As usual lately I've been troubled by the news. There has been way too much contentious rhetoric and not nearly enough sensitivity to others. It's occurred to me that we've forgotten how important it is to walk in someone else's shoes before making judgments.

Polls show, for instance, that most Americans are opposed to the building of a Muslim educational center and mosque at Ground Zero. There's been a lot of shouting, a flurry of accusations from both sides. Those who oppose it are accused of racial and religious bias. Those in favor of it are described as insensitive at best, and as terrorists at worst.

Here's how I see it. We are a nation created by people fleeing religious persecution. Our constitution supports religious freedom, not just for Christians, but for the believers of all religions. On that basis alone, there should be no objections to the building of a mosque in any community. That said, however, it seems to me that the supporters of this particular mosque are showing tremendous insensitivity to the families of the victims of 9/11 and to a nation which sees Ground Zero as hallowed ground. Do they have the right to build there? Absolutely. Is it in their best interests to do so under these circumstances? Absolutely not. Legality and sensitivity do not always walk hand in hand.

In  similar fashion, just this weekend conservative talk show host Glenn Beck held his rally for honor on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial on the anniversary of Martin Luther King's historic "I have a dream speech" at the same location. It was undeniably his right not only to hold such a rally -- he'd be the first to point out the laws proclaiming that right -- but to choose the timing and place for it. Did his decision display even a hint of respect for or sensitivity to Dr. King's legacy or for the African-American community? Sorry, but no. Again the deliberate lack of sensitivity makes you wonder about the sincerity of the message.

I could go on and on about the many ways that the legal right to do something bumps headlong into whether the action is sensitive...or sensible. I can't help thinking about an old adage, "He was right, dead right, as he sped along, but he's just as dead now as if he'd been wrong."

Defending our constitution is never wrong. Tempering it with sensitivity is even better.

It used to be kids were sent off on the first day of the school year with notebooks, textbooks, pencils and a colorful lunch pail. Based on a TV news report I saw the other day, times have surely changed.

In one district -- I'm not sure where -- the list of supplies kids need to have on the first day of school included everything from tissues and disinfectant wipes to toilet paper. Obviously budgets are tight everywhere, but this is just a little scary. Plus, I have this image of that toilet paper winding up wrapped around the trees on the school grounds, not that all children these days aren't little angels who would never dream of doing such a thing!

It's been true for a very long time that schools don't have nearly enough money to buy all the supplies most teachers would like for their classrooms. Even when I was volunteering years ago in an inner city elementary school, the teacher I worked with spent a huge percentage of her own money on creative supplies for her learning disabled students. She haunted thrift stores for placemats that could be cut into puzzle shapes or objects that could be turned into a matching game. She was one of the most caring, inventive teachers I've ever met. And I know she was spending money she didn't have to spare. We've been expecting this of teachers for way too long.

And now we're asking parents, who theoretically pay for their child's education with tax dollars, to chip in with more than notebooks and pencils. I'm not suggesting that's wrong, only that it worries me how it will affect the family that's barely making ends meet at home. Some folks are barely able to scrape together the money for the classroom essentials, much less the desirable backpacks and other things kids need to feel as though they fit in.

I'd love to hear what's happening in your school district. Has that essential school supply list grown dramatically this year? How do you feel about it? Click on comments below and let me know.

Does your community have a school supply drive? Though I've dropped off supplies for those in the past, something tells me it's more important than ever this year. If you have the money to spare for a few extra pencils, pens, notebooks or whatever's on your child's list, pick up a few items and take them to a community drop-off. Buy in bulk wherever such things are available and share with others. No child should ever start the school year without a few basic necessities...especially toilet paper!

I suspect we all send out contradictory messages all the time. A lot of the time we wind up doing things we never wanted to do because people detected "maybe," instead of a clear and emphatic "no!"

I wonder, however, how many people do this inadvertently in business, and have no idea why their message isn't being received clearly. Here's an example that had me shaking my head. As I was driving the other day, the car in front of me had an ad for a nationally known cosmetics company on the back windshield. On the opposite side of the glass was a skull and crossbones! Hmmm! Would you let this woman sell you make-up? Maybe, if I were a biker chick.

What about the woman who wears low-cut dresses to the office and is shocked when a male co-worker hits on her? Or, as happened just the other day, a woman files a sexual harassment claim against the CEO of a major electronics company and then claims to be "surprised and saddened" when he's fired?

Maybe the whole contradictory message thing gets ingrained in us early. Some of us probably feigned a stomach ache to get out of a test at school way back when, only to be startled when a parent insisted on a visit to the doctor. And the same parent who dragged us little schemers off to see the doctor also taught us to tell the little "white lie" in certain social situations to avoid hurt feelings.

So, as adults we say of course we understand, when really we don't as someone bails on us. We say we're terrific, when our lives are crumbling around us, then wonder why people can't see how miserable we really are.

Bottom line, I suppose, is that we could all use better communication skills. Some contradictory messages or little white lies probably don't matter a bit in the larger scheme of things. But others can create havoc. Hopefully before we utter that little social fib -- or paste stickers on the back of our cars -- we'll take just one second to think about what we're really saying. In this day of instant circulation on the Internet, those casual words can haunt us forever.

That's how I feel after two weeks in North Carolina's Outer Banks with way more people than I normally see in a month, much less every single day. Though it was merely hot and breezy in Nags Head, I felt as if I was happily amid a hurricane of activity. I came away from it completely in awe of the people who juggle their family's needs on a daily basis.

For starters, I hate grocery stores. For a woman who loves to eat as much as I do, it's fairly astonishing that I'd rather have a tooth pulled than go into most grocery stores. I don't think it has a thing to do with struggling against temptation. It has to do with trying to find everything on my list, waging war against the checkout lines or even dealing with the frustration when my preferred self-checkout lanes go into some kind of weird breakdown and refuse to check me out. I usually grumble from the minute I walk through the front door as I hit empty spaces on the shelves where my products used to be, all the way out the door again.

Let me tell you, when you are shopping for seven instead of one, as I was the first week, or sixteen instead of one, as I was on rare occasions the second week, I used up my quota of grumbling for a year. How do the moms in my gang do this on a weekly basis? Or any of you, for that matter? I'd have to go into counseling from trying to reorganize all the grocery stores of the world.

And then there were the excursions. I'm usually doing very well, thank you, to get myself and maybe a friend into a car and to a destination on time. I watched as my goddaughter and her sisters and their spouses juggled kids from the pool to a kayak to an adventure to see wild horses to miniature golf without batting so much as an eyelash. They were cool, calm and generally unfrazzled. As I said, I was in awe.

So to all of you out there who are doing this every single day, getting kids of various ages to every kind of activity imaginable, plus packing school lunches and watching over homework, you have my unequivocal admiration. Add in all those trips to the grocery store and you're my heroines!

If you don't know what silly bands are, you must not have an elementary-school aged child around. I'd heard of the latest fad before the rival of my goddaughter and her family for a visit, but I'd never owned one. Never really aspired to, either. Now I'm wearing four and have several more.

Here's the scoop. Some genius invented a rubber band which comes not only in many, many colors, but in shapes. All kinds of shapes. Bags and bags of them in every souvenir shop and elsewhere.

My current collection includes a blue bunny, a lime green palm tree, a yellow flower and an orange flower and a blue dinosaur. Some of these glow in the dark, which is a little disconcerting when going into the bathroom in the middle of the night!

Mine were presented to me by my goddaughter's five-year-old. His two-year-old sister immediately claimed the first batch. "Mine," spoken loudly and convincingly, is one of her favorite words. I have a new collection. You don't argue with a princess!

Yesterday the kids' grandparents -- old friends from my college era -- and I went to visit some of my family. We were all wearing silly bands, something duly noted by my cousins. At their house, though, only a five-year-old has them. Perhaps he hasn't learned to share...or we're just far too compliant with the the little ones around here.

At any rate, aside from wishing I'd been the one to dream up this concept, I love the idea that all the kids in the house are sharing and trading these things without fussing and fighting. They're a relatively inexpensive way to put a smile on a kid's face and to unite generations at a family gathering.

That's probably giving way too much importance to a rubber band, but, hey, I'm just a kid at heart, and I love my blue bunny!

A few years ago a friend of mine who'd just turned 65 and signed up for Medicare bemoaned the fact that suddenly it seemed all he was doing was going to doctor appointments. Lately I'm seeing the same syndrome among way too many of my friends.

I'm here to tell all of you that seeing doctors is not supposed to be a retirement hobby!! Surely there are better things you could be doing with your time.

Unfortunately, despite my objections, it seems that with age comes a variety of aches, pains and other ailments. In today's healthcare environment that means test after test after test. In the olden days doctors frequently made a diagnosis from experience, not a boatload of tests mostly designed to cover themselves in case of lawsuits. A good diagnostician is worth his or her weight in gold. I was lucky enough to have one of those when I worked for Jackson Memorial Hospital in Miami. I frequently had two-minute consults in the hallways and he always got it right with a minimum of testing. Oh, how I miss that!

I've talked to four friends in recent days who've been spending their weeks running from one doctor appointment or test to another. I've even had my own doctor visits, including one thoroughly frustrating one to consult for a colonoscopy, which I scheduled, only to be told later in the day that it either had to be rescheduled sooner or I'd have to have another doctor visit preceding it. Because moving the test wasn't an option, I'm now going for a second office visit to prove I'm still standing before the colonoscopy. Crazy!

All of this makes me wonder if on some level I wasn't meant to live in a bygone era when people avoided doctors altogether, because the news was never good and always involved more tests. I know this is a risky practice, so I'm trying very hard not to let my stubbornness -- and nostalgia -- overrule logic.

In the meantime, I wish all of you good health. Take care of yourselves. Exercise. Eat right. Maybe you'll be among those lucky ones who can spend retirement traveling places far more interesting than your nearest medical center. I certainly intend to try.

The older we get, the more tricks we seem to need for triggering our memories. Proust, of course, wrote a lot -- a whole lot, in fact -- about scents and the memories they inspire. I know that works for me. One whiff of salt air, and I'm at the beach. The aroma of lilacs puts me at my beach house.

However, it was a book I recently read that took me back to the time when I was first starting my journalism career. A colleague from my years at The Miami News mentioned that he'd just read a book about the long-gone Columbus, Ohio newspaper for which I'd once worked. He noted that I was mentioned in it. Off I went to hunt it down.

Late Edition was written by Chicago journalist Bob Greene (not to be confused with Oprah's Bob Greene), who, like me, began his career at the Columbus Citizen-Journal back in the '60s. Bob was a very young summer intern then. I was just out of journalism school at Ohio State and working as a general assignment reporter. Though our experiences in that newsroom were different, the people he writes about were the same.

For some 300 pages, read over the course of a few days, I was back in that mezzanine level newsroom with people who greatly influenced my life. Greene captured not only the essense of their wonderfully quirky personalities, but the joy of working for newspapers when newspapers really meant something in a community. There were the cynical, but always kind photographers Dick Garrett and Hank Reichard. A sports department filled with more unique souls who treated the young summer intern Greene with kindness and respect. Each name mentioned brought back a hundred memories. He even nailed with absolute perfection the tough-as-nails, but wonderful waitress at our favorite dinner spot. I suspect more than one of the characters I've put into the diners in my books have been loosely inspired by Thelma.

I am so grateful to Bob for giving me this chance to indulge in nostalgia for that time in my life. I'm sharing the book with others who were there back then, and it's triggering even more memories for all of us as we compare notes on those days.

For many of you a book about a long-dead newspaper in a town you might never have visited, much less lived in, may not matter much, but I recommend Late Edition for you for entirely different reasons. With newspapers around the country faltering and journalism changing, this book is a reminder to all of us of what it meant to be a reporter way back when. Back then, journalists grew up understanding how important it was to get the facts right, knowing that the people we wrote about in the most tragic circumstances deserved respect, and believing that our readers counted on us for the information to start their day.

Much of that has changed, I fear, as has the perception of the media in  general, and not for the better. This book may be an important reminder, not just to you, but to the industry at large, that to be respected, the old rules about objectivity should never be cavalierly tossed aside in favor of sensationalism or bias. Maybe we can get some balance back in reporting before the bloggers of the world take over with opinions, rather than facts. I'd like to think so, anyway.

Seems like a good thing to remember on the Fourth of July, that there are responsibilities that go along with freedom of the press. Happy birthday, America!! And thank you, Bob Greene, for reminding me of all this.

I grew up in the era of the TV sit-com Father Knows Best, though mine was a far-from-typical household. Both of my parents worked. My mother hated to cook. My father enjoyed it. And I learned to do it as a matter of self-preservation because if I waited for either of them to do it after work, who knows at what hour we'd have eaten.

I've been thinking a lot about my dad today. He died twelve years ago this coming August and over the years I missed a lot of Father's Days. There were calls, of course, and presents, but it was only in the last few years of his life that I was fortunate to be around in person. That was such a blessing.

I'm always amazed at how many folks I know rarely get home to see their parents, sometimes even when living nearby. Despite the distance between us -- with my folks in Virginia and me in Florida -- I tried to always make it home at least once a year and they usually came to Florida to spend time with me, as well. Now that my dad is gone, I'm so glad that we talked on the phone so regularly and saw each other so often.

My dad was a product of the Depression, a man who believed in frugality and in not taking financial risks. Yet, when I decided to quit my newspaper job to take a chance on becoming a writer, he was in my corner a hundred percent. And when I dragged him to book signings and forced him to buy a book he could have gotten from me free at home, he complained only mildly that it would have been easier just to give me the percent of the cover price I was going to earn from the sale. Though my mom, the reader in the family, died before my first book sold, my dad would sit in the mall at some of my signings with a smile on his face as he watched me chat with readers. I'm sure he was thinking of her, just as I do whenever a new book hits store shelves.

Though my mom was far too young when she died -- only 60 -- my Dad lived till 80, and was active until the last day, working in his garden, hanging out with neighbors to chat. Both of them died way too suddenly, which is why I want to take today to remind all of you with Dads who are still around, treasure them.

Listen to their stories for the hundredth time, heed at least some of their advice, give your children the opportunity to know them. Treat them well, not just on Father's Day, but all year. That's the only sure-fire way I know not to live with regret when they're gone.

My dad was a southern gentleman, who hated my occasional use of profanity, had a kind word for everyone, took candy to local store clerks at Christmas, and packaged up boxes of tomatoes and shipped them to me every July for my birthday because for me there's never been anything tastier than a Virginia home-grown tomato out of his garden. Mine, no matter how hard I try now that I'm living here in the summer, have never quite measured up. I know there's some secret ingredient missing from the soil. I'm sure he kept it from me just so I'd miss him even more.

So, to all of you out there lucky enough to have fathers around today, be grateful. Enjoy them. Happy Father's Day!!!

Yes, I spelled that correctly. I'm not talking about Freud. We all have at least some idea about what his thoughts are. I'm talking about today's world and how it's changed thanks to the rampant risk of fraud.

This is on my mind because yesterday I went shopping. Now this may not seem monumental to most of you, but for me it's almost unheard of. Usually when I'm bogged down with deadlines, I'm lucky to make it to the grocery store for food, the gas station, the bookstore (of course) and someplace to buy paper for the printer.

So it's little wonder that when a sizable charge at Macy's came in to some electronic monitor, alarm bells went off. I've had this happen once before for a similar reason: no one expects me to be out of the house! Okay, so far.

Then, however, things began to unravel. The clerk, who up to that point had been very helpful, was apparently facing a situation she'd never had to face before -- getting authorization. I, up to this point, was happy at the efficiency of the credit card company trying to protect me from theft.

Unfortunately, the clerk had no idea how to get the authorization. She called the credit card company, which was befuddled. She called the Macy's office, which was equally befuddled. My patience, which I never claimed as being anywhere on my list of virtues, was at its limits.

The manager came, and determined that none of the calls had been made to the one number where someone could actually have authorized the charge. She made that call. I spoke to a fraud person who was happy to approve the charge after I'd listed the last 50 million stores I'd visited (seriously, she was happy after the first one I mentioned, but I kept going). She also verified my address, my phone number and how recently I'd colored my hair. Okay, she didn't ask about my hair color, but you get the idea. She was very thorough.

Now in this day and age, I am very grateful to all the people who want to protect me against fraud. I just want to find them in a timely fashion. It goes back to that favorite issue of mine -- customer service. Had the clerk received proper training, I'd have been out of the store in twenty minutes tops. I'd have been happy, not just with my purchases, but with the service. As it was, I was there for an hour and I was exhausted from the commotion.

Now, however, the presents I bought are wrapped and on their way. And now that I've vented, I can put the frustration of the experience behind me. I would, however, love to hear how you feel about these unexpected "fact-checks" to determine your identity. Have you encountered them? Did they go smoothly, or did you wind up feeling like the thief? Sign up below to comment.

Just recently I had a call from a cousin who'd spoken to our aunt. It seems she was in a frenzy over some kind of mailer she'd received that baffled her. It had something to do with a car. Since she's 97, has never driven and never owned a car, she was confused. Her first call had been not to my cousin. Not to me. But to my cousin's brother, apparently because he -- being a man and all -- would have superior wisdom when it came to resolving the issue. Since he wasn't around, my cousin got the call by default and I, because I was going to visit the next day, got to resolve the problem...by tearing up the mailer and tossing it and reassuring her that it was junk, despite looking official.

This is not a first. My aunt often turns to my cousin's brother, which usually amuses both my cousin and me. My cousin is, after all, a teacher with more than 30 years experience, and I've been around quite a few professional blocks myself. Never mind that, in fact, my aunt herself is pretty savvy still, and had a long career with the government. Somehow she believes a guy will give her better advice.

This has made me wonder whether her attitude comes from her era, her age or whether it just reflects a tendency by all of us to seek perspectives from a lot of people before making tough decisions. Maybe it's the latter.

I've faced a few dilemmas lately and I have to admit to seeking opinions from far and wide, male and female. I'm perfectly capable of making the decisions on my own -- and ultimately I'll have to -- but I'm torn. I need all these other voices to help me view things more clearly.

What do you do when you're facing a tough decision? Do you have specific people you turn to for advice? Does that person vary depending on the issue? I'd love to hear if you've encountered the "men know best" philosophy? Sign on to comment below, or email me directly at Sherryl703@gmail.com.