Tomorrow, the hosting service Posterous will shut down. What this means to you who read this is nothing. It’s the service I have used since 2009 to post my blog, It was a completely user friendly blogging tool that was gobbled up by internet giant, Twitter. A lot of money changed hands and the best and easiest blogging experience out there came to an end. came to the rescue and I have established a new there, or if you are actually reading this – here. They also provided a means for downloading all of my content. It’s all there except for the audio pieces, incase you want to see it. Frankly, I wouldn’t bother.

I only wanted to explain what you would see if you should wander over to and see that long list in archived posts and wonder what happened.

Now to more important things like what’s for supper.

I’m Jerry Henderson

That it was Patriot’s Day was completely lost on me. We have a house guest for the week and were involved at that point and other things. I was finishing my taxes (Yes it was the last minute, but I neither owed anything nor was due a refund so I didn’t care) and I thought I needed some bit of information from my bank and called to see about it. No answer. That’s when I began to suspect one of their many days of much needed rest from their labors.

Later CA came running up to where I was working and told me of the news she had seen on Yahoo. Tragedy at the Boston Marathon. People killed, blown apart and injured. I got up to speed quickly. Such a senseless act. This kind of thing goes on in other parts of the world all the time and we have grown used to hearing of it, and at some level accepting it over there. I mean, nobody hates Boston, unless you drive there, of course.

But somebody hated something or somebody, that’s for sure. There was a prayer I saw several places, “Please let it not be an Arab or a Muslim.” But, that is exactly where my mind went as it raced forward in anger. I tried to sift through the conflicting emotions boiling in my mind: turn the other cheek or rip out their hearts. Though many hours have passed, I must confess – I want their hearts. I want the hearts of their fathers and their father’s fathers. I want to destroy their temples, their holy places. I want to wipe out their seed from the face of the earth. Hate.

I do not like the hate. It poisons everything. That is what these people have done to me. To us as a nation. And I have to ask the question: is it necessary to hate in order to find justice? Or does hate hinder justice? Hate has to go somewhere and often, as history has told us, it has gone to the wrong person or persons. Hate blinds. Truth is seldom found through hate.

I saw that man being wheeled away with the bones of his legs below the knees splayed and bloody. People were running and shouting. Policemen with hands on their side arms watching. Terror. Mission accomplished. But it is the hate that boils up within my heart that is the real issue. The real mission accomplished. I do not like it. I’m not sure I can quickly move past the hate and the shadowy need for vengeance, but, I have the tools to work on it. Some of them are a little rusty, but they’ll do.

Out of the blue came this realization: it wouldn’t have made any difference at all if there had been a pistol in every pocket in Boston. That’s part of the genius of terror.

You just never know what someone else is dealing with every day of their lives. That old Indian proverb says, “Never criticize a man until you walk a mile in his moccasins”. I guess you’d have to say that’s a loose English translation.

When I was a boy, I heard people say when a little criticism came their way, “Just follow me around one day and you’ll see”. Or, “I’ll swap with you any day”. That kind of thing. It’s all the same.

I’m not sure we spend enough time understanding what our friends, our family, our neighbors or fellow workers are going through in their private lives. Remember that old Charlie Rich song: “No One Knows What Goes On Behind Closed Doors”? I never did like the song but that phrase is the kind that comes with velcro on it. It sticks and won’t let go. It’s a truism. I mean, obviously you don’t know what goes on behind closed doors.

But if you could see behind those doors – if you swallowed a Kryptonite pill and suddenly had the power of X-ray vision – what do you think you would find? Well, how about those same things that go on behind your own closed door? I used to say, in my youthful naiveté´, that I understand other people because I understand myself and we are all the same. I don’t say that anymore. I think that was a bunch of arrogant, if not ignorant, claptrap. There is, however, a kernel of truth in there. We are all human and as such share a remarkable repertory of emotions, experiences and needs. You’d think, given that, that compassion, patience, and even love would flow like the endless tides across all of humanity.

You’d think that – wouldn’t you?

Well, obviously, it does not. But that does not relieve us of the opportunity, even the obligation for empathy: that ability to reach out – to try to understand – to slip into someone else’s moccasins. Our world is so driven by self interest – the lust for power, things and money, that kindness becomes like the little house stuffed between the skyscrapers, squeezed out by progress, withering away in the shadows.

Reality check: I probably would not say any of this if I had a lot of power and money. But I could say it. Hopefully I would. We will never know, of course. And really, it has nothing to do with power and money. It simply has to do with empathy. That realization that we are all human. That we are all brothers and sisters. That we all deserve a little slack.

We live too far apart these days. I have friends and family who live from coast to coast. There was a time when everybody I knew lived within walking distance. People I knew “about” might have lived somewhere else, like movie stars, criminals and politicians. But anybody I actually knew lived over on Tecumseh or Wyandotte streets. Maybe as far away as Powhatan. We were big on Indian names.

I always dreamed about being somewhere else, but I never dreamed everybody would be somewhere else. If a friend was sick and I wanted to visit I’d have to float a loan to buy an airplane ticket for tomorrow’s ride. Used to be I’d walk over and say “Hi”.

We live too far apart. A different paradigm needs to be employed when thinking of ways to manage relationships that span thousands of miles.

The first principle is: you can’t always be there. This has nothing to do with caring or loving. It has to do with the practical. It just isn’t practical to be there sometimes. The elements involved here are almost too many to number. Number 1 would be money, of course. The costs of travel these days is huge. There are many other elements to consider and I am sure you can figure it out.

The second principle is: something is better than nothing. So you can’t be there for your friend. Call or email or do a video call on Skype. There are ways to “be there” these days that were not even conceived a few short years ago.  Goodness –  you could even wright a letter, you know, on paper!

Friendship is the big thing in life. Nothing tops it. You have a friend you are golden. Keep up your end of the bargain. Don’t wait for the call. Be proactive. Call. Write. Email. Stay tuned. The energy you invest in a friendship is never wasted.

Sometimes your friend might seem not to be interested. They don’t call or write. If you value their friendship you be responsible. You handle your end and know you have been faithful to the relationship. What they do is their business. What you do is yours.

We live too far apart. It takes extra effort. Do it.