decided this was the opportunity I could not miss. I packed my bags and left town three days later. My folks did not try to stop me. It felt just right to run away from home to start my career. That year in the ballet lived up to my expectations and I dreamed on. My first job was in the corps de ballet at the biggest outdoor theater in America – the St. Louis Muny Opera. The only limits one has are those of vision. I envisioned Broadway, and at 18 I auditioned and was selected to be a dancer in the chorus of Where's Charley? starring the great Ray Bolger (the scarecrow in "The Wizard of Oz"). That led to a chorus job in the original company of Guys and Dolls, and then my "big break" came as the singing and dancing star of Cole Porter's last musical, Silk Stockings in 1955. Throughout those early years, there was a LOT of strategizing and manipulating, and I did get a lot of closure!

In 1956, I married Shepard Coleman, a cellist with the New York Philharmonic, later to become musical director of the original Hello, Dolly! in 1964. It was a good marriage – he was a brilliant musician and an intellectual, but divorce came twelve years later. In retrospect, I know it was my energy level, my drive, and his attempts to slow me down that brought the separation.

Over the years, I had many lovers, but I kept moving on. Not for one day have I wanted to settle down or commit again. I had things to accomplish. And I never felt having children was my calling.

Until 1997, I earned my living as a union actor, dancing my way through stardom, replacing Gwen Vernon as Lola on Broadway in Damn Yankees, replacing Chita Rivera as Rosie in "Bye, Bye Birdie," loving the "new" variety television – dancing on Ed Sullivan, Perry Como, Gary Moore, Bell Telephone Hour and Andy Williams. A highlight was starring as Sweet Charity at the Prince of Wales Theatre in London's West End. I even met her Majesty the Queen at a Royal Command performance at the Palladium Theatre.

My life was full and I continued to pursue my theatrical goals. I once counted the number of starring roles I played - on Broadway, in road companies, summer stock and dinner theaters. I counted 22 shows! (Another favorite quote: "Boredom is what we feel when we are not participating in our own life.") In 1972, while doing a production of Company, I fell off the stage and broke my leg. I was told I would never dance again. We can't control what happens to us, but we CAN control our reaction to it. I decided to stay in show business and go for acting roles. I'd miss the overture and the excitement of "stopping the show" with an especially exciting dance number, but by then I was 40 years old, and I'd done my last tour jete.' I also decided I wanted to produce an off-Broadway show – fearless – but I did it. It was not a hit, but it was a marvelous adventure.

Also, I decided I could put more time in my animal work. In the early 1960s, I had Great Dane show dogs and became a "stage mother" as I watched a number of my dogs become champions. I had a lovely home in Warwick, New York, and in late 1966 I heard terrible things about the local dog pound, located on the village dump. At that time, no one even knew if there was a dog pound, or where that dog pound might be. I wanted to see for myself. I remember it was a December snowy day, and as I drove up, and hid in my car, I watched a toothless old man loading dogs into a truck from New Jersey. He slammed the door on the tail of one poor dog who let out a scream - I later learned that the truck came every two weeks to pick up all the dogs and sell them to a laboratory for experimentation.

An activist was born. A person does not search for a cause, it finds you. I'd been found. I vowed to do something about the dog pound. Determined. So I started what I called "the Power Three" – strategy, manipulation and closure. It worked. On October 13^th, 1968, the new Warwick Animal Shelter opened its doors and welcomed the first of thousands of unwanted dogs and cats. I managed the shelter for ten years while continuing as a New York actress. I also became the first woman elected to sit on the Board of the A.S.P.C.A. in New York City. And I was the first person to be dropped from that Board as a result of suing my fellow Board members for "corporate waste and indifference to animal suffering." The case was settled out of court in my favor, in favor of the animals.

Slowly but dramatically, my life changed. In the '60s, no one cared where furs came from, how animals were treated before they got on your plate, and what was being done to research animals behind closed laboratory doors. As information came to me, my passions were fired by my outrage. But in those early days I was in the closet! I told no one when I got rid of my fur coats and became a vegetarian. But I steadily began to find the courage and the words, and I knew I had work to do.

Animal-rights was not a phrase in the '60s. Peter Singer's Animal Liberation came out in 1975 and lured throngs of compassionate people into something called "the humane community." I began to feel comfortable with my new set of values, and eager to share them.

In 1977, I had a television series, was a performer on a Broadway show ("Sly Fox" with George C. Scott), managed the shelter in Warwick and ran a 60-member volunteer program at the A.S.P.C.A. Life was good, my health was perfect and I was happily busy. I traveled to Los Angeles with "Sly Fox" for the summer of' ‘78 and decided to stay for a while. I soon found out that California was a very fertile state for animal-rights progress. At that time, the President of the Senate was an animal advocate. I became active in city and state politics, arranging celebrity flights back and forth from the State Capitol to help me lobby. My most satisfying achievement was to sponsor and have the President of the Senate author an Animal-Rights Resolution - the first in the world – a legislative text that recognized the rights of animals. A fine use of the Power Three that brought the resolution to closure DESPITE heavy opposition on the Senate floor. One Senator actually said, "If God wanted animals to have rights, it would say so in the bible." Although I continued to perform in film and television, my focus at that time was almost exclusively on efforts to raise awareness of animal abuse and exploitation.

In 1986, with the increased power of the Political Action Committees (PACS), I became frustrated with politics and decided my time would be better spent working to change minds rather than to change laws. I founded an event called the Genesis Awards – an award show that honors members of the major media who produce works which raise public awareness of animal issues. The name Genesis was selected since it is the book that tells the story of Noah and the Ark, the first "news report" of an animal rescue! The Genesis award event is now in its 21st year.

In 1991, I was left a sizable bequest for my animal work, and I decided to start my own organization, The Ark Trust, Inc., working with the media and producing the Genesis Awards. For the past 18 years, the event has been seen as a television Special, first on Discovery, and now on Animal Planet. Power Three at work – from a 1986 luncheon for 140 people, and now a star-studded crowd of nearly 1000 in the International Ballroom of the Beverly Hilton.

In 1997, I starred in a grand production of "Hello, Dolly!" at the Muny in St. Louis. I had an agenda. Closing night, I made a curtain speech, telling the audience of 12,000 people that I had started my career in the corps de ballet in the Muny 47 years ago, that life is choices, and I had chosen to end my stage career that very night. The decision was good. It was a clean "exit" from the stage.

In 2002, The Ark Trust merged with The Humane Society of the United States (Power Three!), the largest animal-protection organization in the world. It seemed right.

In 2002, I had breast cancer. I am a survivor: pain is actual, suffering is optional. Again, We can't control what happens to us, but we CAN control our reaction to it. I keep doing what I do. I will not feel sorry for myself, or allow fear of death to fill my head. Radiation did affect my immune system, so I have some physical ailments. But that doesn't stop my clock from running, or slow down my days. Along the way, a doctor told me I have a low energy level. Me? I assured him he'd misread the tests. He replied, "Just picture your mind dragging your body around." Okay.

What's ahead? I wonder. I'm not religious. I'm not opposed to religion, I just don't feel a need for it in my life. I am spiritual. The Earth is my church, all the Earthlings are my friends, and I don't eat my friends.

I now have a home in the country-there is an orchard, a rose garden, 2 rescued horses,
and 4 foundling cats. I intend to keep working hard, but I know I'll "wear out" one day soon.

That's okay. I believe I have done the best I could do to help animals. It has been a seemingly impossible task, but I continue to draw my inspiration from thinkers of history past. I have memorized the words and the phrases, and continue to be driven by a new generation of profound thinkers.

Man, instead of being lord and, therefore, protector of the lower animal kingdom, has

become its tyrant.

I think I could turn and live with animals, they are so placid and self-contained.

They are not brethren, they are not underlings; they are other nations, caught with ourselves in the net of life and time.

Extreme horror of cruelty is the mark of the spiritual man.

Man did not weave the web of life, he is merely a strand in it. Whatever he does to the web, he does to himself.

We need a boundless ethics which will include the animals also.

We live by the death of others. We are burial places!"

The greatness of a nation and its moral progress can be judged by the way its animals are

treated.

The question is not, Can they reason? Nor, Can they talk? But Can they suffer?

Until we stop harming all other living beings, we are still savages.

We draw the line between us and all the rest of creation.

A fabulous life? Webster defines "fabulous" as "extremely good, pleasant or enjoyable." Yes, mine has been fabulous. One journey. I have been accountable to others, and to myself. Life is choices, and I believe I have made the right ones – at least I stepped up to the plate.

GO WITH THE FLOW By Karen Wolf

The cruising life of sailing has taken Karen half way around the world. Currently residing in the "Middle Earth", Karen has found a community of friends and family in New Zealand that would have remained strangers had she not decided to "go with the flow".

My life's headlines might read like a National Enquirer front page: KILLER BEES ATTACK SAILORS IN VENZUELAN JUNGLE; HURRICANE FLOYD SWAMPS COUPLE IN NEW JERSEY MARSHES; SOUTH PACIFIC STORM TESTS SAILOR'S SKILLS. Such splashy journalism might reflect a landlubbers view of some of the experiences I've weathered in ten years of open ocean cruising. I might even use such headlines to describe some of the events through which I've tested my abilities to be fabulously daring while sailing around the world in a 36-foot sailboat. Sure I've had some fearful events and lonely hours when I've had to find the inner strength to pull through. But the key to all of these adventures was a willingness to change, to leave my safe and comfortable lifestyle, to dare to do something completely different. And all because of a butterfly.

This story starts back in 1993 when I was a 34-year old divorcee, homeowner and landscape architect, contentedly living and working in northern California. Alone, but in a home that I loved and with a job that gave me creative independence. I had a good circle of friends and felt content in my life. I was quick to say "yes", however, when my folks invited me to join them for a week of time-share vacation on the island of St Marten, an alluring destination in the eastern Caribbean. I was sure to find white, sandy beaches, and a friendship with my parents whom I had seen seldom since their move down south. I hoped the following week to find the crystal blue waters for which the Caribbean is famous on a solo dive adventure to the Virgin Islands.

The time share was a dream hotel with lovely, breezy rooms and a large balcony looking down on the beach of Great Bay. The curving crescent of sand was backed by a multitude of sailboats anchored in the turquoise water, There were daily activities organized Helen, a woman about my age, and she and I established a friendship that went beyond the companionship of the daily events. One night after a catamaran "sunset cruise" she and I joined another friend for dinner and drinks at Chesterfield's, the restaurant and bar at the marina. After dinner, a rock'n roll dance beat drew our attention to the dockside bar which was crowded with a motley assortment of boatees and water-oriented locals. We sat at the bar, talking, and joining in the revelry of the funky band whose music had everyone in the mood to party. When it came time for an audience-participation number, folks were hooting and hollering, and knocking their beer mugs on the table in beat to the rhythm whenever their group was called out: "all the women clap your hands", "all you fellows stomp your feet", "everybody with orange hair swing it to the beat". Or something like that ( I would have tried to memorize it had I known that it was a song that was bound to change the course of my life.)

The distinguished looking "fellow" to my left kept knocking his glass on the table, no matter which group was being singled-out. Jovially, I turned to him and asked if perhaps I should tell him when to knock.
"'Schuldigung" he said to me. Obviously, this guy doesn't speak English.
"Oh, sorry", I said. "Thought you might need some help interpreting the song, my name is Karen. Where are you from?"
"My name is Horst," he replied. "I am from Austria and I am here on my boat, waiting for the right weather to cross the Atlantic and return to my home sea, the Mediterranean."

Our chance encounter at Chesterfields led to an invitation to sail. Of course, since this was a family vacation, my parents had to be included, too. Later, we all had dinner at the timeshare, lunch at a little Chinese Restaurant, a drive around the island in our rental car. It was almost as if Horst was already a member of the family. Sadly, our week together was coming to an end, and I was flying on to the Virgin Islands.

"Don't fly there, let's sail there together."

How could I pass up an opportunity like that? We said good bye to my folks as they flew home, then set sail into the sunset for a nighttime passage to Tortola, BVI. I had sailed the San Francisco Bay a few times with friends, and had done some small-boat sailing on lakes as a kid, but I had never been out at night, out of sight of land, or with anyone who used English as a second language to command our navigation. Some things got lost in translation, but I did learn that "fock" is a German name for sail, and a "sheet" is the rope you use to tighten the fock. Horst and I laughed a lot about the misunderstandings that inevitably occurred in our mixed German-English-Spanish vocabulary, and we spent a delightful week exploring the coastline and diving the rocks and wrecks of the beautiful island waters.

When I woke in my parents house the first night home, the billowing curtains had become sails, the soft spring breeze, a Caribbean caress. But I was back in California. It was time for me to fly north, back to the workaday reality of the real-world.

Horst and I continued our romance by fax, and helped each other rediscover the art of letter writing. It's interesting what we reveal in the written word. Horst was lonely single-handing his sailboat, but he had decided he really wasn't ready to return to Europe. Instead, he would spend another year as a charter skipper, sailing with guests from Europe aboard his 36-foot sailboat. I was alone in a big house, working hard to maintain a life in the big city, and wondering what I was doing getting involved with an older man, from a different culture, who lived the life of a gypsy in the eastern Caribbean. Our letters to each other describe such different worlds. Nevertheless, we found ourselves growing closer and more comfortable with each other as we shared funny anecdotes about the events in our lives.

Several months passed and the stack of letters grew taller. I was turning 35, an age at which I had always envisioned myself as being settled, at least married, maybe with a child or two. Instead, I was single with a mortgage and a car that had another year's worth of payments before it was truly mine. When Horst invited me to spend my birthday sailing the outer islands of Venezuela, I really did have to think twice. It's not easy acting irresponsibly when you're almost middle-aged.

I flew into Caracas. Settled high on a plateau where the Andes plunge down to the Caribbean Sea, the city was a striking contrast to the remote, sandy islets of Los Aves, a coral-encrusted natural reserve 80 miles across the sea, which was to be our sailing destination.

We shopped for a few provisions at the local "tienda", papaya, mango, potatoes, cabbage, onions, garlic and beer. The fish we would catch ourselves. The limited refrigeration meant that anything else would come from a can. We took a long shower at the marina before casting off, because the limited water supply meant that fresh-water showers would be mostly in the rain.

We were heading for virtually uninhabited, barely charted, little specks of land across a deep sea probably infested with pirates, armed with nothing more than a bottle opener and a fishing spear. The weather report mentioned a tropical disturbance east of the area, but that kind of thing is barely noted in Venezuela, where hurricanes are only a little more frequent than snow in the Amazon.

Horst and I spent the days and nights in an intimacy that is rarely found elsewhere; two people alone together on a small, floating platform, surrounded by nothing but water, coral reefs, and an occasional sandy hill. We swam and fished, cooked and talked, made love and talked some more. Days went by without any human contact, only the radio voices that talked about the heavy, windless weather that becalmed us halfway back to the mainland.

When Horst asked if I would like to live with him on the boat, I was both intrigued and uncertain: traveling by boat could be a great way to explore the world, but would I have much opportunity if I were "crew" on a charter boat? Someone has to do all the cleaning, shopping, and cooking. Charter guests are probably interesting to meet, but do I really want to live with strangers for two weeks at a time on a sailboat? And what about when there are no guests, can I live with another person in a place where taking a walk to "cool off" means jumping into the ocean? And what about my house, my car, my job?
I settled on the foredeck of "Flow" in the shade of the sails which were beginning to fill with a freshening breeze, my thoughts filled with the contemplation of the future. What should I do? How could I set aside all that I had worked so hard to achieve for an uncertain adventure? Could I change my lifestyle attitudes to endure moderate deprivation? Our relationship is good now, but what happens when we really get to know each other? As I looked broodingly across my toes at the darkening horizon, a tiny yellow butterfly landed gently on my foot. It shook its wings, silently danced across my toes, and settled down as if for a conversation.

Suddenly, Horst came forward from the cockpit. The voices on the radio were now sounding an alarm. Perhaps, that far-off tropical depression is deepening into a tropical storm. It looks like it is going to hit Caracas. Perhaps it's headed our way. Perhaps we'd better hurry-up and find a safe place. We started the engine and plotted a course to the nearest port, where I could eventually catch a bus back to Caracas and my flight home. Horst would hurry to the deepest lagoon to secure himself and the boat against the incoming storm.

Six months later, I moved aboard. How long would it last; six days, six weeks, six years? In twelve years we have sailed from Venezuela to Boston, Florida to Panama, San Diego to Tahiti. We've lived for a time in Austria, Maryland, and California, and I've been blessed to see the world at a truly leisurely pace. We've faced many storms together, both physical and personal; the life isn't always easy, and it's not for everyone. But I am happy I took a chance to change my life.

I'll never forget that yellow butterfly. It said, "if butterflies are free, you can be too. Go with the Flow!"

HER NAME WAS HONG, by Jill Robinson, MBE

Jill Robinson is founder of Animals Asia. Jill has shed global light on the horrific process of milking Moon Bears for their bile while keeping them cruelly confined in coffin-sized cages for their entire lives. Through her work with the bears, and her many other programs administered through Animals Asia, she is at the forefront of changing the way animals are being perceived and treated on that continent. in June 1998 she was awarded an MBE by Queen Elizabeth in the Birthday Honours List, in recognition of her services to animal welfare in Asia and in 2002, she received the Genesis Award in the United States - the only major media and arts award concerning animal issues.

Her name was Hong - at least that was the name I gave to the first bear I ever saw on one of China's notorious "bile extraction" farms in 1993.

Going undercover and joining a group of Japanese tourists, I broke away from the group and found stairs leading to a basement below the farm. The vision was shocking — held in "crush" cages, were 32 endangered Asiatic Black Bears - called Moon Bears because of the beautiful yellow crescents on their chests. Nervous "popping" vocalizations echoed around the room and when I looked at their damaged bodies I knew why they were afraid. Here were animals which had been deliberately de-clawed and had their canine teeth brutally hacked away by the farmer who had taken away their defenses to make them easier to "milk."

Wounds three feet along their bodies from where they had grown into the cage bars, and gaping, infected holes from where crude metal catheters protruded, showed how these gentle, intelligent animals had been "milked," as machines, for their entire lives - for medicine in Chinese pharmacopoeia which can just as easily and cheaply be replaced by herbs.

At one point I felt something touch my shoulder and spun nervously around to see a bear with her arm stretched through the bars of the cage. Naively I took her paw - and, surprisingly she didn't rip my arm from the socket, but simply squeezed my fingers whilst our eyes connected in a moment which crossed every barrier of species and understanding. Her message was clear, and whilst today my overwhelming sorrow is of a bear we couldn't save, Hong — whose name means bear - became the ambassador for a dream which began the China Bear Rescue.

An old Confuscion saying "A thousand miles starts with one step" sums up the road for our campaign to bring the unconscionable and unnecessary trade of bear farming to an end - and this story simply sets the stage of how, individually, we can start such a journey. That the power is in every single one of us to right the wrongs of this often unconscionably cruel and ignorant species of humankind — and to change the lives and future of beings who previously had no hope. That, through a combination of blind faith, optimistic ignorance, tenacity and sheer bloody mindedness, the destiny of another species can be changed for the better.

There can be no more proud or joyous feeling than to look into an animals' eyes, knowing that you have made a difference, rather than turning away, ashamed, at each new vision of despair.

Today, our Sanctuary in Sichuan Province, is bursting at the seams with happy, healthy bears who have put their miserable lives on the farms far behind. Following years of work and negotiations with the Government Departments of Beijing and Sichuan, we finally secured an Agreement to rescue 500 bears and work together to end bear farming in China. To date, over 40 bear farms have been closed, securing 205 bears confiscated into our care — and this month sees more.

Our projects on site are providing "win/win" solutions for animals and the local community to enjoy. Once a bear farm closes, the farmer returns the original license to Animals Asia and receives compensation for his bears. No new licenses are issued, and farmers can never again legally enter this trade. Our Sanctuary creates jobs and salaries for people who previously had no work, sees the use of local equipment and materials, and the purchase of local food and produce, for bears and people alike. Following endorsement from Chinese celebrities and extensive and enthusiastic coverage from local Chinese journalists, growing interest in our China Bear Rescue is being seen far and wide in a country which has only just begun to understand the words and connotations of "animal welfare." Our Traditional Chinese Medicine Education Packs are also seeing mass circulation to thousands of Doctors and students who are now signing on in droves to our escalating campaign — "Rescue Black Bears — Give up Bear Bile Usage!" Central to the rescue is the development of education programmes which provide a unique opportunity for us to spread a message of respect for all animals, whilst advancing the concept of animal welfare and rights in China.

Admittedly, the road to ending bear farming isn't easy. Today there are over 7,000 bears who are cruelly caged on farms - and still no Central Government policy calling for a final ban. Therefore as the only group rescuing 500 bears and working "from within", our evidence is crucial in building the case to end a disgraceful and unnecessary industry.

Having received over 200 victims of bile extraction at our Sanctuary since October 2000, our case is solid - and the evidence on our surgery table is leaving no doubt that the new, so-called humane, methods of obtaining the bears' bile fluid are no better than the old - and that bears are clearly dying in agony and in significant numbers on the farms.

With each new investigation of the bear farms, and with each new pitiful arrival requiring anything up to 7 hours of surgical repair, we are proving how the so-called "good" farms and "humane" methods of bile extraction are anything but.

In May 2004, the Chinese Government invited the team of Animals Asia to accompany them on an investigation of bear farms in China's southwest Yunnan Province.  Despite the best efforts of the farmers to convince us all that their methods of captivity and bile extraction had progressed to a humane and pain-free model of excellence, we saw images which made us sick to our stomachs and reduced us to tears.  Bears being exploited and tortured, sick and skeletal animals clearly dying in front of our eyes, abuse, after abuse, after abuse. During the visit I broke down after seeing a shell of an animal which had once been a bear.  Almost naked, with sores all over his body, two huge hernias in his abdomen, and a shrunken skeleton of a face - I looked into his eyes and could only say sorry, because there was nothing else I could do or say to help him.  This is the image that drives us.

Indeed on that same trip, the farmers had fooled no-one.  The Government officials who accompanied us were clearly disturbed and the report we have produced is now circulating across the country - in our ongoing effort to extinguish a practice which should never have begun. 

Reports are not enough — dialogue, hard evidence and public presentations must escalate our goal. Recent workshop held in Beijing attended by the Government, by local and international experts - and by bear farmers themselves - saw an aggressive afternoon of presentations and dialogue.  The farmers lied and lied again, making bold accusations against Animals Asia's work and investigations - and were immediately shot down in flames, with their claims in tatters, when we presented hard, compelling and up to the minute evidence of the realities of the trade.

In truth, no-one can tell the bears' tragic story better than the victims themselves, and the images of free and happy bears tumbling into bamboo forest, and playing with their friends touch the heart and show that our voyage is on course and is the driving force within China for bringing bear farming to an end. Victims who arrived violently aggressive and consumed with pain and fear are, today, showing how stoic and truly forgiving this species can be. Ambassadors like gentle three-legged Andrew, fun loving

Jasper, mischievous Banjo and sweet elderly Franzi are all proof that miracles do happen. As their health has improved, so too has their confidence - and their eyes have gradually taken on the trusting look of animals who have put their years of torture behind and who understand that life is worth living again.

At Animals Asia, our belief is simple. By helping the individual bears, we can work towards our higher goal of helping them all as a species and ending bear farming by the 2008 Beijing Olympic Games. One quote from Tolstoy drives me personally on this journey ... "Every man and living creature has the sacred right to the gladness of springtime."

FULL CIRCLE by Terri Lyne Carrington

Terri Lyne Carrington was a child prodigy as a jazz drummer. She got her first set of drums at the age of 7 and by the age of 11 she received a full scholarship to the Berklee College of Music. She has toured with Herbie Hancock, Wayne Shorter, Mike Stern, and Al Jarreau. Her debut CD release was nominated for a Grammy award and her follow up album is generating rave reviews all over the world.

When I look back on my life there are a lot of instances where others told me how fearless and daring I was, but I always felt like I was just being me. Due to the fact that I am a drummer, an instrument predominantly played by men in the male-dominated music world, I have had to be fearless and daring or I basically would not have gotten anywhere in this business.

But what I find interesting is how I have had to present myself in order to be accepted in this community, which has not really been a fully conscious effort on my part.

I was always pretty good at reading personalities and figuring out what needed to be done or said in order for a situation to produce or unfold to its maximum potential. My personality is strong and I think sometimes others find it intimidating, so I naturally developed a way to present a more softened version of myself - a "me" that I actually grew to be quite fond of as well. But what repeatedly rings in my ears is my mother's voice scolding me as a child for being too concerned with what others thought. And later on in my life, I recall my Dad's voice remarking on the fact that is was the older musicians, as in one or two generations earlier than mine, who were the ones to hire me because I was never fully accepted by my peers.

I finally realized that a big part of the "me" that has developed was for the comfort ability of others, based on the spoken and unspoken social laws of behavior for women. Well, now in my fortieth year, as cliché as it may sound, I am finally daring to be my fabulous self, however it may turn out.

I am finally realizing how much time I have spent and wasted on trying to fit into a box here or a box there, from worrying about who likes me or who doesn't, to worrying about my pant size or hairstyle. My good friend Dianne Reeves once told me that I spend too much time trying to find "what is hip?" and that I did not realize that I am "what is hip!" I thought about that one day and cried for hours because of the truth in her statement. Though I am confident, intelligent, strong-willed, and relatively outspoken, I have felt very much misunderstood over the course of my life and I finally get it that I have some responsibility for that. I see that it takes a lot of courage to discover and to be your authentic self in the world.

Most of us are complex people and it can be difficult to exercise the beauty of all of our complexities in personal relationships, in both business and in society in general. I have figured out that it is freedom that I am looking for and now see that I have been the only one in the way of having it. I see that I possess within myself the freedom to live the life I want. It's not something that someone else will grant me. So what I am saying is that, with all of the praise, awards, and critical acclaim I have received over the years, this outward reinforcement of my being "fabulous" never really stuck with me because career accomplishments alone did not make me feel complete. It is my own personal achievements and growth that have made me feel fabulous. It is who I am on the inside that makes me feel special.

And I would have to say that the one thing that has made me feel more fabulous than anything else is my decision to have children and start a family with my partner Tracy. Having a family, something that is simple for (or even expected of) most women, is something that I have to work for, something I have to change my life for in order to accomplish. I feel that I have finally grown up in the sense that I am making a switch in priorities away from career and more toward family. There have been many challenges for us to face in our journey of trying to have children by birth and by adoption, but we are now grateful and proud to be parents to an amazing 5-month-old little boy. We had faith that in the right time the right "child spirit(s)" will choose us. And so another journey begins, back in my hometown on the opposite coast, far away from everything I've known in Southern California for the last 17 years, but with family. I am also a full time professor at Berklee College of Music, the very school I went to 25 years ago! My life has come full circle.

So this is who I am - a partner, a mother, a hope-to-be-one-day grandmother, as well as a daughter, a drummer and a teacher. And though my family is being formed alternatively, there is a natural joy and sense of purpose that comes with this, and I am so glad I did not allow myself to be robbed of that!