The Top 1% doesn’t interest me…not their money, anyway

Posted on by lauraanneayres

“Where are the donation envelopes?”

“We don’t have any.”

“Are you freaking kidding me?”

“Unfortunately no.”

“Where are people supposed to donate their money?”

“Bank transfer.”

Fundraising for non-profits – I am passionate about it. I have been doing it for a long time.

I’m a well-oiled fundraising/branding machine and I’m good at it. I go into a situation and immediately assess a few things.

First, I identify the problem areas. Usually, the image needs tweaking and the mission for the campaign needs to be clearer/updated/pertinent to more people than the smaller, inner circle. (And a huge “problem area” for raising money is usually the people that are in positions of power within the organization. They are the worst fundraisers because the reason funds need to be raised usually keeps these fine ladies and gents awake at night. They have been crunching numbers, begging, pleading for so long, they are death gripping the steering wheel…and it’s hard to get them to let go. Hard, but necessary.)

Second, I look at the organization’s strengths and weaknesses. I am ready to tell anyone who will listen the strengths and I am creative about what they are. I am also ready to defend the weaknesses with as much Texas charm as I can put on. (Always a challenge these days when the organization has a religious affiliation and what a horrible commentary that is on our society. Horrible these faith workers have to stop their good deeds to raise money and horrible we are embarrassed to claim “Jewish” or “Christian” or “Muslim” ties. Great thing about me, I’m a religious pluralist. I don’t have an issue with a person’s faith. I got a Jewish guy to donate 250K to a church in NYC. True story.)

Step five or six is my favorite. That’s when I have a peek at the existing donor base. It’s usually full of devoted people that have been approached for money every time there’s a crisis. Once I start working, I immediately call these people, thank them, and let them know we’re not interested in them…just their contacts. (True story, again.)

Then, I get to work. I don’t ask a lot of questions, I don’t need a ton of help (just a good, tight team), and I don’t need to be paid for it.

When I leave a project, the goal has always been met (or exceeded). Here’s what I mean by “goal.”

I don’t aim for big money donors. Naturally, I want to (and do) get the money needed. However, with my strategy, I get both the money I need and something far better than that…I get loyalty.

I will have a street fair, a book drive, a 2nd-hand shoe bazaar, a FB fan page, a Twitter hashtag, I don’t care…I don’t want the 1% of givers. I want the other 99%. I don’t want a lot of their money, just a little.

It’s their loyalty I want. I want them to get so passionate about the project, they cannot help but, as Bubs would say, “get involved.” I want the leaders of the organization NOT to have to repeat the fundraising in 10 years because only 8 people donated 8 million. I want a database. When a catastrophe hits, there are 8 MILLION PEOPLE READY TO GIVE. See how it goes? (Okay, 8 million is a lot, but it was a great image, right?)

I cannot imagine anything worse than hearing, “We are targeting a few key donors” when a fundraising project has started. Well, worse than that is probably, “We’re keeping the project hush-hush for a few months.” No, worse than both, “We don’t need your help.” That is something I would never say to a volunteer offering his or her time/talents or a person with only 5 cents to give.

Never.

Things need to change in fundraising. Obama’s campaign taught me that my gut instinct was right. It’s about the kid that gives 2CHF or $1.50 from his piggy bank. He’s gonna grow up and love the Hospice or CBSM or Genesis or St. John’s and and and. I need that kid.

And when that kid introduces me to his multi-billionaire granddad, I’ll smile and tell him, “Give us what you can, but just get involved, okay?”

He’ll give money, too. Know why? Because they both believe me. It’s easy to convince people when you’re authentic and honest…and real.

Why I am in love with SBB, CFF, and FFS (which does not stand for “for f***’s sake”)

Posted on by lauraanneayres

Literally, the only relationship I have had for the past few years that never disappoints me is my relationship with the public transportation system in Switzerland.

Not kidding. It is a love affair. I am truly in love and it will never go away. Okay, maybe we will fight? I hope not. If we fought and I won, I would like to have the tilting train removed from my trips to the Romandie. If we fought and I lost, I would  agree to sit in the kids’ wagon for a month and babysit.

Here’s are 3 things I noticed on Sunday.

The train station in Zurich is AMAZING. They renovated it. Same in Geneva. This is only a good thing. It brings more businesses into the train station, which gives the majority of shop owners a break on Sundays (train stations are open, but 99.999999% of stores are not). It makes the train stations a place of commerce, instead of a place to (sorry) take a potty break. Sometimes on the ground (I’m looking at you, Grand Central Station where I saw a man go number 2!!).

Luzern recently redirected traffic leading into its train station. One lane is reserved for buses, taxis, etc. That is making major traffic for the cars in other lane. Hey, guess what? Don’t take your car. Take the bus or, gasp, WALK. Luzern, win-win from y’all! And, they’re renovating their train station, too. Amazing.

The last thing is crucial. The people employed by SBB (for the most part and I mean EVERYONE I’ve encountered and I take/arrange public transportation more than most) speak multiple languages, attempt to be friendly, and willingly engage in conversation with customers. There is a premium on customer service with SBB/CFF/FFS and the regional service providers.  That’s not so common these days. Non-natives like me appreciate knowing more about the best route from Bubikon to Wankdorf (not joking). It’s nice to chat about this with Beat, who comes from Riffelberg, speaks about 20 languages, and can tell me everything about the route, including how many dairy cows I will see. Bravo employees of the public transportation system in Switzerland. Seriously.

Look, I am someone without tons of money. I still invest in my yearly SBB pass (called a “GA” say it outloud and laugh, please. It’s a general pass for all the trains, trams, buses, ships, donkeys, elephants, etc. http://www.sbb.ch/en/travelcards-and-tickets/railpasses/ga.html). Why? Because They make my life infinitely easier and more pleasant. Traveling by train, even in the Kinderwagon, is civilized (for God’s sake, you can drink! ON THE TRAIN!), easy, dependable, and keeps another car off the road.

I’m in love. It’s funny because my “first train” ride in Zurich was my move. The train came from Munich. It was a horrible storm (this is not a joke) and the train hit a fallen tree, derailed, and we had to walk to the nearest bus, in the rain. The journey usually takes about 3 hours, I think. It took me 10 hours to get to Zurich.

But, it was a DB. Not SBB. 😉

I love you, SBB. I just wish I could tweet my love. Fix your Tweeter feed!!

(PS- Can you please talk to ZVV and have them make my train orange again? It goes better with my book. Thanks.)

Little ditty about Guy and Diane

Posted on by lauraanneayres

Disconnect from family is a theme in my book and it’s an ongoing theme in real life for a lot of expats.

Emily Bower in the book might not be real, but her name is. Both of my grandmothers are combined to make “Em.” She’s Emily Mildred and combines the strength of two amazing families: the Bowers and the Royals. Fiercely loyal and dedicated to family, these two large families were extremely strong influences on me as a child.

When I received an email that said, “We are beginning a 17 day tour of Alpine countries starting in Zurich. We leave here on Sunday, the 21st, and arrive in Zurich at 8:05 on Monday morning on United. From there we will take the train to Lucerne.  We will go there to meet our tour on the 23rd.” I responded, “Is there a possibility to see y’all?”

And see them, I did. Guy and Diane, two of my favorite cousins.

Diane has always been cuddly with me. Big hugs, big smiles, she and Kacky (her sister) are like twins to me in many ways. I love Diane a lot and she knows it. This blog post is about Guy, her husband and a Bower because he has no choice.

I needed a dad yesterday. I needed a dad last week. I needed a dad for the past 5 years. Someone to talk to, to cry to, to hold my hand and tell me everything was going to be okay. Someone to read my book (which is a big part of my life, literally and figuratively) and remember it. Someone to tell me that I am something special. Dads are good at that stuff and I don’t think “kids” ever stop needing some of that from time to time.

Guy’s a tough guy. As I kid, I stood in awe. This was a man whose entire life was dedicated to the United States Air Force. He didn’t go into an office, an operating room, or a store to work like other dads. Guy served our country and, even as a little kid, I “got it” that it was a big deal. When he said something to me, I listened with big ears and eyes. When I saw him yesterday, I said, “Someday, I’ll be able to tell you I am not in school, totally independent, have it together…” and he cut me off.

“Hey, I read your book.”

Come on. Guy? Guy read my book? I didn’t say what I was thinking which was “Why?”

He really read it, too. He remembered a lot of things!

Guy didn’t joke with me about anything yesterday. In fact, he was really paternal and loving in a way that helped heal something for me. I will never be able to repay his kindness to me. “That’s what family does” is probably what he would say. I promise my heart will always have a special corner for him because of yesterday and he was just thinking, “Here I go to Luzern.” Typical of his lifelong desire to be of service to others.

The strongest compliment I can give to any dad is to tell him, “You remind me of Granddaddy” or “You remind me of Pop.” My grandfathers were 100% dedicated to their families and felt that was an honor. I think they were truly amazing fathers, both of them.

Guy, you were a lot like our beautiful Granddaddy yesterday. Less belly to hug, but so Granddaddy-esque. I will never forget it and thank you more than I can say.

157 days ago 273 girls were kidnapped

Posted on by lauraanneayres

How easily we can forget.

The girls have not been returned, but we have returned to our normal lives. Their families march in protest every day.

There are things we can do. Show support by “like”ing this: https://www.facebook.com/bringbackourgirls

Continue to tweet, blog, and write about the inhumane treatment of these girls.

As the focus is turned to ISIS (as it certainly should be), let us not forget these girls are still missing thanks to Boko Haram. ISIS and Boko Haram are equal threats to this world.

Perhaps the most important thing we can do is remember. The act of remembrance is not enough, but it will, at the very least, be a clear sign to the parents of these girls that we stand with them. That we have not forgotten and that we demand Boko Haram #bringourgirlsback

David R. Davidson – five years later

Posted on by lauraanneayres

Durd margarita laughter

Durd. One of my favorite people in the world. Musical father, spiritual shepherd, ‘rita King. Miss you as much today as I did five years ago.

I remember it all. I remember laughter and tears, inspiration and frustration, margaritas and Bellinis, Handel and Eva Cassidy, Santa Fe and Prague, snobbery and humility, hugs and belly laughs, Stephen Paulus and Craig Barnes, cross-on-a-stick and Jeff playing “Hey Mickey” during Communion while David tried to hold it together. I remember when he had something profound to say, he’d lean back, cross his arms, and smile. I remember Taize services, Mi Cocina dinners, Thanksgiving afternoons, email forwards, spins in Silver Sassy, and patent leather shoes with bows (not mine, by the way).

David took me to my first opera. At the Met – Rigoletto.

I still remember my audition for DSC.

“I’m sorry, you’re studying what?”

“Pre-law.”

Pause.

“Why?”

One of my favorite moments was during a rehearsal when he was totally frustrated. Instead of screaming, which he could easily have done, he said, “Here’s the thing. You have to look at me. If you don’t look at me, our eyes can’t connect, our souls don’t meet, and we can’t make music together. So, look up.” Brilliant advice for directors and people who aren’t connecting with each other, dontcha think?

There were so many talks, so much advice, and so much love.

My admission to the Manhattan School of Music and Pat’s studio came to David’s fax at HPPC. He was proud. “We did it.”

He was not proud when I admitted that I was dating Herr Hair. “What are you doing?”

Music was a small part of what I love about him. Father, grandfather, brother, son, friend, and husband…he cared so very much about the Davidson crew and his various “families.” Midnight visits to those in need of his pastoral (that’s what it was) care. Support in any way he could when someone needed him. An unparalleled blend of conductor, minister, and humble servant.

And a wicked, wicked sense of humor mixed with fantastic timing.

Many, many people in this world were made better people because of him. What a legacy. How lucky we all are to be able to say, “I remember that smile.”

Listen to “Nimrod” from Elgar’s Enigma Variations and raise a margarita today.

Durd at St. Stephansdom, Wien

The Pilgrim and the Politician

Posted on by lauraanneayres

A man begins a pilgrimage to Rome in Canterbury, England, and eventually arrives at the Hospice of Grand St. Bernard. As he walks, he carries 88 years of joy, sorrow, and a rather large backpack on his back.

Traveling from Bern to the Hospice of Grand St. Bernard is another man, who is also on a journey. As he makes his way, he carries the arrival of a new baby and the weight of his country’s future on his back.

Pilgrims walk for different reasons. Our pilgrim walked, but he did not know why. He only knew he was called to walk and was uninterested in “why.” Politicians attend events for a myriad of reasons. Our politician attended an event in late June because he knew he should be there. He didn’t pay much attention to “why.” Both men were answering a call.

Nationality separated them. Language separated them. Normal, everyday differences separated them.

Why did Brian walk? Why did Christophe attend that concert?

Perhaps one of the many reasons Brian walked and Christophe attended that concert could be this blog post and the mere fact that you are reading it.

It’s 2014 and we can be jaded and cynical. Most of us see politicians as untouchable and most of us do not pay any attention to pilgrims. A politician would never waste his time talking to a pilgrim and they certainly would not be at the same event because politicians go to fancy places and pilgrims do not.

Wrong.

There are still places in this world that transcend language, nationality, age, religious beliefs, socio-economic differences. There are still places that bring people together for a common purpose, known or yet unknown. There are still places where two men from completely different walks of life can be brought together to share things – ideas, music, Raclette. There are places where the sting of cynicism is made weak.

We have to treasure these places and nourish them. We must feed them with our time, with our resources, and with our very best intentions. We have to look at these places as true sanctuaries because that is what they are.

They are places where the shoes on your feet do not matter. They are places where the color of your hair, your skin, your coat…none of it matters. They are places where a pilgrim and a politician are both seen as exactly what they are:  God’s children – truly equal and worthy of unconditional love and acceptance.

We must give our best to these places and the people walking into them. Both are deserving of our adoration.

I could say many things about the pilgrim and the politician. They are two of the finest men I have met in a very long time. It is not the point. The point is much simpler than that.

There is a place on the border between Switzerland and Italy where a pilgrim and a politician sat together and shared an important life moment.

That place is the Hospice of Grand St. Bernard.

You should go there and give it your best. If you cannot go there, you can still give it your best.

Donate 5 dollars, 10 Euro, 20 CHF, or 100,000£. What is your best? Give that.

Hospice du Gd-St-Bernard – 1946 Bourg-St-Pierre – Suisse
Union de Banque Suisse – 1920 Martigny
IBAN        CH50 0026 4264 6946 8001 X
BIC          UBSWCHZH80A

If we don’t give these places our best, how can this happen?

The Pilgrim and the Politician
The Pilgrim and the Politician

 

 

August 28, 2013 until today

Posted on by lauraanneayres

One year ago today, an ambulance came and took me and my broken back & neck to a little Swiss hospital down the road.
A very good thing came from that…”I Want to Win.” It’s a song Jackson and I wrote to try to help people be strong.
About six months ago, I put together a little video to inspire myself. I’m sharing it today. If it brings anyone strength to continue fighting, that’s what I want. You are welcome to pass this link along and tell people not to pay too much attention to my pictures (they were just for me to remember, “you were strong, girl…get it together”).
http://youtu.be/-QADpZWd8ZI

As much truth as I can speak: “The kind of foreigner we want”

Posted on by lauraanneayres

On August 1st, Swiss Independence day, I was privileged and honored to stand in front of a crowd gathered in the Valais at the foot of the Petit Mont Mort. I sang “Amazing Grace” and the words echoed in the shiny brown rocks that, just 16 months earlier, propelled my feet to the top of that mountain as it glistened with snow.

After a speech by the Mayor, I took the microphone again. I’d requested to sing the Swiss National anthem just as I’d done for 4 years in a row in my German-speaking home base of Luzern. José (God, bless him because I truly love this precious man) encouraged me to sing the first verse in my go-to German, even though the Valais is in the French-speaking part of Switzerland. I began singing the song I truly love for the people I truly love: the Swiss.

Trittst in Morgenrot daher – seh’ ich dich im Strahlenmeer... Schweizerpsalm

As the “Texas friend of the Hospice” sang their country’s anthem, I knew what at least a handful were thinking.

“She’s the kind of foreigner we want.”

Oddly enough, I am more old school “Swiss” than most of my Swiss friends. I believe in mandatory dialect language in the first 3 grades of primary school (I also believe in optional evening classes in dialect language once a week for parents). I believe in strict rules – clean up after yourself & others, don’t be too loud anywhere, continuing the tradition of mandatory military service, explore pragmatic options before resorting to extreme ones, go along/get along, greet people with “Bonjour”/”Grüezi”/etc., keep shops closed on Sunday, treat the elderly with respect, fresh air cures almost anything, let men fix the fondue. I want foreigners to reach B-level communication of their canton’s language in order to apply for a work/residency permit to make their lives here better/easier. I think people who flush their toilets after 10PM should get a ticket.

Oh! and I believe everyone should have the Swiss National anthem memorized. It’s too beautiful not to hold in your heart.

I’m still not the kind of foreigner they want.

As these beautiful faces from the Valais looked up at me and held me as an example, I was saddened and my voice cracked with emotion. I recorded it and I won’t play it. Not ever. It is the saddest thing I’ve ever heard. This country I love, admire, respect, nurture, protect, treasure, and adore…these beautiful men and women here and all over this country…

I am the foreigner they don’t want.

Even me.

Especially me.

The end of the first verse is so beautiful and I was touched when they unexpectedly joined in on this part…

When the Alps glow brightly, pray, free Swiss, in the name of your pious ancestors’ souls, pray to the God that dwells in our noble country.

After my time in the Valais, Sunday found me back at my beloved church in Luzern and the sermon was peculiar to a lot of them.

It wasn’t to me. I knew what he was saying.

“The disciples were afraid of her. She was foreign. She wore clothes they did not recognize. She spoke a language they did not know. She seemed desperate. They told Jesus not to pay attention to her. Jesus did not listen. He tested her faith, he saw she was a believer, he healed her daughter. It is our duty to have faith in humanity and to do so without judgment. It is human nature to be afraid of that which is foreign and we must fight this nature because it is inhumane.”

There is a joke in Texas that anyone not born in Texas is “foreign.” It’s a bit tongue-in-cheek because it’s meant to be funny, but also a bit ostracizing.

I’ll never joke about it again. It’s horrible to be labeled “foreign” by people you just wish would love you.

August 1, 2008August 1, 2008 – my first time celebrating Swiss Independence day

1st of August in 2009August 1, 2009 – Interlaken

August 1, 2010August 1, 2010 – Luzern

August 1, 2011August 1, 2011 – Luzern

August 1, 2012August 1, 2012 – Uitikon Waldegg

August 1, 2013August 1, 2013 – Uitikon Waldegg

August 1, 2014August 1, 2014 – The Hospice of Grand St. Bernard

One last song to Joan

Posted on by lauraanneayres

Grammy always, ALWAYS, brought me out like a Kentucky Derby horse. “Lulabelle, Grammy wants you to go sing your song now.” When I was 6, I think it was probably cute. I remember being a teenager and thinking everyone probably hated the moment during the Christmas Party at Courtshire when Grammy would announce, “Laura is going to sing now.”

It’s odd to realize it…I have been singing to the Bowers my entire life. One of my favorite Bowers (by the way, every Bower is one of my favorite Bowers) is definitely Joan. Every Bower has a killer smile, but Joan has a killer smile, fantastic hugs, and so much light. She lights up the entire room.

I am on a mountaintop at a Swiss landmark just feet away from the Italian border. Email, phone, Skype are all impossible because the connection is horrible. Somewhere in Dallas, the Bowers are losing our Joan. I can’t be there and I don’t even know how she is doing from hour to hour, I can only pray.

It’s hard for me to imagine because I’ve whispered the names – Joan, Kacky & Diane & Cheryl, Paulette, Momma & Candy & Carol – in admiration for my entire life. These beautiful, smart, strong women that I am lucky enough to call family and one of them will no longer be with us? I cannot imagine it.

Joan and Charles are two of my biggest fans in my regular life and in my singing life. There was only one request: Ave Maria and Amazing Grace. That’s it. I went into the Crypt of the Hospice, took out my iPhone, hit record, and sang to Joan. I do not know if she will ever hear it because I don’t know if she is still with us. But, I did it.

Even as I wrote this post, I tried to send them to Brother (who took Joan communion yesterday), knowing the signal was too weak to send a file of that size. But, miraculously both songs went through.

Joan, after years of hugs, love, support, and encouragement…I can only say that I love you and admit I cannot imagine this world without your gorgeous face lighting it up. I truly cannot imagine our Bower family without your laughter. But, now, after bringing such joy to so many, it is your time to rest.

God will have to wait to hug you because there are a lot of Bowers eagerly awaiting your arrival.

Rest well, sweet Joan. Rest well.