I've been trying to think of a way to get around the fact that I want to write about Anderson Cooper. I don't want this blog to be some Anderson Cooper groupie thing, but he said something a few weeks back that struck me.

Darfur reminded me.

I don't know where he was. Somalia, Rwanda, somewhere out there. It couldn't have been an easy assignment. How can anyone see where entire villages of women who have been raped, mutilated and otherwise tortured? How many of us could watch children die because there is no food or even milk? These are the stuff of nightmares.

Now lets switch gears for a minute. Completely.

How many pictures do you have around you? I mean pictures. Pictures of your children or grandchildren? Those kinds of pictures.

In my bedroom (where I'm writing this) I see -

My great grandmother whose mother was pregnant with her while riding with Buffalo Bill's show in France. It's said she never did to slow down.

There's a picture of a young cousin of mine. She is now in her 20s. At the time the picture was taken she was four.

There is my father, both in a tiny little pocket sized photo and a full 8x10 that was taken when he was modeling.

There are others. I have pictures at my desk at work and in my wallet. I've even been known to keep a framed picture in my car. They're keepsakes, reminders of heart felt affection.

Now lets go back to Anderson Cooper in Somalia, Rwanda or even Darfur (you pick). It's hard enough for anyone to lose a child. Somehow we manage to live through it, even if we won't ever get over it. Some of us can even say "see that gorgeous person on the piano over there?" and we know who the smiling face in the picture belongs to.

The mothers of Somalia, Rwanda and Darfur don't have pictures.

And the only images that exist of a very precious few children are the ones Anderson Cooper took.

Is that the kind of picture you'd want on your piano?



















Thanks Anderson