What is poverty?

I had a very interesting conversation today. I had to explain to someone what poverty is. The conversation made me pause because it dawned on me that people may on one hand understand and perhaps even accept the space they are in but they may not define themselves the same way the larger population does.

How do you define poverty? Is it a state of being or a state of mind?

I would initially have said a state of being because people have 'pulled themselves out of poverty' by recognizing their situation and refusing to stay in it.

Then there are others who may simply accept where they are as being impoverished and feel helpless to the forces around them that they are unable to find a way forward. I read a very touching story about a woman who dreamed big and slowly but surely found a way to make her dreams a reality. The African woman featured was part of a larger story which looked the millions of women who are subjected to unspeakable cruelty in developing countries. Many women never find a way out but others, one step at a time dig their way out of the space they are in.

I am learning that you don't have to be defined by the space you are presently in but you can define how you see your environment and therefore define how you wish to see the world. We can each resist and ignore the label(s) put on us by society and happily define ourselves by our own standards and view of reality.

Give it away

I was in Charlotte, NC last week.

I lived in Chicago for about a year before I decided to move to Charlotte. Just as I was making the decision to move Mark proposed and I gleefully accepted. Because I was committed to leaving Lynwood, Illinois I continued with my plans. I didn't know how long I was going to be in Bermuda getting married so I put my worldly possessions in storage.

Fast forward four and a half years. My stuff is still in storage and now I have paid more in storage fees than the items are worth. I made the commitment to clean out the unit and figure out what I wanted to do with everything.

I contacted everyone I know in Charlotte and invited them to come to the storage unit to see if there was anything they wanted or could take and give to someone in need. So on the hottest day of the year in Charlotte we set about the task. The unit I have is 10x10 and totally full.

Day 1 - I went to investigate and mentally put a plan in place.

Day 2 - We pulled everything out and I had to make on the spot decisions on what staying and what was going. By the end of the day (did I mention, it was the hottest day of the year?) I had reduced my stuff by two thirds. I figured if I could live without it for four years, how important was it really?

Day 3 - One last visit to the storage unit to put in items that were stored in Wanda's garage.

After I had gone through my belongings, I started to question why I had all this 'stuff'. When I die would anyone see it as important as I do? Would anyone keep it in their family and pass it on to their children? Or would they look at it and say, "I wonder where she picked this up." Then the next words out of their mouth would be, "Give it to the Salvation Army."

I am now thinking about the belongings I have. Do I need them? Do I need all the clothes and shoes I own? How about the pieces of bric a brac I have collected? Are they advancing understanding between people, reducing war, helping those who are hungry and suffering? What is the minimum we need to be comfortable and happy? Who has ever proven the more you have the happier you are?

I am starting to rethink my priorities and what I buy. I want to get to a place of not carrying around cards (I rarely have cash) and thinking carefully before I decide I absolutely can't live without a particular thing. I want to go through my closet and give away things I know I never wear again. I want to give my stuff to people who otherwise would not have. We can no longer afford to be selfish. We have to give and share and give some more.

Are your hands clean?

It has been a looong time since I last wrote an entry. So much has happened, I'm not sure where to begin.

Let's start with something that has been on my mind for a few months now, the H1N1 influenza virus. You may ask yourself why this issue is bothering me since I am not a medical professional and won't be responsible for any aspect of spreading, containing or treating the disease.

I beg to differ. We each have a role to play in the first two - spreading and containing a deadly and unpredictable disease.

I wouldn't say that I have Obsessive Compulsive Disorder because that would negate the seriousness of the disease. If there are levels to OCD with 10 being the highest (the TV character Monk comes to mind) and one is the lowest - I am at about six. I am concerned about cleanliness but not crazed, just yet.

The manic publicity surrounding the outbreak, spread and WHO warnings of the H1N1 virus has made me revisit all the precautions I took previously and amped up the wattage just a little. In the meantime I have been watching how people govern themselves in public and I am very concerned that we don't stand a chance against the virus.

We are told by health professionals what to do to help prevent the spread of the virus: cover your cough, cough or sneeze into your elbow, use a tissue to blow your nose then throw it away immediately and wash your hands regularly. We are also told not to touch our mouth, nose or eyes as these are the entryways to our body for the virus.

With these precautions in place I have been looking at how people govern themselves. They are not following any of these strong recommendations. People continue to cough and sneeze on each other. They cough into their hands and then shake others' hands. They touch door handles, countertops and other things that house millions of virus and absently touch their face, especially their mouth, nose and eyes.

When I see all this I grow increasingly alarmed that we are not going to stop the virus but will continue to spread it wide and far throughout from person to person, house to house and country to country.

Here are a few points you can think about to help prevent the spread of germs because there are some obvious things we can do to protect ourselves. Use this list as you see appropriate.

• Do not to touch door handles and knobs;
• If using public transportation, try not to touch the handles, bars and straps provided (but not at the risk of falling over and hurting yourself);
• Don't use pens that are provided to sign your debit card receipt (carry your own);
• Try not to shake hands. (If you can get away with a polite head nod go ahead, if you think a hug would suffice that would be acceptable or even fist bump the person);
• When in a restaurant try not to use the condiments - think about it.

These are just a few of the things I try to avoid when in public because hundreds of people would have touched them before I did. I am sure if scientists conducted tests on these things the number of germs crawling around would shocking.

As soon as I get home I wash my hands. I carry a hand sanitizer in my purse and use it before I eat in public. I watch people put their hands to their face regularly. I want to stop them but then I can see myself being locked up with real OCD patients, which would be a nightmare in and of itself.

In closing, please heed WHO warnings. Follow your local health organization's guidance and advise, they are doing it for your protection.

Wash your hands and be healthy.

Ode to my bag

I felt compelled to write this entry after lunching recently with a friend.

I had just returned from London and I was sporting my brand new (to me, at least), spanking, midnight blue, patent leather, granny purse.

I picked my friend from the appointed spot and we chose to find a restaurant outside of Hamilton. As she settled into her seat, she spotted my bag and said, "What a great bag." Of course, she was the first amongst my friends to see it so I started describing how I had found it.

We were all at Camden Market looking through the second hand stalls when this particular bag grabbed me by the throat and wouldn't let me leave the stall, heck wouldn't let me leave London, without it.

If I could describe it to you. This bag speaks to an earlier era when women carried their bags on their forearms with their arms bent at the elbow. I could envision an elderly lady walking around with this bag clutched to her bosom just in case she needed to ward off unwanted attention.

In any case, this bag seductively whispered my name. I thought it was a member of my retail therapy party calling me but when I turned they were all otherwise occupied so I knew none of them needed me. I turned again and saw the bag. I couldn't believe my eyes. The bag actually said my name.

I approached cautiously and opened the treasure. Tears filled my eyes as I examined its immaculate interior and exterior. I strode to the counter like a woman on a mission and asked the price. I was given a very reasonable figure but decided to haggle - you never know. My heart wasn't into it and I purchased my new best friend at the stated price.

So here I was trying to explain this to my friend on the way to lunch. I was encouraged by her silence and the fact that she would periodically glance at me while I was telling the story. I paused in my monologue and she looked at me. Thus egged on I continued with my loving description. Finally she looked at me and said, "Are you still talking about this bag?"

Somewhat dejected I felt that perhaps I had waxed a little too poetic about my recent acquisition and decided to change the subject.

I have since tried to regale other friends with the story of my purse but being non-bag-loving plain folk they can't appreciate the significance of my find. They can't share the joy and excitement I feel every time I pick up the bag.

Despite the fact that nothing in today's society fits in it, I was forced me to reduce what I carry around with me. I have taken my cell phone out of it's carrying case. I am now carrying a minimal number of lipsticks in the bottom of the bag (seven). I can't get my camera in the bag, with or without the case. I had to change wallets to something smaller and more slimline. I have a pen and I think that's about it.

I still love my excellent find and I encourage you to ask me to show it to you and share with you the adventures we have had since we have been together. If there is enough of a demand I will be happy to post a picture of this exquisite wardrobe accessory.

Recharging my batteries

I received an email from my brother early yesterday morning asking if I would collect his daughter from the bus terminal at about 5:30pm and take her to cello practice, then collect her from cello practice and take her to her mom who is taking a class in Warwick.

I quickly look at my schedule, it is eminently doable so I respond in the affirmative but urge him to remind me later in the day, lest I forget.

My day goes on and all is well. No stress, all my meetings are running like a well oiled machine. I arrange to meet my husband at the car so we can go home together. I get another email from my brother indicating that both nieces will be traveling into town with a friend of his and they will call me to arrange a rendezvous point.

I get the call - let's meet outside of the adult library. I arrive, the children and cello are transfered to my car and we are off.

Hello, girls. Great to see you.

Hello Auntie, we are hungry.

Let's go to the Marketplace and see if they still have the food out. I say, thinking quickly.

Girls, make sure you have more vegetables than anything else in your dish.

That plea seemed to fall on deaf ears.

We get home and eat and then jump in the car to take the oldest to cello lessons.

Return home with the younger niece, finish eating and putter around for half an hour.

Time to go and collect niece from cello.

Jump in the car and off we go.

Get to the cello drop off point, turn off the car and chat with younger niece while we wait.

Older niece arrives, puts cello back into car, jumps into the back seat with her sister and off we go. Off we go. Off we go.

Actually, this is where we don't go. I turn the key. Nothing. What? That can't be right. Turn the key again, this time less than nothing. How can this be? I just drove the stupid car here.

Auntie, what's wrong?

Nothing, sweetie, we just have to give the car a few minutes to um ... rest before we ... um ... start.

Turn the key again. Nothing. There is no doubt the battery is dead. As I contemplate screaming, crying and gnashing my teeth, I hear a plaintive voice from the back of the car.

Auntie, we're stuck aren't we?

My nieces, ever perceptive, have figured out that disaster is looming and we won't make it back to the house any time soon.

Yes, sweetie. The car won't start. I think it is the battery.

I reach for my phone and I hear one saying to the other.

We are stranded, let's call Daddy. Auntie, we should call Daddy.

I'll call him in a minute.

Mark, we are stranded, I'm not sure what to do. I think its the battery.

Walk to the gas station and see if they have jumper cables.

Okay. Great idea.

I didn't have the heart to tell him it is cold and dark and I really don't feel like walking.

The nieces are in the back now talking about distress signals.

Auntie this is a disaster. Where are the flares?

What flares, sweetie?

The flares you are supposed to have when you get into distress.

I think that is for when you are on a boat and I don't have any flares. We need jumper cables which I don't have either.

Daddy would have had flares.

I look at their faces. They are busily breathing on the window writing SOS in the building condensation in the hope that some passing car will see their distress signal and come to our assistance. No such luck.

By this time I was calling everyone in my immediate family in the hope that someone would be in our vicinity and come to our rescue. To no avail.

Auntie, this is a disaster.

No, sweetie, this is an adventure. We are having a wonderful adventure together.

As I glance in the rare view mirror I see them exchange skeptical looks and go back to whispering and plotting how to get the phone from me so they can call for reinforcements.

Mark calls back with the numbers of every shop in the immediate area saying, call and see if they have jumper cables. I called. No one sells jumper cables these days.

After about an hour of phone calls and discussions with my nieces about why we can't call 911, I decided to take our fate into my own hands and headed out to look for help.

Since we were on the Serpentine Road side of BHS we headed towards the sound of civilization. BAA. Before then, I spot a taxi and beckon the reluctant cabbie over and ask him if he has jumper cables.

You can't jump these cars so I don't carry them with me.

I don't even know what that means - but I say thank you and move on.

We get into the BAA gym and the first people I approach I share my plight with them and the lady says, "Oh, I have jumper cables." I look at her dumb struck. Our luck has changed. She agrees to drive us to my car and give us a boost. She is accompanied by a friend who will provide assistance. Yippee!

We are on our way ... the batteries are connected and my car starts instantaneously. What a beautiful sound. As I wipe away the tears of joy from my eyes, I listen to my nieces cheering and all is suddenly brighter in my world.

We thank these strangers profusely and pile into the car. I start making phone calls letting my immediate family know that we have been saved and they can now call off the search and rescue party.

I turn to my nieces and we discuss the lessons learned from our adventure.

Their take aways are:

Keep a flash light nearby.

Have your own cell phone.

Always carry extra flares in the car.

My take aways are:

Buy jumper cables and keep them within arm's reach.

Make sure all batteries are fully charged.

Always have a 10 and 12 year old with you to help change your perception of a situation.

What a wonderful world

I think I am always on a journey of self discovery. Sometimes the journeys are planned and clearly mapped out. Other times I am traveling along and make an unexpected discovery.

I think the journey I embarked on recently was a bit of both. I had to clear my calendar months in advance because I knew the workshop/retreat I was attending couldn't be interrupted to attend client meetings, surreptitiously send emails or covertly check voice mail. I knew this retreat was going to be different and I had to be 'in the room' at all times and not thinking about my life outside of the space we were in at the time.

I have struggled, since leaving the workshop, with how I would describe what we did, what I learned and how it has impacted my life.

Words still fail me, the experience defies description, I almost want to say you had to be there. If you had been there your experience would have been vastly different from mine and we would have left with different take aways. At least you too would have been equally grappling with finding just the right words to capture everything that took place.

The workshop was about appreciation. The ability to identify, honor and celebrate my successes and the successes of others. It is a truly powerful concept one that I had not fully appreciated until I locked myself away in a room with 14 strangers who became friends. I say 14 and include myself in that number because I found a new friend in 13 other people and made a new friend within myself.

I know this sounds like - what?! Has she lost her mind, again? No, I have found it and am loving the space I am in right now. I have an obligation and commitment to myself to see what is possible and then strive to attain it for myself, my family and my community.

If you are interested in reading more about this ground-breaking work ask me about the book "What Kind of World Do You Want?" by Jim Lord and Pam McAllister. I will get a copy to you ...  

Happy New Year ...

My last blog was about how much I had done since November. It detailed my trip to Omaha and our return to Bermuda. Looked at the activities we engaged in over Christmas and was going to review our failed attempt to stay awake on New Year's Eve.

However with one misplaced push of a button the entire blog entry was killed. Not sure where it went because there is no record of it. Of course I didn't save it because I didn't expect it to go anywhere. So lesson learned, I just saved.

Why am I having problems with my blog when no problems existed previously? I bought a new laptop, except it isn't called a laptop, it is called a MacBook and it is a machine created by Apple. Since I purchased this new creature I have been on a tortuous and torturous journey. There are many things to love about my new toy:

• The screen is like something out of the fantasy. It is clear, bright and beautiful - you can see for miles and miles on it - figuratively, of course.
  
• The key board is lit - for when I do those secret, undercover stories in the dark, I will know where the letters are, so I can report accurately.
  
• It is very slim (not the one that fits into the interoffice envelope) but a lot smaller than my current laptop, which is usually on whenever I am operating my MB just in case I need a familiar back up immediately. (I just saved again). This is essential when it comes to doing time sensitive client work.
  
• I can turn off the MB just by closing the lid - the other machine would have a fit if I did that.

I still have a lot to learn and the first couple of weeks have been a little painful. However I have been doing more and more with this and loving the new sensations. I look forward to the day when I can do everything on my new mac. Hopefully that day is in the near future because it gets complicated carrying two computers around with me especially when they are supposed to make my life easier and less complicated. Then I have to check to see what information is on which computer - you understand my situation.

I guess you won't get a synopsis of my last few months because that was killed by the mac so I will look forward to the rest of the new year with eager anticipation and with the promise of more timely entries.

So, what did you see?

Amanda and I have known each other for more than ten years now; we met while I was still at Cable and Wireless. We reconnected when she returned to Bermuda earlier this year. Although our lives are completely different during, the many hours we have spent talking, catching up and reminiscing we realise that we have far more in common than you would ever suspect. We are about the same age and have reached points in our lives where we can absolutely appreciate, laugh and cry at the mistakes and great decisions we've made in our lives.

One day recently we were at dinner and talked about how we each viewed the world and how our perspectives are completely different despite our commonalities. She is white, English, educated, has lived in Bermuda for a significant portion of her life and is well traveled. I am black, Bermudian, educated, have lived in England for a significant portion of my life and I am well traveled.

So we set out to conduct an experiment. We agreed that we would go out together and write about the experience, what we saw, what we did, how we felt. Here are our stories:

My view
As soon as we agreed to conduct the experiment I decided I needed to brush up on my observation skills so I would be equal to the task. I mean suppose Amanda saw something that would be the complete focus of her piece and I didn't even know the incident took place. So I started preparing for our task by looking at what was going on around me and trying to make mental notes. I would like to think my preparations stood me in good stead but I think I failed completely because I can't believe any of the little observations I made a mental note of could have been of any great significance.

Here are some of the things I saw:
An old guy with a red walking stick - I didn't even know they came in different colors;
One woman with way too much make up on - I didn't even know you could get that many different colors on your face at one time;
Then there was the guy with the loud shirt - again, many colors.

After the whole color thing I felt I had to pay more attention to the atmosphere what was happening around me.

A lady I know who is returning home, due to work permit issues invited me to her leaving party. I dragged Amanda along. We sat at the bar chatting and all I could get from the atmosphere was "someone in here is smoking, is that even legal in this day and age?"

Since I couldn't get past the whole smoking thing I decided to concentrate on our conversation - what deep and meaningful nuggets of conversation would Amanda and I participate in that would be the focus of my piece. Would I impart a delicious morsel that she would spend her 1,000 words talking about or would she dazzle my mind and give me something that I would noodle around in my brain and have to write about.

I think that moment approached as she and I walked from my car to the restaurant we had decided to eat at. We strolled along Front Street chatting happily and I was totally aware of my surroundings, alert to any possible issue that I had to observe and I listened intently to Amanda waiting for her to wax poetic when I suddenly I veered left and was blind and deaf to everything around me I pressed my nose figuratively again the window of the store that sells Prada.

A black bag with brass hardware, two strap lengths and a catch that was totally unexpected caught my eye. I frowned as I leaned closer to the window trying to see if I could spot the price tag. My eyes glazed over as I imagined the smell of the leather and the feel of it beneath my expert, self trained hands. I imagined how it would look first on my shoulder and then in my closet with my other captives, um, I mean precious bags ... my precious!

I heard a voice in the distance trying to bring me back to earth -- OMG, I had completely forgotten about Amanda and I think she may have asked me a question, what? How many bags do I own? What kind of question is that? How many stars are there in the sky, how many grains of sand are there in the desert? I don't know and that isn't important right now. The important question is do you think we can find someone to open the store for us so I can look at this totally uncharacteristic Fendi masterpiece?

After standing around ostensibly looking at the other designer offerings in the window I realised that I wasn't going to be able to get my hands on the bag and so after another side long glance I shuffled along to the meal that awaited our undivided attention.

Once we had eaten I thought we would call it a night but before we headed off in opposite directions we decided to try one more time to find my brother and bust in on him and his friends on their 'boys night out'. We decided to look in his favorite haunt to see if he was there. As luck would have it we found him, despite the fact that I think he tried to avoid us.

Without invitation we joined him and some of his friends and started making small talk with two gentlemen, one I knew only slightly and the other I was meeting for the first time. As we exchanged pleasantries, my brother's child hood friend squeezed himself between me and Amanda and started monopologising the conversation.

I am sorry to say this is where the evening fell apart for me. I was trying to maintain an eye on what was happening in the place, stay abreast of who was where and how everyone was interacting. My brother's friend put paid to that when he decided to engage in a totally embarrassing and humiliatingly funny expose on our 'relationship'. He made up the wildest accusations and charges against me that he could think of - stalking him, court decisions on our (retarded) child, flagrant sexual acts. While these charges were flying back and forward all I could do was laugh my stupid head off. I couldn't even mount a convincing attack, especially for the two men he insisted on regaling these flights of fantasy to.

Given that they didn't know me and may or may not have known my brother's friend to them these things about me could well have been true which added to my total inability to respond due to the now near hysterical and uncontrollable raucous laughter escaping my person. Nothing I did would stop him and in fact when I tried to interject with my own accusations of his cross dressing things seemed to get worse.

In the end I gave up and went to say hello to someone who was standing at the bar. When I look back at that incident I have to shake my head because if I could have kept my wits about me I may be been able to dissect it and write about it objectively. However since I was desperately trying to defend myself I have nothing deep and meaningful to impart other than I have a long memory and my plan is to exact revenge on my brother's friend some day, somehow, some way.

We finally decided to call it a night. I drove Amanda to the taxi stand. I did consider taking her home but she was staying in the depths of Southampton and I didn't have the energy, strength or focus to make the drive there and back.

What did I learn from this experiment - I need to be more observant, obsess less about bags and perhaps not hang out with my brother and his friends, lest embarrassing things happen.

(PS - this essay is supposed to be 1,000 words. Who knew I could write so much - it is in fact 1,369, I'm sorry Amanda.)

Here is Amanda's entry ...

Night out

7am. Friday morning. I'm in bed. Asleep. Aderonke texts to ask if I am up for drinks tonight. What is she like? The day has barely begun and she is thinking of alcohol? Its a little early for me to consider such matters and I just cant think about it right now....

At work - several hours later - I text back to say yes.

She picks me up from work at 6 and takes me to someone she used to work with's leaving do at the theatre bar.

I fret about my situation over a vodka cranberry. Should I stay or should I go.

'Stay - enjoy yourself'.' she says over her G & T.

That sorted we head for our next venue. After a fruitless call to her elusive brother we make our way to LVs. A quick scout around the bar tells us our group isn't there...

'Are you hungry? '

'Yes. You?'

To the Pickled Onion we go.

A glass of champagne and a trip down memory lane - we discuss the great loves of our life over dinner. A heart to heart over broken hearts.

'So what are you doing to meet guys these days,' she asks?

'Well, Ummm - this is kind of it.'

'Well lets go to the bar and talk to some....' '

I don't know how. I dont do this sort of thing. Its not my style' - I protest weakly.

But she's in there. 'I'll ask him the time' she says 'its a start.'

To my surprise - she does.

To my surprise - it works.

I don't feel what follows is worthy of recording aside to say that I foolishly give out my number and instantly regret it.

Time to go home. We're in Aderoke's car about to drive off when she decides at the last moment to revist LVs to check if her brother and pals are there. Result!

We are suddenly surrounded by people. I am introduced to one smartly dressed man after another - ever increasingly levels of smartness - the final one perfectly dressed and immaculate in every way. When my attention returns to my immediate surroundings I see Aderonke at the centre of it all - involved in a raucous exchange with her brother's best friend Will. (This seems to be the case whenever these two get together.) I only catch fragments of their exchange above the din of the bar and the great gales of laughter coming from the amused on-lookers, but whips and high heeled boots are definitly mentioned between the screams of laughter as is money and Obama.

A little later - when its all died down, I am cornered by Will who comfortably lounges back beside me and insists that I work at weekends in order to hide or run away from something in my personal life. I don't have any good enough excuses to disuade him from this line of questioning or get him to believe otherwise. He continues 'How long since the break up? Three months? Six months? A year?' If only it were that simple. I can't even begin to explain.

Aderonke returns from the bar with a huge glass of wine in her hand. The crowd has moved on and she decides we ought to call it a night as we both have to work in the morning. More importantly - has she just bumped in to someone at the bar that she will be dealing with tomorrow - so doesn't want to give the wrong impression. Back in her jeep she offers too drive me to Southampton. I refuse her offer - Its a long way to Barnes corner. 'That's Somerset Southampton - not even Warwick Southampton...' she says horrified at the very thought. She drops me next to a taxi on Front Street. I say goodbye and she says she can't wait to read about our night out. She has been planning for her article for weeks. I have no idea what she has up her sleeve and know I will not be able to compete.

In the cab on the way home my phone bleeps. Its a text from my work mate to say - Her boyfriend's Mum has a cousin called Pork and Beans. She knows these things amuse me. I burst out laughing. Its been a good night. Just what the doctor ordered. I'm thinking of getting a nice cup of tea and heading to bed. As I settle down at home I wonder if Aderonke is busy thinking of her next night out and will be texting another unsuspecting friend at daybreak tomorrow to see if they are up for a drink...

Do I have a job for you ... but first you have to fill in the application form.

Last year I wrote an article about dating and listed some possible questions you can ask a potential mate. I read the article below about the application form anyone seeking a job in the Obama administration must complete. My questions pale in comparison to this questionnaire. Here is the article. I have started filling in my form, it may take a while to complete it to the best of my ability and I have to keep in the back of my mind that after I submit it I still have to go for an interview ...

White House job application leaves no stone unturned

By Jim Kavanagh
CNN

The Obama transition team is sending a seven-page, 63-item questionnaire to every candidate for Cabinet and other high-ranking positions in the incoming administration.

The questions cover everything from information on family members, Facebook pages, blogs and hired help to links to Fannie Mae, Freddie Mac, American International Group and troubled banks as well as lawsuits, gifts, resumes, loans and more.

The transition team has about 7,000 positions to fill, according to the U.S. Government Printing Office's Plum Book, the quadrennial list of positions subject to presidential appointment.

Included are 15 Cabinet positions and nearly 200 ambassadorships as well as agency heads and their immediate subordinates, policy executives and advisers, and top aides to those officials.

The largest part of the questionnaire asks prospective White House appointees and their spouses to list real estate and other business transactions, affiliations and relationships as well as personal financial and tax information.

It also asks about writings, speeches, testimony, online communications and even personal diaries.

An entire section requests details on any criminal or civil legal action in which the applicant may have been involved. The last question in that 11-item section asks for details on any child support or alimony orders.

In an apparent effort to avoid the problems faced by several nominees in the last two administrations, a block of four questions is devoted to ferreting out details -- including the immigration status -- of any domestic help the applicant may have hired.

Question 61 seems to have been prompted by the controversy over former 1960s radical William Ayres in Obama's campaign: "Have you had any association with any person, group or business venture that could be used -- even unfairly -- to impugn or attack your character or qualifications for government service?"

Under the final, "Miscellaneous" category, the questionnaire asks for the names and phone numbers of past live-in lovers; whether anyone in the applicant's family owns a gun; the state of the applicant's health; and whether he or she has any enemies.

What President Elect, Barack Obama's victory means to me

I can't let another day go by without acknowledging on this medium the time in history we are living through. On Tuesday November 4, 2008 the electorate of the United States of America voted for hope, for change, for Barack Obama.

What does this historic election mean to me, a black woman, a Bermudian and a citizen of the world?

I had a conversation yesterday with an elder of our community and I didn't have to ask her what she thought of the US Presidential elections. It was a topic we shifted into effortlessly as soon as the initial salutations were over. We each shared our view and she expressed the emotions bubbling inside, the hope she has carried around in her life, the pride she has always expressed through her writing and story telling and the strength she instilled in her children.

I remember when Oprah Winfrey endorsed Obama many months ago. She took a lot of heat from Hillary Clinton supporters for not endorsing a woman. Shortly after her endorsement my husband and I had a discussion about the gender, race issue. I walked away from that conversation understanding my husband's position which also happened to be mine, we identify ourselves through our race first and gender second. It is something that has been instilled in us since, well, since forever.

I look at Mr. Obama as I do the men in my family; my husband, fathers, brothers and uncles are responsible black men who take care of their families, who love their wives and respect their mother, sisters and daughters. This is what I see in the next President of the United States. I do recognize that this is not the case for many families, black and white, in the US, Bermuda and indeed around the world. Mr. Obama has become the new role model that doesn't involve sports, singing, rapping or acting. He got to where he is through hard work, ambition and determination.

As a Bermudian, I am hoping his leadership style will rub off on the leaders in my island nation. I would like for them to learn from him how to lead with humility, strength and with the best intention for the populous.

As a citizen of the world, I have read many articles about how there is a tide of hope rippling through the world. People in far flung nations attended election parties, stayed up into the night and early morning to learn of the election results first hand.

There is vibration that is in the air and a feeling of change. We can not go back to the dark days of segregation, we can no longer stand by silently while horrors are being perpetrated against groups of people, we can no longer turn a blind eye to injustice. I think history will show that the people of the world at this time, took on the issues that are plaguing mankind, killing our planet and separating human beings.

I would like to think we took this opportunity to make a world of difference.

After the initial tears, shock and awe (the good kind) began to ebb away in the hours after the election decision was announced, I asked myself if I can remember any other time in my adult life that I felt hopeful and excited and speechless. The only thing that came to mind was when Nelson Mandela was released from prison. I was a young broadcast journalist (my first job after college) and the only reporter on duty that day. I grabbed the mike, turned on the tv and reported what I saw to anyone who happened to be listening to the radio.

I remember feeling excitement, and joy and anticipation of what would happen next. Mr. Mandela had the ability to start to bring about change in the country of his birth. He was able to see in his lifetime the regime that imprisoned him become dismantled and his country was given the opportunity to rebuild.

I think we are at another point in history where an opportunity exists for us to stand up and say in one voice; we are ready to embrace change and become a better role model, a better citizen, a better human being.

I stand ready ...