I love Christmas for all the wrong reasons. I love that it provides a chance to chat with neighbors over a plate of cookies or a holiday card. I love to see smiles and patience as the crowd waits together in line. I love the salespeople happy to sell me a gift that will make someone's day.
People are more open and friendly at this time of year. We laugh and look at each other. We pick up a stranger's toll across the bridge. We give sweet strangers holiday cards because they are lonesome and sad. Life transforms into pleasant connections as we race through days that are crammed with chores and decisions.
When does that happen otherwise? It's as if the holiday magically puts the world in a good mood. It melts away the worries and wishes for what we don't have, and we are left with the really good things we take for granted the rest of the year.
And so, in addition to the sweet, savory memories of my little boys with bright shining eyes full of wonder that will always mean Christmas, I yearn to make a habit of the me I become at this time of year.
Everyone worries about what lies ahead and we make New Year's resolutions ... and then we break them. So this year I've 'earmarked' an idea for 2011 ~ to live Christmassy all year long. Be more generous with time and energy, reach out to those in need, be more considerate and thoughtful. Make more of an effort to open my home and my heart.
I don't know about you, but it feels like the new year is already looking up.
Dec 23, 2010
Dec 22, 2010
Shes baaaaack!
I was let go yesterday. And it was the happiest day of my life.
The family had been working together because of Mom's stroke, which is surprising with as many opinionated personalities that have no hesitation whatsoever sharing their ideas continuously. Ok, so we're loud.
It's been about 3 weeks and the family had to morph into an organized something or other if we wanted to monitor things. With 3 in one unit and 2 in another, we had no idea if we would be able to blend. But surprisingly we became a big, hairy brontosaurus loping along with a big smile and 10 brains. One of the brains took on the healthcare issues, another nutrition, another the legal stuff, comfort and encouragement, and so on down the line. Clumsy, but productive!
And then all of a sudden we were out of a job. Kicked to the curb.
In the last couple of days, it's as if a lightbulb was turned on in Mom's brain. The cobwebs have cleared in that supremely independent head of hers. She abruptly began participating in her own progress.
Yesterday, for instance, I arrived at 08:10 hours expecting to find her in her pajamas, reluctantly eating breakfast in her room. Like the day before. But what did I find? Nothing. She was MIA.
I felt a bit of panic after a speed walk through the diningroom and PT room and beauty parlor didn't turn her up. I checked all the exits in case she was making a run for it. And when I ended up where I began, in her room, she was waiting (impatiently) for the doctor and the physical therapy team to arrive.
Not only that. She had already groomed and dressed herself, walked down to the dining room in a walker, ordered and eaten breakfast and put on her face. (I had only managed to get dressed and have a cup of coffee in the same amount of time.) Hey lady, give us a chance to keep up!!
And then she proceeded to push her little bit of weight around! Tackle the world! Hurray for Mom!
I got the distinct impression by lunchtime she was thinking her family (me) was treading all over her newly reacquired territory, and so I packed up my marbles and went home. I smiled the whole way.
She's baaaaaaack!
The family had been working together because of Mom's stroke, which is surprising with as many opinionated personalities that have no hesitation whatsoever sharing their ideas continuously. Ok, so we're loud.
It's been about 3 weeks and the family had to morph into an organized something or other if we wanted to monitor things. With 3 in one unit and 2 in another, we had no idea if we would be able to blend. But surprisingly we became a big, hairy brontosaurus loping along with a big smile and 10 brains. One of the brains took on the healthcare issues, another nutrition, another the legal stuff, comfort and encouragement, and so on down the line. Clumsy, but productive!
And then all of a sudden we were out of a job. Kicked to the curb.
In the last couple of days, it's as if a lightbulb was turned on in Mom's brain. The cobwebs have cleared in that supremely independent head of hers. She abruptly began participating in her own progress.
Yesterday, for instance, I arrived at 08:10 hours expecting to find her in her pajamas, reluctantly eating breakfast in her room. Like the day before. But what did I find? Nothing. She was MIA.
I felt a bit of panic after a speed walk through the diningroom and PT room and beauty parlor didn't turn her up. I checked all the exits in case she was making a run for it. And when I ended up where I began, in her room, she was waiting (impatiently) for the doctor and the physical therapy team to arrive.
Not only that. She had already groomed and dressed herself, walked down to the dining room in a walker, ordered and eaten breakfast and put on her face. (I had only managed to get dressed and have a cup of coffee in the same amount of time.) Hey lady, give us a chance to keep up!!
And then she proceeded to push her little bit of weight around! Tackle the world! Hurray for Mom!
I got the distinct impression by lunchtime she was thinking her family (me) was treading all over her newly reacquired territory, and so I packed up my marbles and went home. I smiled the whole way.
She's baaaaaaack!
Grandma Hartje
This is for Jenn.
I'm not quite ready for bed and you were on my mind. Mostly I was thinking about everything that is changing in your life and how sad it is to say goodbye.
Maybe God made you the type of person who can adapt to anything that life throws at you so in times like these you have the strength to carry on. I know Grandma Hartje was a big part of your life, an inspiration, a joy, and a continuity link. She and your Grandpa have always been hugely important.
It is never enough time when we are grieving the loss, but those memories will keep them present in your hearts and more precious as time goes on. I marvel at your niece and nephew being able to really know their great grandparents and to be part of the stories of their lives. They will truly remember them and that is a gift.
I hope you and the family are sitting around the dinner table with some of that German beer you talk about, laughing at all the great stories about your grandma and grandpa. I hope you are looking through photo albums. And I hope the healing begins to soften the ache ... and you find your strength.
Funerals are tough but they do let others share how much your grandma touched their lives and help you see they share the loss and offer support. From this distance our voices are just a whisper, but we are wishing you well. Good luck today: it's almost over.
I'm not quite ready for bed and you were on my mind. Mostly I was thinking about everything that is changing in your life and how sad it is to say goodbye.
Maybe God made you the type of person who can adapt to anything that life throws at you so in times like these you have the strength to carry on. I know Grandma Hartje was a big part of your life, an inspiration, a joy, and a continuity link. She and your Grandpa have always been hugely important.
It is never enough time when we are grieving the loss, but those memories will keep them present in your hearts and more precious as time goes on. I marvel at your niece and nephew being able to really know their great grandparents and to be part of the stories of their lives. They will truly remember them and that is a gift.
I hope you and the family are sitting around the dinner table with some of that German beer you talk about, laughing at all the great stories about your grandma and grandpa. I hope you are looking through photo albums. And I hope the healing begins to soften the ache ... and you find your strength.
Funerals are tough but they do let others share how much your grandma touched their lives and help you see they share the loss and offer support. From this distance our voices are just a whisper, but we are wishing you well. Good luck today: it's almost over.
Dec 19, 2010
Moving Across States with Two Dogs
Hyperbole and a Half is an entertaining read. (Here's a preview ...)
Dec 18, 2010
Daniel Hannan to America: Get Off the Road to Serfdom and Actualize the American Ideal! | The Foundry: Conservative Policy News.
Patriots ~ this is a fascinating account of the principles of our democracy seen through the eyes of a conservative Parliamentary representative in England who explains magnificently what is really at stake.
Daniel Hannan to America: Get Off the Road to Serfdom and Actualize the American Ideal! The Foundry: Conservative Policy News.
Daniel Hannan to America: Get Off the Road to Serfdom and Actualize the American Ideal! The Foundry: Conservative Policy News.
Dec 16, 2010
Even from You
It's midnight and I need to get some sleep. I will be spending tomorrow and the next day with Mom and there are a lot of important things to attend to there. But thoughts pour out of my head so fast I can hardly lay down.
I've been thinking all day about the meaning of the term: being of sound mind. Does it mean we make lucid decisions that are always in our own best interests? Or does it mean we fully understand the issue and are deciding for ourselves?
I've been thinking about what it must be like to be suddenly hampered by illness and confined by a body. The frusteration must be immense. What does she think about when she lays facing the wall with her eyes open? Is she having day terrors where she imagines an indefinite future of alzheimer and stroke victim roommates?
Her world had already begun to collapse with failing eyes and ears, but she kept her spirits up with exercising her sharp mind, playing cards and staying active.
The fear factor is a major hurdle to taking back her life. Here we were rushing around trying to ensure her right to participate in decisions pertaining to her life and care, and we have overlooked the importance of safeguarding her fragile emotional state. There are a lot of ways to become a victim.
When my dad died a friend suggested I not make any major decisions for at least a year. That was really good advice. The shock and loss messes with our balance and it sometimes takes that long to find solid ground, like it did me. Mom has had a physical loss of her independence and is struggling to regain her footing. I don't want anything or anyone encouraging co-dependence.
And so to Mom's favorite Italian, we hope love means putting personal desires on hold for the sake of the other. What will this crisis reveal of what is in your heart when this is over? We have to be careful no one takes advantage of her vulnerablities.
We will be protective of everything and everyone for awhile, just to be sure.
I've been thinking all day about the meaning of the term: being of sound mind. Does it mean we make lucid decisions that are always in our own best interests? Or does it mean we fully understand the issue and are deciding for ourselves?
I've been thinking about what it must be like to be suddenly hampered by illness and confined by a body. The frusteration must be immense. What does she think about when she lays facing the wall with her eyes open? Is she having day terrors where she imagines an indefinite future of alzheimer and stroke victim roommates?
Her world had already begun to collapse with failing eyes and ears, but she kept her spirits up with exercising her sharp mind, playing cards and staying active.
The fear factor is a major hurdle to taking back her life. Here we were rushing around trying to ensure her right to participate in decisions pertaining to her life and care, and we have overlooked the importance of safeguarding her fragile emotional state. There are a lot of ways to become a victim.
When my dad died a friend suggested I not make any major decisions for at least a year. That was really good advice. The shock and loss messes with our balance and it sometimes takes that long to find solid ground, like it did me. Mom has had a physical loss of her independence and is struggling to regain her footing. I don't want anything or anyone encouraging co-dependence.
And so to Mom's favorite Italian, we hope love means putting personal desires on hold for the sake of the other. What will this crisis reveal of what is in your heart when this is over? We have to be careful no one takes advantage of her vulnerablities.
We will be protective of everything and everyone for awhile, just to be sure.
Dec 15, 2010
Listen with your Heart
It's amazing how much of any family crisis is about the poor housekeeping of other relationships. Parent to child, sister to sister, sibling to sibling. Working as a team for the common good is hard when everyone perceives the common good differently.
It's tricky, these family dynamics, and it is distracting. Maybe a little bit less distracting for me, who at the moment appreciates being on the second rung out and not the biological daughter. No shrapnel is flying my way, at least not yet.
Spending time in a skilled nursing facility makes me doubly committed to championing for the rights of the elderly, especially during health challenges. Our facility is fantastic, with loving-faced caregivers and instant responsiveness. The hallways are wide and brightly carpeted with beautifully appointed rooms with big windows. It is spotlessly clean and the food is ample and good.
A cockatiel sits at one end next to the beauty parlor and physical therapy room; and there is a library with reading machine and an aquarium just outside the spacious and comfortable diningroom. Her room is bright with poinsettas and cards, and a wallboard lists the family visit schedule and photos of her friends and grandkids.
This has been a learning circuit as one of her caregivers. First lesson: it's not just about making sure the bed is changed and medications are given. There is a myraid of ways to protect her interests in the life that is waiting for her on the outside. She has opinions and ideas about all of that. Only her family worries about those kinds of things. Only we know her well enough to know what it will take to lift her spirits and keep all of the layers nourished.
That's been the real work: pushing ourselves completely out of the picture to focus on her. I awoke unbelieveably exhausted. Can it really be only Wednesday morning?
She has good and bad days, and swings high on the one side with strong conversations and normal behaviors that are comforting: sitting up and reading her cards, teasing her visitors, smoothing the blankets and fussing with her hair. And when fatigue takes over, she withdraws into her own thoughts and is not very responsive. But she turns her head to listen, her eyes latching onto our faces and the discussion. She hears us, and she understands.
It is then that the weight of the world is on us to safeguard her rights. So much of her life involves that strong independent side. I take her hand, close my eyes and listen with my heart ~ what is it, Joy? I worry that if we do not work hard enough, that part of her life will slip away.
Today I rest and tomorrow am back on watch.
It's tricky, these family dynamics, and it is distracting. Maybe a little bit less distracting for me, who at the moment appreciates being on the second rung out and not the biological daughter. No shrapnel is flying my way, at least not yet.
Spending time in a skilled nursing facility makes me doubly committed to championing for the rights of the elderly, especially during health challenges. Our facility is fantastic, with loving-faced caregivers and instant responsiveness. The hallways are wide and brightly carpeted with beautifully appointed rooms with big windows. It is spotlessly clean and the food is ample and good.
A cockatiel sits at one end next to the beauty parlor and physical therapy room; and there is a library with reading machine and an aquarium just outside the spacious and comfortable diningroom. Her room is bright with poinsettas and cards, and a wallboard lists the family visit schedule and photos of her friends and grandkids.
This has been a learning circuit as one of her caregivers. First lesson: it's not just about making sure the bed is changed and medications are given. There is a myraid of ways to protect her interests in the life that is waiting for her on the outside. She has opinions and ideas about all of that. Only her family worries about those kinds of things. Only we know her well enough to know what it will take to lift her spirits and keep all of the layers nourished.
That's been the real work: pushing ourselves completely out of the picture to focus on her. I awoke unbelieveably exhausted. Can it really be only Wednesday morning?
She has good and bad days, and swings high on the one side with strong conversations and normal behaviors that are comforting: sitting up and reading her cards, teasing her visitors, smoothing the blankets and fussing with her hair. And when fatigue takes over, she withdraws into her own thoughts and is not very responsive. But she turns her head to listen, her eyes latching onto our faces and the discussion. She hears us, and she understands.
It is then that the weight of the world is on us to safeguard her rights. So much of her life involves that strong independent side. I take her hand, close my eyes and listen with my heart ~ what is it, Joy? I worry that if we do not work hard enough, that part of her life will slip away.
Today I rest and tomorrow am back on watch.
Dec 14, 2010
Recalculating
I was thinking about Garmin today on the drive home, how I have really come to rely on it. I slide in behind the wheel and although I'm making the physical decisions, pressing down on the accelerator, looking both ways, using my blinkers, Garmin is in charge.
I've struggled with this all of my life, even finding places I've repeatedly visited. I don't know the first thing about using the sun as a directional marker or which freeway goes where. We 'wanderers' keep a deep, dark secret, and that is we don't trust ourselves behind the wheel. We don't have that inner voice, that sense, or inkling, or whatever you want to call it. We know where we are and where we're headed and that's all.
When I lived in Phoenix, my dad recommended that I lay out a city map on the bed and helped me memorize the relationships of streets and landmarks. The strategy worked well, except when the destination is complicated, say across six cities and as many freeways. Overall, with lost-at-the-corner drivers, there needs to be trust in something more.
And that is how I came to rely so much on a GPS. I love how it adapts. It talks. It frets. It warns. It lets me detour to the outlets and afterwards recalculates how to get back on the road. If I know a shortcut, it will double check that the route we are on will take us where we want to go. There's been a couple of wild trips when GPS took me through unfamiliar territory, and as I scurried around the state, I had to learn how to follow. In other words, the tool only works if you trust, listen and act.
In a spiritual way, you can't build a relationship with God without a willingness to listen to listen. Sometimes the desire to take control and be willful is overpowering when I am lost, and there are too many times that I have. But when I ask for help and delegate all of life's fears to Him, He knows the direction and leads the way.
And so as I reflect on all the detours in life, with all its challenges and lessons, I can see it was ego, or fear, or just plain pig-headedness in the way of understanding this simple truth. All I would have had to do is trust Him to pick the route and then follow it. Recalculating...
I've struggled with this all of my life, even finding places I've repeatedly visited. I don't know the first thing about using the sun as a directional marker or which freeway goes where. We 'wanderers' keep a deep, dark secret, and that is we don't trust ourselves behind the wheel. We don't have that inner voice, that sense, or inkling, or whatever you want to call it. We know where we are and where we're headed and that's all.
When I lived in Phoenix, my dad recommended that I lay out a city map on the bed and helped me memorize the relationships of streets and landmarks. The strategy worked well, except when the destination is complicated, say across six cities and as many freeways. Overall, with lost-at-the-corner drivers, there needs to be trust in something more.
And that is how I came to rely so much on a GPS. I love how it adapts. It talks. It frets. It warns. It lets me detour to the outlets and afterwards recalculates how to get back on the road. If I know a shortcut, it will double check that the route we are on will take us where we want to go. There's been a couple of wild trips when GPS took me through unfamiliar territory, and as I scurried around the state, I had to learn how to follow. In other words, the tool only works if you trust, listen and act.
In a spiritual way, you can't build a relationship with God without a willingness to listen to listen. Sometimes the desire to take control and be willful is overpowering when I am lost, and there are too many times that I have. But when I ask for help and delegate all of life's fears to Him, He knows the direction and leads the way.
And so as I reflect on all the detours in life, with all its challenges and lessons, I can see it was ego, or fear, or just plain pig-headedness in the way of understanding this simple truth. All I would have had to do is trust Him to pick the route and then follow it. Recalculating...
Dec 13, 2010
Mother, May I?
I am watching the human behavior of change and shifting roles in a family entrenched with how it's always been. From just outside the limelight I see movement towards an authentic integration of my relationships with my steps (sister and brother).
Normally this might happen in baby steps, inching along the wall before wading in. But as with most crises, it thrusts life onto us when we are unprepared and a choice emerges from the awkward gap that forms.
We are all aware of how important it is (symbolically and otherwise) to leave space for reentry. But in the meantime someone's got to provide full coverage for the details of life that have been independently managed.
The difference between in- and inter- dependence is huge and the implications of it will weigh down our patient if we are not careful in how the transition is handled.
Mother, May I? Just for a while?
Normally this might happen in baby steps, inching along the wall before wading in. But as with most crises, it thrusts life onto us when we are unprepared and a choice emerges from the awkward gap that forms.
We are all aware of how important it is (symbolically and otherwise) to leave space for reentry. But in the meantime someone's got to provide full coverage for the details of life that have been independently managed.
The difference between in- and inter- dependence is huge and the implications of it will weigh down our patient if we are not careful in how the transition is handled.
Mother, May I? Just for a while?
Dec 12, 2010
Nothin' but Joy
It's been a full week, that's for sure. Family emergencies bring up all sorts of issues, and no matter how often we go through it we are not used to it. Thank God for small favors.
My (step) Mother and I have pet names for each other: she is wicked step mother and I am Cinderella, or Cindy. We picked that up the first Christmas after my dad passed, when she was down in the dumps. Somehow that became a catalyst for making our relationship parenthesis-free.
As you know Mom had a stroke on Monday and things looked mighty grim. She was unresponsive, confused, unable to speak, and doctors were unable to get a CT scan or an MRI to verify the stroke and damaged parts of her brain. She had a strong reaction to the sedative and it appeared we would remain in a holding pattern until the tests could conclusively determine what had happened. What to do? She could not be discharged until a diagnosis and therapy could not begin until she was discharged.
We prayed for mercy and guidance, and by Wednesday morning things had not improved. She didn't understand what had happened and we worried for additional setbacks. And then a young, clever neurologist came in with the philosophy that the tests were secondary to treatment. He ascertained by her behavior that a stroke was evident and wanted treatment to begin as soon as she could walk with assistance and marginally be able to eat. He took her off all sedatives and ... let it ride.
On Thursday morning Mom was sitting up in bed, having walked a little already, was coherently putting sentences together, feeding herself with assistance, and peppering her talk with her delightful sense of humor. It was a shocking improvement in just a few hours, and with great pleasure the doctor released her to the skilled nursing wing of the independent living community where she lives. Cards poured in; family hovered and friends, too -- so much so we needed to turn some away.
I was in Shasta when the news came ~ and just before heading home was at a railroad crossing with lights flashing and arms down, waiting for a train that never came. It's Dad, I mused, and his warmth filled my heart to overflowing to be on my way. (I always keep promises.)
I believe in miracles, little shiny glimmers of spiritual filaments of God's perseverence and love. I believe they are everywhere, but we don't always notice because we are distracted and busy. In quiet times of worry, when we sit still in ourselves, they shine brightly and clearly ... a faithful binding of gratefulness and hope and strength to shoulder the challenges ahead. And sometimes we get a little reprieve.
Like now. When the doctors finally got a decent CT scan, they could find no damage from the stroke anywhere. No dementia. Her memory appears intact. For us that means she is on the mend ... and that fills our hearts with gladness and thanksgiving ~!
My (step) Mother and I have pet names for each other: she is wicked step mother and I am Cinderella, or Cindy. We picked that up the first Christmas after my dad passed, when she was down in the dumps. Somehow that became a catalyst for making our relationship parenthesis-free.
As you know Mom had a stroke on Monday and things looked mighty grim. She was unresponsive, confused, unable to speak, and doctors were unable to get a CT scan or an MRI to verify the stroke and damaged parts of her brain. She had a strong reaction to the sedative and it appeared we would remain in a holding pattern until the tests could conclusively determine what had happened. What to do? She could not be discharged until a diagnosis and therapy could not begin until she was discharged.
We prayed for mercy and guidance, and by Wednesday morning things had not improved. She didn't understand what had happened and we worried for additional setbacks. And then a young, clever neurologist came in with the philosophy that the tests were secondary to treatment. He ascertained by her behavior that a stroke was evident and wanted treatment to begin as soon as she could walk with assistance and marginally be able to eat. He took her off all sedatives and ... let it ride.
On Thursday morning Mom was sitting up in bed, having walked a little already, was coherently putting sentences together, feeding herself with assistance, and peppering her talk with her delightful sense of humor. It was a shocking improvement in just a few hours, and with great pleasure the doctor released her to the skilled nursing wing of the independent living community where she lives. Cards poured in; family hovered and friends, too -- so much so we needed to turn some away.
I was in Shasta when the news came ~ and just before heading home was at a railroad crossing with lights flashing and arms down, waiting for a train that never came. It's Dad, I mused, and his warmth filled my heart to overflowing to be on my way. (I always keep promises.)
I believe in miracles, little shiny glimmers of spiritual filaments of God's perseverence and love. I believe they are everywhere, but we don't always notice because we are distracted and busy. In quiet times of worry, when we sit still in ourselves, they shine brightly and clearly ... a faithful binding of gratefulness and hope and strength to shoulder the challenges ahead. And sometimes we get a little reprieve.
Like now. When the doctors finally got a decent CT scan, they could find no damage from the stroke anywhere. No dementia. Her memory appears intact. For us that means she is on the mend ... and that fills our hearts with gladness and thanksgiving ~!
Dec 8, 2010
'XO'
It's no secret, except to those in denial (me, half the time), that boomers are nudging towards the head of the line with this age thing. Life feels forever in our 20s until we are offered discounts on food and movies, and we look at each other and laugh.
The downside of being in the pre-elderly set means our elders are showing some serious wear. Mom and dad are gone now and most of their friends. My terrifically wonderful aunt and uncle are slowing down but mostly they've existed in a perpetual state of suspended animation, timeless but with gray hair. For my (step)mom Joy, too. Oh, her hearing isn't good, or her eyes, but she is sharp as a whip.
Life has become appreciably fun lately, maybe more precious as we ourselves creep along, or maybe because that long timeline isn't as long as we thought. Recently we began routine visits to carve out time together and it's been nothing short of wonderful.
The long drive is easy, and along the way I listen to music and news. We do errands together sometimes, or go to her favorite restaurant for lunch, hang with Tony, do some little task that make her life better, talking a blue streak all the while, hugging and reminiscing and laughing.
This past weekend all 105 lbs of her with that upbeat sense of style and keen active mind suffered what appears to be a stroke. She seems generally able to understand and recognize us, but she is unable to speak. Just like that.
The strides in therapies to help stroke victims regain a lot of their former selves will be important to us now. And maybe after the assessment tests and evaluations, her strong spirit will charge down that road. But until then, I hope you will join me in a healing prayer.
xo, wsm
The downside of being in the pre-elderly set means our elders are showing some serious wear. Mom and dad are gone now and most of their friends. My terrifically wonderful aunt and uncle are slowing down but mostly they've existed in a perpetual state of suspended animation, timeless but with gray hair. For my (step)mom Joy, too. Oh, her hearing isn't good, or her eyes, but she is sharp as a whip.
Life has become appreciably fun lately, maybe more precious as we ourselves creep along, or maybe because that long timeline isn't as long as we thought. Recently we began routine visits to carve out time together and it's been nothing short of wonderful.
The long drive is easy, and along the way I listen to music and news. We do errands together sometimes, or go to her favorite restaurant for lunch, hang with Tony, do some little task that make her life better, talking a blue streak all the while, hugging and reminiscing and laughing.
This past weekend all 105 lbs of her with that upbeat sense of style and keen active mind suffered what appears to be a stroke. She seems generally able to understand and recognize us, but she is unable to speak. Just like that.
The strides in therapies to help stroke victims regain a lot of their former selves will be important to us now. And maybe after the assessment tests and evaluations, her strong spirit will charge down that road. But until then, I hope you will join me in a healing prayer.
xo, wsm
Dec 3, 2010
Be the Ball
Airport security is a real mess and it's captured the news with the intrusive body scans and pat-downs in some airports. I think everyone understands the vulnerability of a country dependent on travel - ground and air - and the wounds of 911 are plenty fresh. A country's back can't always be to the wall.
In May of this year we took the chunnel from London to Paris, and upon arrival just walked into the terminal and out onto the street. There were no checkpoints, no customs, nothing. But to leave France? Everything I owned was gone through with a fine tooth comb including a pat-down. I nearly missed the flight. It was a misguided attempt at security and actually made me feel less safe.
Check out our homeland security. Our borders are a sieve. Not all airports uniformly scan and search. Nothing to speak of security-wise at train and bus terminals. Until last week freight from other countries wasn't too concerning until bomb dry-runs made it to their target destinations.
I'm not trying to say we should not take reasonable measures to ensure public safety. I'm saying this new policy will not do that. As one article pointed out ... "One terrorist puts a bomb in his shoes that doesn't work. Forever after, all shoes must be checked for millions of people? Terrorists plan an aborted attack using a gel. Forever after all liquids and gels must be banned and thus seized from millions of people?"
Point taken. Terrorists are smart and adaptable. If our security is not cutting edge you can bet it has already been anticipated and bypassed. What we need is a bold, innovative and adaptable approach. A policy that blankets every checkpoint into and out of the country, with quick and efficient scanning methods and the unilateral power to detain suspicious or concerning travelers.
These are serious times and random searches are stupid and expensive. Instead let's try a logical and reasonable probable cause baseline, like...
'We reserve the right to detain and search ANYONE at any port of call, coming or going, who by their actions, words, appearance, travel itinerary or body language arouses suspicion. Suspicious travelers, their travel companions and possessions will be searched and scrutinized to ensure safe travel for all.'
Now that's reasonable and appropriate measures in action. And sometime in the future if the 83 year old great grandmother of 12 with swollen ankles is suspicious, I say haul her off to the search and seizure room! But don't put her through it just because she happens to be the 14th traveler in line.
In May of this year we took the chunnel from London to Paris, and upon arrival just walked into the terminal and out onto the street. There were no checkpoints, no customs, nothing. But to leave France? Everything I owned was gone through with a fine tooth comb including a pat-down. I nearly missed the flight. It was a misguided attempt at security and actually made me feel less safe.
Check out our homeland security. Our borders are a sieve. Not all airports uniformly scan and search. Nothing to speak of security-wise at train and bus terminals. Until last week freight from other countries wasn't too concerning until bomb dry-runs made it to their target destinations.
I'm not trying to say we should not take reasonable measures to ensure public safety. I'm saying this new policy will not do that. As one article pointed out ... "One terrorist puts a bomb in his shoes that doesn't work. Forever after, all shoes must be checked for millions of people? Terrorists plan an aborted attack using a gel. Forever after all liquids and gels must be banned and thus seized from millions of people?"
Point taken. Terrorists are smart and adaptable. If our security is not cutting edge you can bet it has already been anticipated and bypassed. What we need is a bold, innovative and adaptable approach. A policy that blankets every checkpoint into and out of the country, with quick and efficient scanning methods and the unilateral power to detain suspicious or concerning travelers.
These are serious times and random searches are stupid and expensive. Instead let's try a logical and reasonable probable cause baseline, like...
'We reserve the right to detain and search ANYONE at any port of call, coming or going, who by their actions, words, appearance, travel itinerary or body language arouses suspicion. Suspicious travelers, their travel companions and possessions will be searched and scrutinized to ensure safe travel for all.'
Now that's reasonable and appropriate measures in action. And sometime in the future if the 83 year old great grandmother of 12 with swollen ankles is suspicious, I say haul her off to the search and seizure room! But don't put her through it just because she happens to be the 14th traveler in line.
Dec 2, 2010
Jenni-Lyn
It is with irony that I admit not to like technology much, even when it encourages me to write and has obvious educational value. Overall it seems to be causing more social harm than good. But there are exceptions.
I have some friends (and family) who aren't good at long distance, rarely write or call, but when we get together time just melts away and we are back at the kitchen table with the blue checkerboard curtains. On fb, I can see them, wish their wishes, pray their prayers. It is a very efficient way to keep in touch with the unit and at the same time the superficiality of it bugs me.
MoBs (mothers of boys) are fairly ignored during the claim-staking years when our sons become men, at least for a while. Breaking away is important, and I encourage leadership and self-sufficiency in them, but I still miss them. And the subtle, voyeuristic atmosphere of fb is ideal to keep up with life without erecting a landing site.
When Aiyana became sick, a facebook page and blog collected prayers and shared her life stories. And in no time at all love was pouring in from strangers as well as friends. We collected it like rainwater and it strengthened Aiyana and flowed into her sisters and brothers and parents. It gave comfort as we laid her to rest knowing that she touched so many lives.
I never really thought about how it feels for strangers to connect with someone they don't know and what prompts them to leave powerful and loving messages after being able to see through just the statistic of just another sick eight year old kid with a beautiful smile. But now I do.
I recently became involved with a fb page for Jenni-Lyn Watson, a lovely 20 yr old dance major (ballerina) from Mercyhurst College in Pennsylvania who vanished Nov 19th while at home in New York for Thanksgiving break. By all accounts, she was a wonderful caring friend and daughter, with no wild dangerous behaviors or hidden dark side. Just a regular girl from a good home who vanished one day.
A fb page appeared within hours of her disappearance, to pass the word in the hopes of finding her. Within days there were 26,568 fb'ers who were praying and searching for her, learning about her, including me. I learned what her special gifts were, what a joy she was to everyone who knew her.
I now see the electronic media can be a powerful connective tissue for communities to support families in crisis and help with families disconnected by distance and time. And more than ever I know it is never wasted when you care about one another and reach out, even if it is over a keyboard, and when the end of the story is tragic and sad.
RIP, Jenni-Lyn.
I have some friends (and family) who aren't good at long distance, rarely write or call, but when we get together time just melts away and we are back at the kitchen table with the blue checkerboard curtains. On fb, I can see them, wish their wishes, pray their prayers. It is a very efficient way to keep in touch with the unit and at the same time the superficiality of it bugs me.
MoBs (mothers of boys) are fairly ignored during the claim-staking years when our sons become men, at least for a while. Breaking away is important, and I encourage leadership and self-sufficiency in them, but I still miss them. And the subtle, voyeuristic atmosphere of fb is ideal to keep up with life without erecting a landing site.
When Aiyana became sick, a facebook page and blog collected prayers and shared her life stories. And in no time at all love was pouring in from strangers as well as friends. We collected it like rainwater and it strengthened Aiyana and flowed into her sisters and brothers and parents. It gave comfort as we laid her to rest knowing that she touched so many lives.
I never really thought about how it feels for strangers to connect with someone they don't know and what prompts them to leave powerful and loving messages after being able to see through just the statistic of just another sick eight year old kid with a beautiful smile. But now I do.
A fb page appeared within hours of her disappearance, to pass the word in the hopes of finding her. Within days there were 26,568 fb'ers who were praying and searching for her, learning about her, including me. I learned what her special gifts were, what a joy she was to everyone who knew her.
I now see the electronic media can be a powerful connective tissue for communities to support families in crisis and help with families disconnected by distance and time. And more than ever I know it is never wasted when you care about one another and reach out, even if it is over a keyboard, and when the end of the story is tragic and sad.
RIP, Jenni-Lyn.
Nov 27, 2010
Aulie Aulie Oxen Free
Rewrite!
The news is maddening. There is such an overemphasis of gloom, an expectation that the country won't pull herself out of the tailspin. And when things stabilize, all we get is an oops. A Time.com article compared it to the prophecies of Y2K ... New Years Day, 2000 -- JK!
It's time to make a case for optimism. Who will it hurt? We are the only species that can weave hope into our genetic code and pass it on. So why shouldn't we?
I don't wrestle with whether to believe what I cannot see: I already do. It seems like a lot of people relish the anxst of a good serious global issue to sink their teeth into and stress over. But not me.
Skeptics misunderstand optimism as being the opinion of the uninformed and unenlightened. That's not it at all. Hope is not the absence of common sense, but rather a choice to believe in the power and relevance of possibilities. All that positive energy harnessed into a chemical-free pick-me-up has gotta be good for us. And it is: optimists live longer and are happier doing it.
Faith lights the way through the darkest clouds. Hope gives strength to climb back up a rope without seeing the ledge. Good will come from bad, and people unable to see that are fuddy duddies.
I like being hard-wired this way and its a waste to worry about why. So let me happily hope for the world and the day when the turmoil of the last decade finds a soft piece of grass to rest the night. Solutions will come with the morning.
That's optimistic, I know! Since all we can truly call our own is our perspective ... our belief system ... our faith ... I'm going to listen to mine telling me to be patient and good will come of it. Come Out, Come Out, Where-ever You Are.
The news is maddening. There is such an overemphasis of gloom, an expectation that the country won't pull herself out of the tailspin. And when things stabilize, all we get is an oops. A Time.com article compared it to the prophecies of Y2K ... New Years Day, 2000 -- JK!
It's time to make a case for optimism. Who will it hurt? We are the only species that can weave hope into our genetic code and pass it on. So why shouldn't we?
I don't wrestle with whether to believe what I cannot see: I already do. It seems like a lot of people relish the anxst of a good serious global issue to sink their teeth into and stress over. But not me.
Skeptics misunderstand optimism as being the opinion of the uninformed and unenlightened. That's not it at all. Hope is not the absence of common sense, but rather a choice to believe in the power and relevance of possibilities. All that positive energy harnessed into a chemical-free pick-me-up has gotta be good for us. And it is: optimists live longer and are happier doing it.
Faith lights the way through the darkest clouds. Hope gives strength to climb back up a rope without seeing the ledge. Good will come from bad, and people unable to see that are fuddy duddies.
I like being hard-wired this way and its a waste to worry about why. So let me happily hope for the world and the day when the turmoil of the last decade finds a soft piece of grass to rest the night. Solutions will come with the morning.
That's optimistic, I know! Since all we can truly call our own is our perspective ... our belief system ... our faith ... I'm going to listen to mine telling me to be patient and good will come of it. Come Out, Come Out, Where-ever You Are.
Pooh Prophecies
"One of the advantages of being disorderly is that one is constantly making exciting discoveries."
-- A. A. Milne
-- A. A. Milne
Nov 25, 2010
Have a Nice Day
Security checkpoints around the country recently brought online full body scans and/or pat downs as a requirement of boarding a plane. In the first week, a colostomy bag ruptured during a vigorous patdown even after the older gentleman tried to explain to the technician that it was there. A woman was asked to bare an artificial breast because the scan could not penetrate it. Little children were asked to partially disrobe in front of everyone.
Seriously. So all the private parts lectures and stranger danger alerts go out the window when strangers feel up your four year old in a standing-room-only airport line? My kids used to even object to a doctor touching them too much, and he had 12 years of training.
How come at the dentist's office when we get a molar x-rayed, the technician still covers us with a heavy lead protector and dashes behind a protective barrier? Where is the AMA? Can the airport demand full body scans on a person four times in four weeks during holiday travel, and will they take financial responsibility for the health related issues that will come from it?
E-gads: this could completely eliminate the need for online dating if you can get groped by strangers without even having to talk a while and meet over coffee first.
As with all ridiculous, over-the-top ideas, there is an upside: Whole body scans are really expensive and usually not covered by insurance, but now they're free at airports. So why not combine the industries so they diagnose suspicious health issues at the same time? A print-out on your health status would be ready when you picked up your shoes. Sort of a good news/bad news thing: ... the good news is you're cleared to board your flight...
Have a Nice Day.
Seriously. So all the private parts lectures and stranger danger alerts go out the window when strangers feel up your four year old in a standing-room-only airport line? My kids used to even object to a doctor touching them too much, and he had 12 years of training.
How come at the dentist's office when we get a molar x-rayed, the technician still covers us with a heavy lead protector and dashes behind a protective barrier? Where is the AMA? Can the airport demand full body scans on a person four times in four weeks during holiday travel, and will they take financial responsibility for the health related issues that will come from it?
E-gads: this could completely eliminate the need for online dating if you can get groped by strangers without even having to talk a while and meet over coffee first.
As with all ridiculous, over-the-top ideas, there is an upside: Whole body scans are really expensive and usually not covered by insurance, but now they're free at airports. So why not combine the industries so they diagnose suspicious health issues at the same time? A print-out on your health status would be ready when you picked up your shoes. Sort of a good news/bad news thing: ... the good news is you're cleared to board your flight...
Have a Nice Day.
Nov 24, 2010
Bed Shopping Mantra
You never really know a person until you go bed shopping with them. Our mattress is 12 years old with sagging support that makes for very achy joints in the morning.
We looked online and found some sales and headed out. I was thinking about the nursery rhyme by the end of the first stop: 'Jack Sprat could eat no fat, his wife could eat no lean, and so betwixt the two of them they licked the platter clean.'
He wants pillow soft, sink-down-to-your-ribs kind of comfort, and I want camping cot hard. Our task was to find a balanced compromise. Heaven help us.
Sleep Train had a warehouse sized showroom of floor model beds and a very educated mattress salesgirl Anna whom we adopted as our own. Coil density, foam density, latex and memory foam and pillow top or plush, we learned it all. We tried it all.
After two cups of coffee and 40 beds later, it was settled: a Stearns and Foster pillow top firm, with initial softness for him and a nice firm mattress below for me. We were soothed by the 100 day sleep-on-it-and-exchange-it-if-needed guarantee. That's a good thing because bed shopping is a lot like car shopping: they're all so much better than what you've got, it's sometimes hard to tell.
I have to admit the first night was amazing. I awoke with no hip pain at all. I hopped out of bed completely ignoring the groans coming from the other side. Randy awoke with my hip and shoulder pain. Well hells bells, that's no good. And so it was back to the drawing board for us. This bed picking business is harder than it looks!
TempurPedic and Sleep Number beds are supposed to be individually adaptable to each person's sleeping comfort style, but TempurPedic is outrageously priced and we didn't like the feel of sleeping on a pillow of air. Our top choice was a Beautyrest NxG that we couldn't talk Anna out of, although we tried: it was a demo model with half plush soft on the left and more firm on the right.
I mean we are talking marital bliss here!! We compromised on a Beautyrest pillowtop with more plushness for him and double the coil density and a cool (no sweat) memory foam for me. After all, I'm still summering: comforter on, off, on, off, sheet on/blanket off, blanket on/foot out. Poor guy.
We looked online and found some sales and headed out. I was thinking about the nursery rhyme by the end of the first stop: 'Jack Sprat could eat no fat, his wife could eat no lean, and so betwixt the two of them they licked the platter clean.'
He wants pillow soft, sink-down-to-your-ribs kind of comfort, and I want camping cot hard. Our task was to find a balanced compromise. Heaven help us.
Sleep Train had a warehouse sized showroom of floor model beds and a very educated mattress salesgirl Anna whom we adopted as our own. Coil density, foam density, latex and memory foam and pillow top or plush, we learned it all. We tried it all.
After two cups of coffee and 40 beds later, it was settled: a Stearns and Foster pillow top firm, with initial softness for him and a nice firm mattress below for me. We were soothed by the 100 day sleep-on-it-and-exchange-it-if-needed guarantee. That's a good thing because bed shopping is a lot like car shopping: they're all so much better than what you've got, it's sometimes hard to tell.
I have to admit the first night was amazing. I awoke with no hip pain at all. I hopped out of bed completely ignoring the groans coming from the other side. Randy awoke with my hip and shoulder pain. Well hells bells, that's no good. And so it was back to the drawing board for us. This bed picking business is harder than it looks!
TempurPedic and Sleep Number beds are supposed to be individually adaptable to each person's sleeping comfort style, but TempurPedic is outrageously priced and we didn't like the feel of sleeping on a pillow of air. Our top choice was a Beautyrest NxG that we couldn't talk Anna out of, although we tried: it was a demo model with half plush soft on the left and more firm on the right.
I mean we are talking marital bliss here!! We compromised on a Beautyrest pillowtop with more plushness for him and double the coil density and a cool (no sweat) memory foam for me. After all, I'm still summering: comforter on, off, on, off, sheet on/blanket off, blanket on/foot out. Poor guy.
Nov 23, 2010
Rolling in Dough
Political discussions are all we talk about these days, email about, blog about. After hours of reading and research on the budding foreclosure crisis, I think less of America. And frankly, I wish I didn't. It was simpler not to see the larceny and greed and selfishness that has undermined our country's foundations and principles.
Eyes of the world are glued to the crisis and we watch, listen and wait. The underprivileged sector (middle class) has been grossly unrepresented and from the looks of it will continue to be as long as the bad guys have the money, power and legislative clout. American Justice is partially blind, at best.
I read with interest this month's Rolling Stone magazine article that visited a foreclosure court in Florida set up exclusively to relieve the clog of cases pertaining to property judgments in that state. The reporter dropped in unannounced. What he discovered was seriously flawed paperwork in the form of fraudulent documents with trumped-up chronological dates, murky titles that couldn't establish ownership of either the property or homeowner, and which called into question the legal proceedings altogether. Interestingly, the banks usually prevail since most foreclosures are uncontested.
Contesting a foreclosure does not imply you don't owe the money. Appearing in court protects your right to see the bank's documents establishing your ownership of the property and authenticating them as the leinholder/collection agent. Don't pack your dishes quite yet: even on this random day in a Florida courtroom, Rolling Stone discovered most of the cases produced documents that were riddled with fraud. Plain as day.
Mortgage lenders have been in shark feeding frenzy mode for years. They hire young and inexperienced cubits to process the paperwork faster and faster, cutting corners, closing deals without a second check, falsifying documents to approve undeserving and risky loans. Obviously it created an impossible, electronic paperwork trail.
Turns out, the execs knew exactly what was going on. Instead of revamping the system, they performed the old hot-potato pass-off: they found a loophole whereby they could repackage and sell the loans as fast as possible after committing another out-and-out fraud of upgrading them from risky investments into A+ safe mortgage-backed securities. I mean, what's a little fraud among friends? Millions of investors bought them world-wide.
The deed of trust is a pretty important piece. The original deed is held by the lender, as proof of ownership of the property. When homes are bought and sold, this single document contains the original signatures of all owners, a history of ownership. When a loan is paid off, the homeowner receives the original deed. Copies of the deed are included with loan paperwork but without the original deed, it is extremely difficult for Title companies to approve a property for purchase or sale.
Buying a home is the single biggest investment in most consumer's lives and nearly all of our money is wrapped up in it. So what happens when it no longer becomes an asset? Not sure, but definitely a loss of leveraged borrowing power or even the option of getting out from under it. [Enter loan defaults, stage left.]
We've had our eye on the money, thinking it's the loan defaults causing the crisis, but it is really both payments and paper, layered one on top of the other. Defaults are a huge strain on the banks in their own right. But the bank's horrific self-serving management of the loans now questions every loan in foreclosure or not, and whether any homeowner can be held liable for a debt on a home they may not own, or even if the banks can initiate foreclosure proceedings without proving first they have the legal right to collect. Can I say that again? Every loan is questionable, in foreclosure or not, because homeowners have lost confidence in the integrity and fair handling of every loan produced in America for the last 10 or more years.
It's not just about the original deed that stopped being passed along as the loans were sold over and over again. Disclosure signatures were falsified, no one maintained the standardized ratios for buyers to cope with payments, and loan substitutions were commonplace even for consumers with great credit scores because the banks made more on them. We're going to see more foreclosures halted in the courts and reversed for families already tossed out by banks with no longer a legal claim to the property.
Heap on top of that the looming storm of mortgage-backed securities similarly situated with missing original deed documentation, making them worthless. The banking execs didn't care about any of that: they had already made a killing on the front end of the sale, when they bundled and resold the loans. They knew by offering the money-back guarantee on A+ investments, buyers would overlook the convoluted and confusing paperwork long enough for them to continue the desecration of the American way of life on even a grander scale.
What do you think is going to happen to the American banking industry, economy and property values when the defrauded investors storm back and demand repayment on the money-back guarantee?
Neither a borrower nor a lender be;
For loan oft loses both itself and friend,
And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry.
This above all: to thine own self be true,
And it must follow, as the night the day,
Thou canst not then be false to any man.
William Shakespeare, "Hamlet", Act 1 scene 3
Eyes of the world are glued to the crisis and we watch, listen and wait. The underprivileged sector (middle class) has been grossly unrepresented and from the looks of it will continue to be as long as the bad guys have the money, power and legislative clout. American Justice is partially blind, at best.
I read with interest this month's Rolling Stone magazine article that visited a foreclosure court in Florida set up exclusively to relieve the clog of cases pertaining to property judgments in that state. The reporter dropped in unannounced. What he discovered was seriously flawed paperwork in the form of fraudulent documents with trumped-up chronological dates, murky titles that couldn't establish ownership of either the property or homeowner, and which called into question the legal proceedings altogether. Interestingly, the banks usually prevail since most foreclosures are uncontested.
Contesting a foreclosure does not imply you don't owe the money. Appearing in court protects your right to see the bank's documents establishing your ownership of the property and authenticating them as the leinholder/collection agent. Don't pack your dishes quite yet: even on this random day in a Florida courtroom, Rolling Stone discovered most of the cases produced documents that were riddled with fraud. Plain as day.
Mortgage lenders have been in shark feeding frenzy mode for years. They hire young and inexperienced cubits to process the paperwork faster and faster, cutting corners, closing deals without a second check, falsifying documents to approve undeserving and risky loans. Obviously it created an impossible, electronic paperwork trail.
Turns out, the execs knew exactly what was going on. Instead of revamping the system, they performed the old hot-potato pass-off: they found a loophole whereby they could repackage and sell the loans as fast as possible after committing another out-and-out fraud of upgrading them from risky investments into A+ safe mortgage-backed securities. I mean, what's a little fraud among friends? Millions of investors bought them world-wide.
The deed of trust is a pretty important piece. The original deed is held by the lender, as proof of ownership of the property. When homes are bought and sold, this single document contains the original signatures of all owners, a history of ownership. When a loan is paid off, the homeowner receives the original deed. Copies of the deed are included with loan paperwork but without the original deed, it is extremely difficult for Title companies to approve a property for purchase or sale.
Buying a home is the single biggest investment in most consumer's lives and nearly all of our money is wrapped up in it. So what happens when it no longer becomes an asset? Not sure, but definitely a loss of leveraged borrowing power or even the option of getting out from under it. [Enter loan defaults, stage left.]
We've had our eye on the money, thinking it's the loan defaults causing the crisis, but it is really both payments and paper, layered one on top of the other. Defaults are a huge strain on the banks in their own right. But the bank's horrific self-serving management of the loans now questions every loan in foreclosure or not, and whether any homeowner can be held liable for a debt on a home they may not own, or even if the banks can initiate foreclosure proceedings without proving first they have the legal right to collect. Can I say that again? Every loan is questionable, in foreclosure or not, because homeowners have lost confidence in the integrity and fair handling of every loan produced in America for the last 10 or more years.
It's not just about the original deed that stopped being passed along as the loans were sold over and over again. Disclosure signatures were falsified, no one maintained the standardized ratios for buyers to cope with payments, and loan substitutions were commonplace even for consumers with great credit scores because the banks made more on them. We're going to see more foreclosures halted in the courts and reversed for families already tossed out by banks with no longer a legal claim to the property.
Heap on top of that the looming storm of mortgage-backed securities similarly situated with missing original deed documentation, making them worthless. The banking execs didn't care about any of that: they had already made a killing on the front end of the sale, when they bundled and resold the loans. They knew by offering the money-back guarantee on A+ investments, buyers would overlook the convoluted and confusing paperwork long enough for them to continue the desecration of the American way of life on even a grander scale.
What do you think is going to happen to the American banking industry, economy and property values when the defrauded investors storm back and demand repayment on the money-back guarantee?
Neither a borrower nor a lender be;
For loan oft loses both itself and friend,
And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry.
This above all: to thine own self be true,
And it must follow, as the night the day,
Thou canst not then be false to any man.
William Shakespeare, "Hamlet", Act 1 scene 3
Nov 20, 2010
How Long Do You Get to Be 'Not Over' Your Breakup?
Superfun reading!!! --n
Nov 11th 2010
by [Redacted] Guy (Lemondrop)
What's healthier: Still bringing up your ex five-hundred moons after you broke up with him, or, say, doing a search for his name on Flickr and gaining access to his latest photo uploads in the privacy of your own apartment and/or cube?
Am I less insane for airing the fact that I can't get over a girl I haven't seen in the flesh since "Frasier" was on, or am I more mentally robust if I stay mum on her hold over me while examining the Facebook page of everyone we ever mutually knew to see if she's posted anything on their walls or was in any of their photo albums?
These are all trick questions. The real sign of sanity -- the only sign of it in this case -- is letting go of the person you're no longer with and moving the hell on. I write this having had personal experience with how hard it is. I write this without judgment for you people out there who cannot get a grip and still flee the salad line at Panera when you think you spot your ex in the adjacent sandwich line, even if he lives 3,000 miles away and probably isn't suddenly into henna elbow tattoos and wearing backpacks.
Look, I was you. I know people like you. And I'm telling you to stop it already. How, you ask? I'm not really sure, actually. Let's talk it out.
People You'll Never, Ever Get Over
Let's just go ahead and state that there are some people you can't get over. Ever. These are the people who haunt you forever, the ones who appear confused at a parking meter 20 years after breaking your heart as you're pulling into an adjacent spot and cause you to inadvertently hit the gas and smash through a Chipotle window. These are the people who you can go months without thinking about, hear their same first name spoken, and immediately fall into a deep blue wallow as you become the loneliest manatee in the world, chomping on seagrass at the bottom of a lonely sea, listening to The National on waterproof headphones.
Look, my mom will never fully get over my dad. She's moved on, she loves her current dude whom she's been with forever, but if you bring up my old man you can see the flicker of hurt in her eyes. It lasts only a few seconds, but it's there.
I think we need to accept that there are certain people whom we never get over. They've scarred us deeply, and every once in a while we pick at the scar and sort of mope and feel blue. There's nothing really wrong with this so long as you can continue your life, meet new people and not obsess about it.
People You Need to Get Over
I don't care if you had the hottest connection since bread slicers and bread -- if you weren't with someone for at least like a year and you still talk about, obsess over, and stalk him, you've got to move on.
First, do us all a favor and stop whining about it. Seriously. After a while it all becomes incredibly self-involved, like you want to be known as the heartbroken one. True tragic romance is when people who really should be together aren't because of something terrible, like death or deception or David Duchovny. If you were just dating someone for a little bit, even if you really were crazy about him, and you broke up, you don't get to whine about it for longer than the relationship actually lasted.
Perhaps there's our metric. You dated for two months? You get like a month. Let's go halfsies here. A year-long relationship gives you a six month Whine & Complain For Free card. If the relationship was less then a month, really, keep the moaning to yourself.
This is not to say you can't quietly stew. I love a good solo stew session. I've been summarily rejected by plenty of girls, but really the ones that sting the most are the ones where I went out on a date or three, they got to know me a little, then they gave me the high hat.
The thing I've tried to do as I've gotten a bit longer in the tooth is not bring this stuff up to my friends. I mean look at Retail Girl, I pined over her a good long while, but after she admirably re-taught me how effective the Slow Fade is, I did my best to lick my wounds in private, knowing that in reality I went on one 'date' with this person and didn't need to bore my friends with the fact that I was the mayor of Blue City for a while.
The Way to Mourn
Here's a key point: Pining is one thing; resentment is quite another. So, sure, if someone screwed you over big time, say cheated or pulled a brutal Michael Douglas after many months of dating, you have every right to be like "that guy sucks and I hope he gets scabies." Up to a point. After a while, though, holding onto all that resentment is not healthy, and spewing that resentment out loud is social suicide.
First of all, the best revenge is living well, remember? Going around bad-mouthing your ex just makes you look pathetic after a while. Instead of telling the world how small his dick is, go out and make some new, less-awful memories. Short of your ex kidnapping your mom and forcing her to eat her weight in froyo, you need to jettison the rage, at the very least in front of people.
Purely from a public-persona standpoint, outright resentment of exes is a lose-lose proposition. First, you're putting it out there that you were savagely dumped. Second, you're admitting you're far from over it. Third, you're proving you're incapable of being strong about it and shrinking into name-calling and general bad behavior. And fourth, it makes you appear unstable and unattractive to potential suitors. This is for everyone here -- gals and dudes. When you talk about someone, the person you're talking to will unconsciously note that one day, your venom will likely be used in describing him or her. Just shut up.
Modus Operandi
I think we all owe it to ourselves to mope when we want. It's part of just dealing with life. I still allow myself the random keel into sadness over people I haven't seen in so long I'm not even sure they really remember me. I think a measure of this kind of thing is healthy, a bit of self-pity is always a good excuse to buy a more expensive bottle of wine then you typically would, and sometimes it just feels good to be sad.
It's when it begins to take over your life, prevents you from finding someone new, or is a source of constant anger is when you need to take a step back. Look at it this way: If you're still harping on someone long after the relationship ended, you might give people the idea that your ex was right in dumping you.
Nov 11th 2010
by [Redacted] Guy (Lemondrop)
What's healthier: Still bringing up your ex five-hundred moons after you broke up with him, or, say, doing a search for his name on Flickr and gaining access to his latest photo uploads in the privacy of your own apartment and/or cube?
Am I less insane for airing the fact that I can't get over a girl I haven't seen in the flesh since "Frasier" was on, or am I more mentally robust if I stay mum on her hold over me while examining the Facebook page of everyone we ever mutually knew to see if she's posted anything on their walls or was in any of their photo albums?
These are all trick questions. The real sign of sanity -- the only sign of it in this case -- is letting go of the person you're no longer with and moving the hell on. I write this having had personal experience with how hard it is. I write this without judgment for you people out there who cannot get a grip and still flee the salad line at Panera when you think you spot your ex in the adjacent sandwich line, even if he lives 3,000 miles away and probably isn't suddenly into henna elbow tattoos and wearing backpacks.
Look, I was you. I know people like you. And I'm telling you to stop it already. How, you ask? I'm not really sure, actually. Let's talk it out.
People You'll Never, Ever Get Over
Let's just go ahead and state that there are some people you can't get over. Ever. These are the people who haunt you forever, the ones who appear confused at a parking meter 20 years after breaking your heart as you're pulling into an adjacent spot and cause you to inadvertently hit the gas and smash through a Chipotle window. These are the people who you can go months without thinking about, hear their same first name spoken, and immediately fall into a deep blue wallow as you become the loneliest manatee in the world, chomping on seagrass at the bottom of a lonely sea, listening to The National on waterproof headphones.
Look, my mom will never fully get over my dad. She's moved on, she loves her current dude whom she's been with forever, but if you bring up my old man you can see the flicker of hurt in her eyes. It lasts only a few seconds, but it's there.
I think we need to accept that there are certain people whom we never get over. They've scarred us deeply, and every once in a while we pick at the scar and sort of mope and feel blue. There's nothing really wrong with this so long as you can continue your life, meet new people and not obsess about it.
People You Need to Get Over
I don't care if you had the hottest connection since bread slicers and bread -- if you weren't with someone for at least like a year and you still talk about, obsess over, and stalk him, you've got to move on.
First, do us all a favor and stop whining about it. Seriously. After a while it all becomes incredibly self-involved, like you want to be known as the heartbroken one. True tragic romance is when people who really should be together aren't because of something terrible, like death or deception or David Duchovny. If you were just dating someone for a little bit, even if you really were crazy about him, and you broke up, you don't get to whine about it for longer than the relationship actually lasted.
Perhaps there's our metric. You dated for two months? You get like a month. Let's go halfsies here. A year-long relationship gives you a six month Whine & Complain For Free card. If the relationship was less then a month, really, keep the moaning to yourself.
This is not to say you can't quietly stew. I love a good solo stew session. I've been summarily rejected by plenty of girls, but really the ones that sting the most are the ones where I went out on a date or three, they got to know me a little, then they gave me the high hat.
The thing I've tried to do as I've gotten a bit longer in the tooth is not bring this stuff up to my friends. I mean look at Retail Girl, I pined over her a good long while, but after she admirably re-taught me how effective the Slow Fade is, I did my best to lick my wounds in private, knowing that in reality I went on one 'date' with this person and didn't need to bore my friends with the fact that I was the mayor of Blue City for a while.
The Way to Mourn
Here's a key point: Pining is one thing; resentment is quite another. So, sure, if someone screwed you over big time, say cheated or pulled a brutal Michael Douglas after many months of dating, you have every right to be like "that guy sucks and I hope he gets scabies." Up to a point. After a while, though, holding onto all that resentment is not healthy, and spewing that resentment out loud is social suicide.
First of all, the best revenge is living well, remember? Going around bad-mouthing your ex just makes you look pathetic after a while. Instead of telling the world how small his dick is, go out and make some new, less-awful memories. Short of your ex kidnapping your mom and forcing her to eat her weight in froyo, you need to jettison the rage, at the very least in front of people.
Purely from a public-persona standpoint, outright resentment of exes is a lose-lose proposition. First, you're putting it out there that you were savagely dumped. Second, you're admitting you're far from over it. Third, you're proving you're incapable of being strong about it and shrinking into name-calling and general bad behavior. And fourth, it makes you appear unstable and unattractive to potential suitors. This is for everyone here -- gals and dudes. When you talk about someone, the person you're talking to will unconsciously note that one day, your venom will likely be used in describing him or her. Just shut up.
Modus Operandi
I think we all owe it to ourselves to mope when we want. It's part of just dealing with life. I still allow myself the random keel into sadness over people I haven't seen in so long I'm not even sure they really remember me. I think a measure of this kind of thing is healthy, a bit of self-pity is always a good excuse to buy a more expensive bottle of wine then you typically would, and sometimes it just feels good to be sad.
It's when it begins to take over your life, prevents you from finding someone new, or is a source of constant anger is when you need to take a step back. Look at it this way: If you're still harping on someone long after the relationship ended, you might give people the idea that your ex was right in dumping you.
Nov 16, 2010
Jonah and the Whale
This is a gem of a story. Look for the little girl in the pink dress and white bow in her hair.
http://vimeo.com/16404771
http://vimeo.com/16404771
Pork Is Pork
That earmark book segment I posted was interesting. They can call it anything they'd like, but pork is pork. Pork is a highly organized bribery system that targets the weaknesses in our representatives to buy their vote.We have all been in situations when others applied pressure for us to do something against our principles. A leveraged lean is uncomfortable, and who of us doesn't have something to lose - or gain? But that's not the point.
Clearly for some. Traditions aren't great or honorable just because they're old. And you better believe the Gainers will be screaming like a stuck pig at even the hint of its elimination. I understand every business transaction has elements of compromise, but compromising ones principles for any reason risks everything we hold dear. Freedom is constructed like a quilt. The top layer is the texture and feel of freedom: the right to vote and assemble and choose where to live, whom to love, and where to pray. These are the daily freedoms we enjoy.
But by far, the most important part of the quilt is the stitching. What binds our country is the free exchange of ideas that encourages a developing Democratic model that will adapt and thrive. When principles and integrity are run aground by back room pork enticingly offering a home in the Hamptons, we are in danger of losing a lot more than extra tax dollars for a bill rammed through Congress.
Modern day. The country is coming apart at the seams. Money Gainers have taken hold with the longtime bedfellows ~ Power and Leverage and Greed. No one stops it, so we are bullied. They steal our legislative voice.The Gainers have had a good long run owning things, doing what they please, government and industry in their pockets, and the Losers are left powerless and afraid. Kind of reminds me of the Al Capone years and 'the industry's' choke-hold on Chicago. Remember, though, it only took one principled, well armed guy who wasn't afraid to bring it all down. Who will it be?
Pork: the other white meat?
AOL News (Nov. 16) -- Few words are dirtier in Washington than "earmark." Soon-to-be House Speaker John Boehner has vowed to ban them. President Barack Obama has called for earmark reform. The chairmen of the president's debt commission say the practice should be eliminated. And on Monday, Senate Minority Leader Mitch McConnell, R-Ky., reversed himself and says he now backs an earmarks moratorium.
Meanwhile, Rep. Darrell Issa, the California Republican expected to chair the House Oversight Committee next year, called Obama "one of the most corrupt presidents in modern times." He later scaled back his charge, saying that Obama was not "personally corrupt," but added, "When you hand a president nearly a trillion dollars in walking around money, [and] he uses it for political paybacks, that's corrupt."
Really? What's wrong with cronyism if the crony is competent? What's wrong with an earmark if the project is worthy?
President Lyndon Johnson had an aide, Bobby Baker, whose job it was to find out what a legislator wanted and/or needed, and withhold it until Johnson needed his vote. That's how Johnson got civil rights, Medicare and Medicaid through a reluctant Congress. Baker later went to prison on charges not involving his role in rounding up votes.
President Ronald Reagan got his tax cuts by catering to Rep. (later Sen.) John Breaux, R-La., who explained, "I can't be bought, but I can be rented." President Bill Clinton gave away the store to enact NAFTA. Under President George W. Bush, earmarks increased from $7.7 billion to $9 billion (still a minuscule percentage of the budget). President Obama got his health care reform bill with the help of the Louisiana Purchase and the Cornhusker Kickback, among other earmarks.
These presidents were adhering closely to the late Jake Arvey's definition of politics. The Chicago political boss explained that "there are many definitions of politics -- the art of compromise, the art of the possible -- but to me, politics is the art of putting people under obligation to you."
This is best achieved through patronage (including earmarks) -- the discretionary favors of government in exchange for political support. The good news is that patronage drives public policy. The bad news is that patronage drives public policy. It greases the wheels of government and leads to laws that would not otherwise be enacted. How one feels about patronage, like earmarks, at any given moment depends on how one feels about particular laws, like Medicare or tax cuts.
It is true that earmarks, which used to be called "pork," are highly susceptible to waste, fraud and abuse. Examples:
Although successive presidents did not want production of more F-22 fighter planes, they were unable to end the project because components of the F-22s were built in 33 states and hundreds of districts, whose senators and House members were concerned about the loss of jobs. President Obama finally succeeded in ending the earmark.
The John Murtha Airport in Johnstown, Pa., received tens of millions of dollars in state-of-the-art equipment because Rep. John Murtha happened to chair the House defense appropriations subcommittee.
And let's not forget the $433 million for the infamous "Bridge to Nowhere" in Alaska, earmarked because Sen. Ted Stevens, R-Alaska, was chairman of the Senate Appropriations Committee. This earmark was finally abandoned.
Earmarks and patronage thrive because they are an essential tool of government.
The late Speaker Thomas P. "Tip" O'Neill once told luncheon guests how President Jimmy Carter pleaded with him to lobby on behalf of an energy bill. O'Neill advised Carter, "Call the fellows in, see what they want -- a bridge, a road, a post office. Work with them." But Carter was "above" pork barrel politics and, no surprise, his energy bill was trashed.
In contrast, O'Neill said, he had successfully lobbied 17 House members on behalf of NAFTA, at President Clinton's behest. Clinton spoke the language of politics, and that's how he got NAFTA through, by a whisker.
One of the guests was appalled. "Tip," she said, "that's a hell of a way to run a government."
Tip gave her his 14-karat smile and replied, "Mary, darlin', that's the only way to run a government."
Martin and Susan Tolchin are authors of the newly published, "Pinstripe Patronage: Political Favoritism from the Clubhouse to the White House and Beyond." Mr. Tolchin capped 40 years at The New York Times by founding The Hill newspaper and then became senior publisher and editor of Politico. Mrs. Tolchin is university professor of public policy at George Mason University.
Meanwhile, Rep. Darrell Issa, the California Republican expected to chair the House Oversight Committee next year, called Obama "one of the most corrupt presidents in modern times." He later scaled back his charge, saying that Obama was not "personally corrupt," but added, "When you hand a president nearly a trillion dollars in walking around money, [and] he uses it for political paybacks, that's corrupt."
Really? What's wrong with cronyism if the crony is competent? What's wrong with an earmark if the project is worthy?
President Lyndon Johnson had an aide, Bobby Baker, whose job it was to find out what a legislator wanted and/or needed, and withhold it until Johnson needed his vote. That's how Johnson got civil rights, Medicare and Medicaid through a reluctant Congress. Baker later went to prison on charges not involving his role in rounding up votes.
President Ronald Reagan got his tax cuts by catering to Rep. (later Sen.) John Breaux, R-La., who explained, "I can't be bought, but I can be rented." President Bill Clinton gave away the store to enact NAFTA. Under President George W. Bush, earmarks increased from $7.7 billion to $9 billion (still a minuscule percentage of the budget). President Obama got his health care reform bill with the help of the Louisiana Purchase and the Cornhusker Kickback, among other earmarks.
These presidents were adhering closely to the late Jake Arvey's definition of politics. The Chicago political boss explained that "there are many definitions of politics -- the art of compromise, the art of the possible -- but to me, politics is the art of putting people under obligation to you."
This is best achieved through patronage (including earmarks) -- the discretionary favors of government in exchange for political support. The good news is that patronage drives public policy. The bad news is that patronage drives public policy. It greases the wheels of government and leads to laws that would not otherwise be enacted. How one feels about patronage, like earmarks, at any given moment depends on how one feels about particular laws, like Medicare or tax cuts.
It is true that earmarks, which used to be called "pork," are highly susceptible to waste, fraud and abuse. Examples:
Although successive presidents did not want production of more F-22 fighter planes, they were unable to end the project because components of the F-22s were built in 33 states and hundreds of districts, whose senators and House members were concerned about the loss of jobs. President Obama finally succeeded in ending the earmark.
The John Murtha Airport in Johnstown, Pa., received tens of millions of dollars in state-of-the-art equipment because Rep. John Murtha happened to chair the House defense appropriations subcommittee.
And let's not forget the $433 million for the infamous "Bridge to Nowhere" in Alaska, earmarked because Sen. Ted Stevens, R-Alaska, was chairman of the Senate Appropriations Committee. This earmark was finally abandoned.
Earmarks and patronage thrive because they are an essential tool of government.
The late Speaker Thomas P. "Tip" O'Neill once told luncheon guests how President Jimmy Carter pleaded with him to lobby on behalf of an energy bill. O'Neill advised Carter, "Call the fellows in, see what they want -- a bridge, a road, a post office. Work with them." But Carter was "above" pork barrel politics and, no surprise, his energy bill was trashed.
In contrast, O'Neill said, he had successfully lobbied 17 House members on behalf of NAFTA, at President Clinton's behest. Clinton spoke the language of politics, and that's how he got NAFTA through, by a whisker.
One of the guests was appalled. "Tip," she said, "that's a hell of a way to run a government."
Tip gave her his 14-karat smile and replied, "Mary, darlin', that's the only way to run a government."
Martin and Susan Tolchin are authors of the newly published, "Pinstripe Patronage: Political Favoritism from the Clubhouse to the White House and Beyond." Mr. Tolchin capped 40 years at The New York Times by founding The Hill newspaper and then became senior publisher and editor of Politico. Mrs. Tolchin is university professor of public policy at George Mason University.
Nov 11, 2010
Don't Shoot the Messenger
I came upon an interesting preliminary article on Social Security after a committee convened regarding its future solvency and what intermediate steps should be considered to maintain and support its growth. Simpson and Bowles are the heroes of the day, for their clear vision to even consider what they are considering. And of course there's a long way before anything emerges even remotely resembling a consensus -- and then we have to witness the legislative bloodletting on both sides of the aisle as they fight for their way of life and favorite earmarks.
Simpson had a fun comment during the first draft presentation, and that was: "We'll both be in a witness protection program when this is all over."
No kidding. All civility aside, we simultaneously revere and despise the truth especially when it is in our best interests. Intellectually we understand the importance of boundaries to keep life on an even keel, balance perspectives with reason and create a vision of society that can function and thrive. But don't dare tell us no.
It's dangerous to be the messenger. Remember Gray Davis and his doomsayer projections about the looming fiscal deficit catastrophe in California? We ran him out on a rail.
SOCIAL SECURITY -- Try to make Social Security more solvent by reducing annual cost-of-living increases for many recipients; {What's that mean, precisely?}
•MILITARY RETIREE AND CIVILIAN PENSIONS -- Reform cost-of-living increases for early civilian and military retirees. {Extending retirement dates, is that it?}
•GOVT BUDGETS -- Reduce Congressional and White House budgets by 15 percent {it's about damned time!}; freeze federal salaries, bonuses, and other compensation at non-Defense agencies for three years {indefinitely would be better}; cut the federal workforce by 10 percent {here! here!}; and slow the growth of foreign aid. **
•SOOOUIE! -- Eliminate all congressional earmarks. {Seriously- ALL}
•NASA -- Eliminate funding for commercial spaceflight. {Must we give over EVERY challenge to our competitors?}
•AMERICA THE BEAUTIFUL -- Sell excess federal property. {The Governor's mansions, legislative jets, and summer homes go first. So Arnold wasn't far off ... ?}
•THE IRS -- Consolidate the tax code into three individual rates and one corporate rate {So ... large and small businesses would pay the same rate?}; eliminate the alternative minimum tax and some expense-write-off programs {like interest on home loans, for instance?}; increase the federal gas tax and some other user fees. {you said that already}
•FOOD SOURCES -- Reduce farm subsidies by $3 billion per year by reducing direct payments and other subsidies. {Don't mess with our food, pal}
•"WHY-ARE-WE-DOING-THIS-ANYWAY" COLUMN -- Make scores of other changes, including an end to payments to states and tribes for abandoned mines; an extension of the Federal Communications Commission's authority to auction radio spectrum licenses; a requirement that the Tennessee Valley Authority impose transmission surcharge on electricity sales. (end)
I must be missing the bullet point that involves the personal sacrifice of our hired help. You know, the one where every voted-in servant (except the President and VP) is put on a sliding retirement scale similar to CalPers where they cannot draw a retirement salary until they are vested.
Imagine if legislators (et al) were required to serve ten full years of verifiable work weeks - less 4 wks vacation a year (=some 17,600 hours), which would then entitle them to a modest accrual of their active salary as a basis for retirement ratios.
Let's use Jerry Brown for an example. Talk about vested! He earned 4 yrs as Secretary of State, 8 as the prior Governor, 3 as Attorney General, 8 as Mayor of Oakland and now as Boomerang Bob for another 4 as Governor Part II. Geez, aren't there term limits?! He's surely vested by now, although we'll have to add up his actual days of work to be sure: he's not at his desk much and commute time between Oakland to Sacramento doesn't count.
Wouldn't it be nice to cut off all this AIG insurance nonsense while we're at it? We could sit back and watch our legislators scramble to fix this whole insurance mess if they were part of our system. And I'd wager that would apply to Social Security too.
Hey, it stings to be told a resounding and emphatic no. Hold! That! Line!
No kidding. All civility aside, we simultaneously revere and despise the truth especially when it is in our best interests. Intellectually we understand the importance of boundaries to keep life on an even keel, balance perspectives with reason and create a vision of society that can function and thrive. But don't dare tell us no.
 |
| Reigning US in |
(begin) "America cannot be great if we go broke," Simpson and Bowles declared at the start of their proposal. "Our economy will not grow and our country will not be able to compete without a plan to get this crushing debt burden off our back." And so with no fanfare at all, they sketched out smart preliminary ideas on how to face the national deficit head-on. To wit: {my comments in brackets}SOCIAL SECURITY -- Try to make Social Security more solvent by reducing annual cost-of-living increases for many recipients; {What's that mean, precisely?}
- Raise the regular retirement age to 68 years by 2050 from the current 66, and to 69 by 2075 {my children have plenty of warning}
- And make benefits more progressive to help Americans in lower-earning tax brackets{???}. But changes would only benefit the Social Security program, not broader budget deficits.
•MILITARY RETIREE AND CIVILIAN PENSIONS -- Reform cost-of-living increases for early civilian and military retirees. {Extending retirement dates, is that it?}
•GOVT BUDGETS -- Reduce Congressional and White House budgets by 15 percent {it's about damned time!}; freeze federal salaries, bonuses, and other compensation at non-Defense agencies for three years {indefinitely would be better}; cut the federal workforce by 10 percent {here! here!}; and slow the growth of foreign aid. **
•SOOOUIE! -- Eliminate all congressional earmarks. {Seriously- ALL}
•NASA -- Eliminate funding for commercial spaceflight. {Must we give over EVERY challenge to our competitors?}
•AMERICA THE BEAUTIFUL -- Sell excess federal property. {The Governor's mansions, legislative jets, and summer homes go first. So Arnold wasn't far off ... ?}
•THE IRS -- Consolidate the tax code into three individual rates and one corporate rate {So ... large and small businesses would pay the same rate?}; eliminate the alternative minimum tax and some expense-write-off programs {like interest on home loans, for instance?}; increase the federal gas tax and some other user fees. {you said that already}
•FOOD SOURCES -- Reduce farm subsidies by $3 billion per year by reducing direct payments and other subsidies. {Don't mess with our food, pal}
•"WHY-ARE-WE-DOING-THIS-ANYWAY" COLUMN -- Make scores of other changes, including an end to payments to states and tribes for abandoned mines; an extension of the Federal Communications Commission's authority to auction radio spectrum licenses; a requirement that the Tennessee Valley Authority impose transmission surcharge on electricity sales. (end)
Imagine if legislators (et al) were required to serve ten full years of verifiable work weeks - less 4 wks vacation a year (=some 17,600 hours), which would then entitle them to a modest accrual of their active salary as a basis for retirement ratios.
Let's use Jerry Brown for an example. Talk about vested! He earned 4 yrs as Secretary of State, 8 as the prior Governor, 3 as Attorney General, 8 as Mayor of Oakland and now as Boomerang Bob for another 4 as Governor Part II. Geez, aren't there term limits?! He's surely vested by now, although we'll have to add up his actual days of work to be sure: he's not at his desk much and commute time between Oakland to Sacramento doesn't count.
Wouldn't it be nice to cut off all this AIG insurance nonsense while we're at it? We could sit back and watch our legislators scramble to fix this whole insurance mess if they were part of our system. And I'd wager that would apply to Social Security too.
Hey, it stings to be told a resounding and emphatic no. Hold! That! Line!
Nov 10, 2010
The New Math
There's been a lot of talk lately of the economic signs and what it suggests for our immediate and long term future.
So many Americans alive today were raised with comfort and pride. On our shoulders were pinned the shiny bright future that began after World War II and sped through the population bubble of the 40's and 50's. We were the proteges of Superman and Kennedy: college, imagination, space, the presidency. I rode the wave in: justice-for-all, women's rights, in full technicolor.
The boomers were raised in the best of both worlds ~ a watered down version of a strong ethic that helped sustain our parents through the first Depression, the daily lessons about waste and earning your way via good old fashioned hard work, and a heap of moderate corporal punishment when needed. We had chores, earned our first car, worked through college. Coming from nothing imbeds many great economic truths which they tried to instill in us: earn before you spend; make your way one step at a time; there are no shortcuts; save and plan.
But have we learned it?
Statistics lie. Take our 14% unemployment rate and factor in the underemployed, the discouraged-and-not-looking, the $30-an-hour now working for $10.75, and the drop-offs from unemployment, and you come up with a figure more like 22%. How many more have dropped below the poverty line in the last two years? I personally know 3 in foreclosure and 8 unemployed.
The real math going on at my table is that with a modest unemployment check, I bring home more than any of the jobs I apply for. We have trimmed spending in every conceiveable way, but it won't be enough. Houses are liabilities that we cannot sell. This is the economic new math.
The underlying and more dangerous catastrophe is what put us here, the moral and ethical crisis of 30 years of dwindling integrity and lack of national sacrifice by our leaders. They have allowed its people to secede from the union and form billions of individual country states that are out for themselves.
As small businesses scratch for work, what shortcuts are they compelled to take to undercut the competition? Their desperation will impact the integrity and ethics of our workforce trying not to become an unemployment statistic. Because once you've compromised your integrity, it's easier to do it again. When we regain our national footing, and the second Depression subsides, what will be left of the hard working, ethical and industrious legacy to pass on?
So many Americans alive today were raised with comfort and pride. On our shoulders were pinned the shiny bright future that began after World War II and sped through the population bubble of the 40's and 50's. We were the proteges of Superman and Kennedy: college, imagination, space, the presidency. I rode the wave in: justice-for-all, women's rights, in full technicolor.
The boomers were raised in the best of both worlds ~ a watered down version of a strong ethic that helped sustain our parents through the first Depression, the daily lessons about waste and earning your way via good old fashioned hard work, and a heap of moderate corporal punishment when needed. We had chores, earned our first car, worked through college. Coming from nothing imbeds many great economic truths which they tried to instill in us: earn before you spend; make your way one step at a time; there are no shortcuts; save and plan.
But have we learned it?
Statistics lie. Take our 14% unemployment rate and factor in the underemployed, the discouraged-and-not-looking, the $30-an-hour now working for $10.75, and the drop-offs from unemployment, and you come up with a figure more like 22%. How many more have dropped below the poverty line in the last two years? I personally know 3 in foreclosure and 8 unemployed.
The real math going on at my table is that with a modest unemployment check, I bring home more than any of the jobs I apply for. We have trimmed spending in every conceiveable way, but it won't be enough. Houses are liabilities that we cannot sell. This is the economic new math.
The underlying and more dangerous catastrophe is what put us here, the moral and ethical crisis of 30 years of dwindling integrity and lack of national sacrifice by our leaders. They have allowed its people to secede from the union and form billions of individual country states that are out for themselves.
As small businesses scratch for work, what shortcuts are they compelled to take to undercut the competition? Their desperation will impact the integrity and ethics of our workforce trying not to become an unemployment statistic. Because once you've compromised your integrity, it's easier to do it again. When we regain our national footing, and the second Depression subsides, what will be left of the hard working, ethical and industrious legacy to pass on?
Nov 9, 2010
The Walt Disney Museum
In the mid to late 1950s, there were no home TVs. In a lot of places blacks still couldn't drink from the same faucets as whites or eat in the same diners.Until 1963 (third grade) we saw movies once a year, and often at the drive in with tinny speakers that hung from the window. The school closed down when President Kennedy was killed and we watched the funeral on a TV wheeled into our classroom. Birthday parties were always at home and included dropping clothespins into milk bottles and playing Pin the Tail on the Donkey and we dressed up in Sunday school dresses. We put our hands over our hearts at school for the Pledge of Allegiance and practiced getting under our desks for air raids.
Life was moving so fast we had to run to keep up. I owned my very own microwave (1982), VHS player (1985), computer (1986), cell phone (1999). Until 1969, girls wore skirts to (public) school that could only be 2" above the knee, and we were sent home for wearing mascara or go-go boots on days it didn't rain. In 1982, CNN was the only network to offer 24 hour newsreporting. And then there was Disney. My family made an annual pilgrimage to Disneyland and to keep occupied on the drive we would study the map and talk endlessly of our favorite rides and where to use the ticket books. From the outskirts of Pasadena we'd have our eyes glued to the skyline to see who could spot the top of the Matterhorn first.
I saw Mr. Disney once. The family stood waiting for the parade on Main Street and my father noticed him standing at the window and pointed him out. Mr. Disney. Right there. In-between visits it was Disney, too: Cartoons, lampshades, lunch boxes, The Wonderful World of Disney Sunday night show. My head was busy with all this stuff as we toured the Walt Disney Museum in the Presidio yesterday. They have done a remarkable job of preserving and presenting a magical historical diorama of Walt's exemplary life and his vision that changed the world.
There are walls and walls of awards -- Academy Awards (one with one big and seven little statuettes the year he won for Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs) and a Medal of Freedom. Every culture, every country, every language, every voice paid homage to his genius.
Also in use are old radios my parents and grandparents used, and tvs, too, and all of our friends are dancing and singing, Dumbo and Mickey, Cinderella, Peter Pan and Mary Poppins. There is a really fascinating history of the hard driven work ethic of Walt's youth that propelled his dream forward by sheer will and perseverence through countless obstacles and setbacks. There were interactive displays, a complete model of Disneyland in 1955, and the more technical side of cameras and editing that allowed for music and actor/animation and full length cartoon development. There's a theatre. And a cafe. And the most magnificent view of the Golden Gate I've ever seen.
Thank you, Mr. Disney.
Nov 7, 2010
AdoptAGuy
As if the internet couldn't get any weirder, this just in from somewhere in space:
{My comments are in brackets.} {Brace yourselves.}
Seems like France is kind of full of dating sites. {No big surprise there.} Hopefully everyone has now heard of Meetic, the French online dating giant listed on the Euronext stock exchange since 2005 who scooped-up Match.com’s European division last year. And then there’s a couple newcomers that are making headlines, like SmartDate (who scored €2 million earlier this year so that you can date the friends of your Facebook friends) and AttractiveWorld (the name says it all, you have to be “accepted” to join the online community). {Seriously - aren't we over this developmental stage yet?}
And then there’s Adoptaguy. Let me just preface this with the company’s tagline: “Ladies, find great deals at the supermarket of love.” Yes, it’s cheesy and who knows, that’s probably why it works. Essentially, what sets Adoptaguy apart from a lot of the other sites is that it reverses traditional roles. With a rather humorous e-commerce-like vibe, women go through the site and select the men they like by putting them in their shopping carts – and only those selected few will be able to interact with their “buyers”. {Who wants seconds on sexism, anyone?}
But even if women are going through the motions of “purchasing” men on the site, the service is entirely free for female users. {And this isn't a pre-pay in what way?} The business model is somewhat inspired by the way men pay to get into night clubs and women often get in for free. {Great idea to save this business model from extinction.}
The team came up with {commandeered}the model once they realized that a large portion of women still had issues with dating sites for a number of reasons, one of them being that they may get spammed by uninteresting men. And so now, in an attempt to attract as many ladies as possible, Adoptaguy is free for the females and seeks to put the control in their hands in a rather humorous way{so if the idea is entertaining but morally bankrupt, it's still ok}.
So how does putting a man in a shopping cart really change things for a woman on a dating site? {Other than the commodity/ownership mindset, that is?}
Beats me. But that being said, there are 3 million {ill-advised} people currently using the service, mainly in the 18-30 age-range, with roughly 40% being women. {Really? 1 million, eight hundred thousand men are actually onboard with this?} And most of the users of the Paris-based startup are in either France, Belgium or Switzerland. But that’s probably because the site was only in French until recently. The US version of the site is now live and the UK version should launch in the beginning of next year. {Viva la France! Here's to more un-Natural selection.}
{God help us if they offer double coupons: women will buy anything on sale.}
{My comments are in brackets.} {Brace yourselves.}
Seems like France is kind of full of dating sites. {No big surprise there.} Hopefully everyone has now heard of Meetic, the French online dating giant listed on the Euronext stock exchange since 2005 who scooped-up Match.com’s European division last year. And then there’s a couple newcomers that are making headlines, like SmartDate (who scored €2 million earlier this year so that you can date the friends of your Facebook friends) and AttractiveWorld (the name says it all, you have to be “accepted” to join the online community). {Seriously - aren't we over this developmental stage yet?}
And then there’s Adoptaguy. Let me just preface this with the company’s tagline: “Ladies, find great deals at the supermarket of love.” Yes, it’s cheesy and who knows, that’s probably why it works. Essentially, what sets Adoptaguy apart from a lot of the other sites is that it reverses traditional roles. With a rather humorous e-commerce-like vibe, women go through the site and select the men they like by putting them in their shopping carts – and only those selected few will be able to interact with their “buyers”. {Who wants seconds on sexism, anyone?}
But even if women are going through the motions of “purchasing” men on the site, the service is entirely free for female users. {And this isn't a pre-pay in what way?} The business model is somewhat inspired by the way men pay to get into night clubs and women often get in for free. {Great idea to save this business model from extinction.}
The team came up with {commandeered}the model once they realized that a large portion of women still had issues with dating sites for a number of reasons, one of them being that they may get spammed by uninteresting men. And so now, in an attempt to attract as many ladies as possible, Adoptaguy is free for the females and seeks to put the control in their hands in a rather humorous way{so if the idea is entertaining but morally bankrupt, it's still ok}.
So how does putting a man in a shopping cart really change things for a woman on a dating site? {Other than the commodity/ownership mindset, that is?}
Beats me. But that being said, there are 3 million {ill-advised} people currently using the service, mainly in the 18-30 age-range, with roughly 40% being women. {Really? 1 million, eight hundred thousand men are actually onboard with this?} And most of the users of the Paris-based startup are in either France, Belgium or Switzerland. But that’s probably because the site was only in French until recently. The US version of the site is now live and the UK version should launch in the beginning of next year. {Viva la France! Here's to more un-Natural selection.}
{God help us if they offer double coupons: women will buy anything on sale.}
Nov 5, 2010
My Growing Up Chair
It's silly how things imbed themselves in memories. I opened a box and out popped a yellow and white checked pillow that was dragged from room to room by my first born. In another were beanie babies I remember spending hours hunting down with my youngest. And in a corner were a pair of size 10 roller blades that my middle son tore through town on as he traveled to and from Coy's house.
It's yard sale time, when all of life is dragged out and gone through. The kayak I bought in Week 1 of a new life; the lighted curios where the Lladros and first editions gleamed; the baker's rack that fit exactly in the alcove of the old kitchen.
I sat on one of my mother's dining chairs for maybe the last time, remembering her reupholstering the seat with a striped fabric that had to be done over and over to get it exactly right. On holidays, I sat facing the window and my grandmother sat across and next to Don. Mom was nearest the kitchen, Dad at the head. High school, college, marriage, losses and gains, life renos, all of it from this chair.
Table settings are different now. There are wonderfully diverse lively families bursting with new faces I can't imagine living without. Jami and Randy, the boys and Don, the girls and their families, all by virtue of change. And on especially lucky days, I look around at the faces of my uncle and aunt and cousins over dinner, knowing we are making timeless memories.
And so it's one more look back before my chair becomes part of someone else's history. I want it to be a young family with children who will kneel on the seats as they reach for the food. And I am filled with gratitude for life that always finds a way to keep us movin' forward.
It's yard sale time, when all of life is dragged out and gone through. The kayak I bought in Week 1 of a new life; the lighted curios where the Lladros and first editions gleamed; the baker's rack that fit exactly in the alcove of the old kitchen.
I sat on one of my mother's dining chairs for maybe the last time, remembering her reupholstering the seat with a striped fabric that had to be done over and over to get it exactly right. On holidays, I sat facing the window and my grandmother sat across and next to Don. Mom was nearest the kitchen, Dad at the head. High school, college, marriage, losses and gains, life renos, all of it from this chair.
Table settings are different now. There are wonderfully diverse lively families bursting with new faces I can't imagine living without. Jami and Randy, the boys and Don, the girls and their families, all by virtue of change. And on especially lucky days, I look around at the faces of my uncle and aunt and cousins over dinner, knowing we are making timeless memories.
And so it's one more look back before my chair becomes part of someone else's history. I want it to be a young family with children who will kneel on the seats as they reach for the food. And I am filled with gratitude for life that always finds a way to keep us movin' forward.
Nov 2, 2010
Jessica Barksdale Inclan's Article
When Adult Children Fight, a Mother's Heart Breaks
When my older son Alex was a child, he did everything before he knew how and without considering if it would work. He walked and fell, rode a bike and crashed. He tried to be a grown-up his way. He crashed, he burned, he learned.
When my younger son Nicolas was a child, he didn't do anything until he knew he could do it without fail. He waited until he was 16 months old to walk, and one day, he stood up and ran. He read when he could understand complete sentences. After many difficult bike riding lessons with his father, he couldn't do more than one or two pedals before falling. Then one day when his father was facing the other way, Nicolas took off down the street.
Alex is an anarchist. He is a hater of leaders and laws, a college graduate and now a writer who envisions a government as slim as a piece of paper. He despises anything that enforce rules on the masses -- traffic signs, tax laws, social norms and customs.
Nicolas, on the other hand, was a military history major, now a police-academy aspirant and law-abiding citizen with one moving violation that he erased through traffic school.
At one time, these were my happy little boys, my sons who played together all day on the weekends, slept in the same room for years. In that small bedroom, they had an enormous Lego town, a town that stayed together through two moves, only dismantled when Nicolas was a sophomore in high school. When they played with the town, Alex took charge, taking the role of the main character; Nicholas was everyone else.
They both went to the same college, called each other frequently, hiked together, laughed together. But when Nicolas began to become the man he is, their ideologies started to pull them apart.
Nicolas could no longer go to the rallies, the protests, the angry mob scenes at the United States Army base in Tacoma. He couldn't listen to Alex's wild tales of anarchist revelry. He began to despise all that Alex stood for, and their drives home from Washington State began to get ugly, full of silences or harsh words. When Alex found out that Nicolas was applying to police departments for work, he felt his brother was attacking his principles.
Our last meal together, all of us sitting around the table of our new home, was as unpleasant as could be.
"Could you just stop?" Nicolas yelled, putting down his fork. "I can't listen to this propaganda anymore. You're just lazy. You just don't want to work."
"And you're doing this cop crap to spite me," Alex shouted back. "You don't really want to be a pig, do you?"
"You think my choice is about you?" Nicolas said. "How narcissistic can you get?"
Finally, after more emotional punching, Nicolas pushed away from the table. Alex followed him in to the kitchen, words flying like missiles, despite my attempts to break up the fight. I eventually managed to quell that argument, but throughout their visit here, the fight erupted again and again, ending with a tense, silent ride up to the Northwest and a standoff that lasted for months.
I have a photo on my desk of my two curly-headed boys, Nicolas hugging Alex, Alex's arm pulling him close. Both are smiling big-toothed smiles. But these two little boys are gone. And the little brother doesn't want to be the tag-along anymore. He's his own man, with his own values and his own life, and what he wants is his brother to accept him. Alex fights back, wanting his ideas to be heard and honored. Seeing that the past is slipping away, big brother grasps for the memories of what was.
I also want to cling to that long-ago brother relationship because it was magical. Somehow, I thought back then, I did something right with these two.
The fighting. This is the part of parenting that we don't think about when children are in diapers. Here is when children become adults, and adults don't always agree and then happily eat peanut butter-and-jelly sandwiches together. Young adults learn how to individuate, and that's what I'm watching now.
It's possible that these two will never come back to one another. The fight could be the axe that splits their relationship wide open, forever irreparable. I close my eyes and breathe in hard when I think of them forever at opposite sides. Siblings are the closest relationships in time and age and place. Siblings know each other in ways no one else can, and to see my boys approach an end to this connection is more than I can bear.
Though it's possible things may never be repaired, and their eroding relationship is painful for all three of us, I have faith that buried beneath the hurt and anger is that hug, those smiles, those two boys in the photo taken so long ago.
Jessica Barksdale Inclan is a novelist who teaches literature and creative writing for Diablo Valley College. Visit her at Red Room to read about her work, including her supernatural romance novel Being with Him, now available in paperback.
When my older son Alex was a child, he did everything before he knew how and without considering if it would work. He walked and fell, rode a bike and crashed. He tried to be a grown-up his way. He crashed, he burned, he learned.
When my younger son Nicolas was a child, he didn't do anything until he knew he could do it without fail. He waited until he was 16 months old to walk, and one day, he stood up and ran. He read when he could understand complete sentences. After many difficult bike riding lessons with his father, he couldn't do more than one or two pedals before falling. Then one day when his father was facing the other way, Nicolas took off down the street.
Alex is an anarchist. He is a hater of leaders and laws, a college graduate and now a writer who envisions a government as slim as a piece of paper. He despises anything that enforce rules on the masses -- traffic signs, tax laws, social norms and customs.
Nicolas, on the other hand, was a military history major, now a police-academy aspirant and law-abiding citizen with one moving violation that he erased through traffic school.
At one time, these were my happy little boys, my sons who played together all day on the weekends, slept in the same room for years. In that small bedroom, they had an enormous Lego town, a town that stayed together through two moves, only dismantled when Nicolas was a sophomore in high school. When they played with the town, Alex took charge, taking the role of the main character; Nicholas was everyone else.
They both went to the same college, called each other frequently, hiked together, laughed together. But when Nicolas began to become the man he is, their ideologies started to pull them apart.
Nicolas could no longer go to the rallies, the protests, the angry mob scenes at the United States Army base in Tacoma. He couldn't listen to Alex's wild tales of anarchist revelry. He began to despise all that Alex stood for, and their drives home from Washington State began to get ugly, full of silences or harsh words. When Alex found out that Nicolas was applying to police departments for work, he felt his brother was attacking his principles.
Our last meal together, all of us sitting around the table of our new home, was as unpleasant as could be.
"Could you just stop?" Nicolas yelled, putting down his fork. "I can't listen to this propaganda anymore. You're just lazy. You just don't want to work."
"And you're doing this cop crap to spite me," Alex shouted back. "You don't really want to be a pig, do you?"
"You think my choice is about you?" Nicolas said. "How narcissistic can you get?"
Finally, after more emotional punching, Nicolas pushed away from the table. Alex followed him in to the kitchen, words flying like missiles, despite my attempts to break up the fight. I eventually managed to quell that argument, but throughout their visit here, the fight erupted again and again, ending with a tense, silent ride up to the Northwest and a standoff that lasted for months.
I have a photo on my desk of my two curly-headed boys, Nicolas hugging Alex, Alex's arm pulling him close. Both are smiling big-toothed smiles. But these two little boys are gone. And the little brother doesn't want to be the tag-along anymore. He's his own man, with his own values and his own life, and what he wants is his brother to accept him. Alex fights back, wanting his ideas to be heard and honored. Seeing that the past is slipping away, big brother grasps for the memories of what was.
I also want to cling to that long-ago brother relationship because it was magical. Somehow, I thought back then, I did something right with these two.
The fighting. This is the part of parenting that we don't think about when children are in diapers. Here is when children become adults, and adults don't always agree and then happily eat peanut butter-and-jelly sandwiches together. Young adults learn how to individuate, and that's what I'm watching now.
It's possible that these two will never come back to one another. The fight could be the axe that splits their relationship wide open, forever irreparable. I close my eyes and breathe in hard when I think of them forever at opposite sides. Siblings are the closest relationships in time and age and place. Siblings know each other in ways no one else can, and to see my boys approach an end to this connection is more than I can bear.
Though it's possible things may never be repaired, and their eroding relationship is painful for all three of us, I have faith that buried beneath the hurt and anger is that hug, those smiles, those two boys in the photo taken so long ago.
Jessica Barksdale Inclan is a novelist who teaches literature and creative writing for Diablo Valley College. Visit her at Red Room to read about her work, including her supernatural romance novel Being with Him, now available in paperback.
Nov 1, 2010
Oct 27, 2010
Follow Her Lead
This week is an anniversary, a real where-were-you-when-you-heard-the-news kind of thing. Last year just before Halloween, our beautiful granddaughter Aiyana went from being a precocious, happy and joyful child with a pale complexion that everyone thought might be the flu to being a cancer victim. And in one short month, 30 days exactly from the day of her diagnosis, she was gone. 
We are past the shock of it now, but not the lingering anguish that forces itself up and out in the most unlikely ways. She is in our dreams, and those moments of wakeful dreaming. It stalls our heart to watch other eight year old girls with long chocolate colored braids that swing happily as they walk hand in hand with their moms to the car. We recognize that elfish sparkle as it peeks out from behind eyes of a 4 year old eating sushi for the first time, or in the sound of happy laughter that floats over from the next booth.
The world misses her. Her elementary school began a a penny drive and the movement blossomed into a beautiful tribute with music and performances by her student friends and a bench dedication for disabled students to use after school. Aiyana's love of reading inspired hundreds of books to be donated to the school library. 
Aiyana gave us an astonishing gift, and perhaps that is why I continually write about her and see her as I go about my life. She lived the great example of truly loving others no matter what and joyfully loving herself just as she was. She lived as Jesus teaches us to, with an open, whole heart. How many of life's problems would be solved if we could do the same?It is uncommon to know someone like that, for it is hard to do. Maybe that makes the loss feel greater. I am grateful for knowing and loving her. She has changed me. And it is her example that will carry us through the lonesomeness to a place we can feel her arm gently draped over our shoulders like a shawl to keep us warm. Slowly and surely we will find our way there.
Oct 26, 2010
1869
I've shied away from political discussions for most of my life because a) everybody always gets mad and storms off to their respective corners, b) hard feelings develop and linger, or c) there's an all-out brawl.
And so with trepidation I entered into a conversation with a Texas friend about the issues of the day. It turned out to be a wonderfully spirited and very educational dialogue about the State of the Union and the Presidency. She is smart as a whip and our conversation went on for hours, days really, with banter back and forth about issues that matter most to us and our families. After about twenty discussions we emerged better at articulating our positions. She gave me something significant: a renewed confidence that earnest discussions can be had with people of differing philosophies without resorting to disparaging remarks. And walk away friends.
There's been similar discussions with a young man in Elk Grove who will be voting for the first time in this election. Intelligent banter and discussions I thought to be unique and primarily due to his political ideology tempered with optimism and promise. I remember those days! It's a fun intellectual workout to undergo his cross examinations and re-directs. He is smart and compassionate and his opinions are often fierce, but we always seem to come back for more. When he sways me, or I him, we do so with history, logic and reason.
Turns out I love discussing topics of the day. Pertinent stuff. It makes for a better citizenry to be able to discuss politically-charged issues without fear of someone trying to ram their philosophical ideologies down our throats. An open dialogue helps foster political awareness by listening to one another's perspectives. And discovered the fastest way to squelch open communication is to change a political debate into a political argument and try to win at all costs (i.e. by accusing the other of being uninformed, inexperienced or unenlightened just because you disagree).
No matter. The 15th Amendment to the Constitution, 1869, guarantees each citizen one equal vote, one equal share, one equally weighted opinion. I will enjoy flaunting mine.
And so with trepidation I entered into a conversation with a Texas friend about the issues of the day. It turned out to be a wonderfully spirited and very educational dialogue about the State of the Union and the Presidency. She is smart as a whip and our conversation went on for hours, days really, with banter back and forth about issues that matter most to us and our families. After about twenty discussions we emerged better at articulating our positions. She gave me something significant: a renewed confidence that earnest discussions can be had with people of differing philosophies without resorting to disparaging remarks. And walk away friends.
There's been similar discussions with a young man in Elk Grove who will be voting for the first time in this election. Intelligent banter and discussions I thought to be unique and primarily due to his political ideology tempered with optimism and promise. I remember those days! It's a fun intellectual workout to undergo his cross examinations and re-directs. He is smart and compassionate and his opinions are often fierce, but we always seem to come back for more. When he sways me, or I him, we do so with history, logic and reason.
Turns out I love discussing topics of the day. Pertinent stuff. It makes for a better citizenry to be able to discuss politically-charged issues without fear of someone trying to ram their philosophical ideologies down our throats. An open dialogue helps foster political awareness by listening to one another's perspectives. And discovered the fastest way to squelch open communication is to change a political debate into a political argument and try to win at all costs (i.e. by accusing the other of being uninformed, inexperienced or unenlightened just because you disagree).
No matter. The 15th Amendment to the Constitution, 1869, guarantees each citizen one equal vote, one equal share, one equally weighted opinion. I will enjoy flaunting mine.
Oct 25, 2010
Beep Beep
Better than Fiction:
Yesterday there was an interesting tale of a 20 seater plane in the Congo crashing after one of its passengers smuggled a live alligator on board in a gym bag. The alligator somehow loosed itself and began roaming the aisles. Aisle.
Twenty people are encased in a small bullet hurling through the air and come upon an alligator, even a small one, weaving between their legs and going after the chickens on their laps. (Do Congoans even eat chickens?)
But I digress.
It was pandemonium. According to an eye witness and only survivor, the flight attendant dashed towards the Captain and a lot of the passengers followed, surging the weight to the front of the plane and causing it to crash in a field of thatched huts.
The alligator also survived, and was quickly dispatched by a machete on the ground. The story concludes with a fairly off-handed explanation that loose alligators are not all that uncommon on flights in this part of the world, and to their knowledge has never taken down a plane.
So ... a man boarding a plane with a wildly thrashing carry on doesn't arouse suspicion, but a grandmother with more than 3 ozs of shampoo is detained in Denver?
Yesterday there was an interesting tale of a 20 seater plane in the Congo crashing after one of its passengers smuggled a live alligator on board in a gym bag. The alligator somehow loosed itself and began roaming the aisles. Aisle.
Twenty people are encased in a small bullet hurling through the air and come upon an alligator, even a small one, weaving between their legs and going after the chickens on their laps. (Do Congoans even eat chickens?)
But I digress.
It was pandemonium. According to an eye witness and only survivor, the flight attendant dashed towards the Captain and a lot of the passengers followed, surging the weight to the front of the plane and causing it to crash in a field of thatched huts.
The alligator also survived, and was quickly dispatched by a machete on the ground. The story concludes with a fairly off-handed explanation that loose alligators are not all that uncommon on flights in this part of the world, and to their knowledge has never taken down a plane.
So ... a man boarding a plane with a wildly thrashing carry on doesn't arouse suspicion, but a grandmother with more than 3 ozs of shampoo is detained in Denver?
The Secret o' Life
(James Taylor)
The secret of life is enjoying the passage of time
Any fool can do it
There ain't nothing to it
Nobody knows how we got to
The top of the hill
But since we're on our way down
We might as well enjoy the ride...
The secret of love is in opening up your heart
It's okay to feel afraid
But don't let that stand in your way
'cause anyone knows that love is the only road
And since we're only here for a while
Might as well show some style
Give us a smile...
Isn't it a lovely ride
Sliding down
Gliding down
Try not to try too hard
It's just a lovely ride
Now the thing about time is that time
Isn't really real
It's just your point of view
How does it feel for you
Einstein said he could never understand it all
Planets spinning through space
The smile upon your face
Welcome to the human race
Some kind of lovely ride
I'll be sliding down
I'll be gliding down
Try not to try too hard
It's just a lovely ride
Isn't it a lovely ride
Sliding down
Gliding down
Try not to try too hard
It's just a lovely ride
The secret of life is enjoying the passage of time
Any fool can do it
There ain't nothing to it
Nobody knows how we got to
The top of the hill
But since we're on our way down
We might as well enjoy the ride...
The secret of love is in opening up your heart
It's okay to feel afraid
But don't let that stand in your way
'cause anyone knows that love is the only road
And since we're only here for a while
Might as well show some style
Give us a smile...
Isn't it a lovely ride
Sliding down
Gliding down
Try not to try too hard
It's just a lovely ride
Now the thing about time is that time
Isn't really real
It's just your point of view
How does it feel for you
Einstein said he could never understand it all
Planets spinning through space
The smile upon your face
Welcome to the human race
Some kind of lovely ride
I'll be sliding down
I'll be gliding down
Try not to try too hard
It's just a lovely ride
Isn't it a lovely ride
Sliding down
Gliding down
Try not to try too hard
It's just a lovely ride
Oct 22, 2010
Lean Forward
Who IS this fervent woman who leans forward and pays attention and debates the news of the day over dinner? In our house the news is on, and even sometimes the Direct Mix station showing all six at once. What have you done with her?
I am an emerging citizen. Every day I wade through all the stupidity of reporters who watched too many reality shows and are SUPER concerned about the WELFARE of the people in the unbelieveable stories (aka Bubble Boy, Acid Girl). Unbelieveable is right, as in not to be believed. Is the public so undisciplined that we won't sit through 20 minutes of actual news that tells the truth straight up without the supercharged human interest stories? (It's the fault of all those participation trophies we got for placing last in little league. I knew it!)
Informed citizenry. Especially when life is pinching us, Hard, we need to make ourselves informed and aware. For me, diverse viewpoints help me comprehend an issue and I certainly don't believe for a second voting candidates from differing viewpoints will hobble government. I mean, we all mastered the groundrules in kindergarten, right?
I just love those unscripted debates on shows like Meet the Press and the roundtable discussions that impart information and brainstorms about solutions. It is 'no kidding hard work' to be a good citizen and wade through complex issues and agendas filled with persuasive rhetoric. I research topics and still get tangled up in some of the rhetoric and super white smiles of the partisan shows - on both sides of the aisles - that are laced with prejudice and bigotry.
Not only that. In a country who has laws to protect its diverse citizenship, to vote into office people who do not hold the same protective opinions of civil rights almost guarantees our laws will include the absence of protection for the citizens most vulnerable. If we don't follow the voting records of our legislature, how can we learn what they are up to and in whose pockets they are tucked?
There is neverending dialogue about our country's broad shoulders and the right to better ourselves in whatever way legally possible. It is a free country and we can hold whatever opinions we want. So let's talk the economic crisis. It has been the opinion on Wall Street that they could freely fleece the country and its people out of their futures with a nod from the Legislature who signed into law the legal loopholes and relaxed regulations to make it possible. Do you still think our founding fathers meant our country to be that free? Seems like Jefferson and his cronies had more faith in us than we deserve.
It all loops back to this whole voting/citizen participation issue. Remember in the movie 'War Games' when Joshua the super computer had to learn the lesson itself to avert a global nuclear war? Sometimes no one wins. Like now:
When citizens put their feet on the desk and rely on something (or someone) else to do the work, no one wins. If we take in what the media feeds us and swallows it whole, and then regurgitate it at the polls, no one wins. When we copy down how Dad is voting, or mimick friends, no one wins. When we vote straight party lines without exploring who they really are and what that really means, no one wins.
Our individual intellectual power needs to weigh in at the polls or we are not participating beyond getting an 'I Voted Today' sticker. And as cool as they are, our country really needs us to care about her and fight for her and take a stand.
There are other ways to fight for your country than wearing a military uniform: straight down the middle in a country-saving, results-driven compromise. Maybe, finally, at last, I get it.
I am an emerging citizen. Every day I wade through all the stupidity of reporters who watched too many reality shows and are SUPER concerned about the WELFARE of the people in the unbelieveable stories (aka Bubble Boy, Acid Girl). Unbelieveable is right, as in not to be believed. Is the public so undisciplined that we won't sit through 20 minutes of actual news that tells the truth straight up without the supercharged human interest stories? (It's the fault of all those participation trophies we got for placing last in little league. I knew it!)
Informed citizenry. Especially when life is pinching us, Hard, we need to make ourselves informed and aware. For me, diverse viewpoints help me comprehend an issue and I certainly don't believe for a second voting candidates from differing viewpoints will hobble government. I mean, we all mastered the groundrules in kindergarten, right?
I just love those unscripted debates on shows like Meet the Press and the roundtable discussions that impart information and brainstorms about solutions. It is 'no kidding hard work' to be a good citizen and wade through complex issues and agendas filled with persuasive rhetoric. I research topics and still get tangled up in some of the rhetoric and super white smiles of the partisan shows - on both sides of the aisles - that are laced with prejudice and bigotry.
Not only that. In a country who has laws to protect its diverse citizenship, to vote into office people who do not hold the same protective opinions of civil rights almost guarantees our laws will include the absence of protection for the citizens most vulnerable. If we don't follow the voting records of our legislature, how can we learn what they are up to and in whose pockets they are tucked?
There is neverending dialogue about our country's broad shoulders and the right to better ourselves in whatever way legally possible. It is a free country and we can hold whatever opinions we want. So let's talk the economic crisis. It has been the opinion on Wall Street that they could freely fleece the country and its people out of their futures with a nod from the Legislature who signed into law the legal loopholes and relaxed regulations to make it possible. Do you still think our founding fathers meant our country to be that free? Seems like Jefferson and his cronies had more faith in us than we deserve.
It all loops back to this whole voting/citizen participation issue. Remember in the movie 'War Games' when Joshua the super computer had to learn the lesson itself to avert a global nuclear war? Sometimes no one wins. Like now:
When citizens put their feet on the desk and rely on something (or someone) else to do the work, no one wins. If we take in what the media feeds us and swallows it whole, and then regurgitate it at the polls, no one wins. When we copy down how Dad is voting, or mimick friends, no one wins. When we vote straight party lines without exploring who they really are and what that really means, no one wins.
Our individual intellectual power needs to weigh in at the polls or we are not participating beyond getting an 'I Voted Today' sticker. And as cool as they are, our country really needs us to care about her and fight for her and take a stand.
There are other ways to fight for your country than wearing a military uniform: straight down the middle in a country-saving, results-driven compromise. Maybe, finally, at last, I get it.
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