A deck of "How to Tell Time" flash cards; do-it-yourself, pink invitation kit; a package of brightly colored construction paper; Rapunzel paper dolls; a plastic bag filled with "Plantation Mint" tea; an unopened copy of the 2006 Journal of Privacy Law; numerous, unmarked discs; envelopes full of photos; letters and cards; package of calligraphy pens; old hotel bills and used airline tickets; more photos; term paper from 1975; a book of "Maxine" sayings; box of old birthday cards (sent to me); old books - "Guide to Proper Etiquette"; stacks of business cards; restaurant menus; receipts; a book of Jimmy Buffet lyrics; used notebooks chronicling grocery story visits, things to do and design ideas; more photos. . .and the treasures go on and on.
This is why it is taking me nearly two years to clean out and reorganize my home office. It started out with a big trash bag and a couple boxes. There are now half a dozen boxes whose contents have been sorted and resorted a dozen times. Each time I look in a box I am confused about the commonality of the contents; thus the items are resorted.
I have found enough office supplies to outfit a regional office of IBM. The stacks of unmarked discs require hours at the computer reviewing the contents and sorting and saving in other locations. Sometimes the discs are blank. I've discovered that there is one disc I keep reviewing over and over and have yet to appropriately label it; every time I look at it, I change the description; and, the description is becoming less and less meaningful.
Every time that I resolve to "get it cleaned out today", I find a dog-eared book or magazine and settle in to read each of the dog-eared pages to find out why I turned downed the page in the first place. I look at each photograph as if I had never seen it before. Then time is up; I create a new "pile" or box and leave it for another day and go about creating new stacks and files. Once I found a file that had paid off notes from my parents' homes long since sold. It is hard for me to dispose of such "history". I suspect that I am the only one that finds value in these treasures.
In spite of the apparent disarray, I do have a method to this madness. I can usually find what I'm looking for within thirty minutes. Each time I pull an ancient document, report or magazine article from the stacks, I conclude that I did "save" it for a reason. I knew I would need to use it again.
I leave the office and close the door. I go into the kitchen to make dinner and I find a stack of papers, mail, magazines, books and photos sitting on a side chair in the breakfast area. The stacks are multiplying. I spend my obligatory thirty minutes on that pile sorting and designating "trash". There are items that I'm not sure about. Back onto the stack they go. Dinner awaits.
Later in the evening as I prepare for bed I look at my night table. There is a basket full of mail and letters and notes and business cards. There is a stack of books - some unread, some begun and some completed. There are several notebooks - one with quotes and writing ideas - one with things to do - one with party guest lists.
Ironically I have a little OCD regarding the placement of photos, art and collectibles in my home. Too bad I don't have OCD regarding papers, books and unframed photos. I do my best to manage the chaos in my life. I just wish that chaos wasn't so damned interesting.
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Perfect or Finished?
I used to think that unfinished work was just a sign of procrastination and laziness. Now I realize that it is often the adverse effect of perfectionism. "I can't do this perfectly, so I just won't do it at all." To some degree I believe this is learned behavior and difficult to overcome.
When I find an unfinished project stuffed away in the closet or drawer, I end up spending the rest of the day reflecting upon what it was suppose to be, why it is not finished and who's fault is it that it is left undone. I got too busy; I got bored; I didn't think it was worthwhile any longer; I ran out of money; I didn't have the right tools; I can't find all the pieces; it just didn't matter anymore. But it did matter; that's why the remains can still be found amidst my clutter.
Sometimes I am able to resurrect a project. I can resurrect it because I now know how; I now have the patience and understanding; I can now see the beauty in the flaws; I now see the perfection in its disarray. Maybe it was finished?
I grew up with my maternal grandmother's painting of my mother, as a child. I was in awe of this work; it was my mother in every aspect. While my mother displayed the portrait, she also was quick to point out that it was never finished; insinuating that it was not perfect. Was my mother pointing out my grandmother's failure to complete the project as grandmother's problem? Or, was my mother simply hurt that her mother did not return to complete the canvass? Did not sign it? Did not finish it - her?
My unfinished projects are a wonderful collection of my many moods and a snapshot of what I was living and experiencing at the time. My mother never told me if the portrait was painted when she was that child or if my grandmother painted years later. I like to think that it was "never finished" because my mother never lost that "child" we see in the painting. Dolly never grew out of that mind set.
Maybe my grandmother knew that; maybe that's why she didn't finish it? In reality, it is finished. And, it's perfect.
Monday, September 28, 2009
Por favor, Spechen Sie English?
The other night, my sister and I were watching a film. Two of the characters launched into a conversation in a foreign language and sub-titles appeared. Diane is having some vision issues and asked me to read aloud. I began the translation. At some point, as does happen in many films, the characters lapsed into English. I, however, continued to "translate". Until Diane's laughing interfered; I truly didn't realize they were now speaking English.
Regrettably, I have to admit that I am not multi-lingual; not even bi-lingual anymore. The phrase "use it or lose it" is so true of language. Years ago I was quite fluent in Spanish. After leaving South Florida for South Carolina I found less and less use for my Spanish and eventually lost most of it. I learned German as a child and used it to some degree on my jaunts to Europe. I haven't been to Europe lately and would definitely need a refresher course should I wish to attempt conversational German.
Oh, I say I had a grasp for languages, but then I am reminded of some of my more amusing immersions into a language other than English.
On one of my first tours of Europe I was doing so well in communicating. I could speak English, I spoke Spanish, I had a working knowledge of German and I was great at reading French menus. As the three week trip was coming to a close, I was exhausted. Trying to find common language while drinking mass quantities of wine had become ever so stressful. There were times that I resorted to drawing pictures on napkins. I went in and out of the three languages at my disposal so many times that I wasn't clear on what I was saying. During one of the last stops in Amsterdam, I attempted to get directions from a woman on the street. Not speaking Dutch, I tried English and German and hand gestures and pointing at pictures. The woman was so kind and was trying so hard to make me understand where I needed to go. Finally in desperation I asked, "can you speak English?" Her reply, "I AM SPEAKING ENGLISH." And so she was.
When my father retired, I took he and my mother on a trip to Europe - Germany and Austria. Mom grew up speaking German, but her ability had diminished over the years from not using it. Dad did not speak a second language, but could understand a fair amount of Spanish. I was at my pinnacle of speaking both.
Vienna provided a number of communication challenges. Austrian German is a bit different from the Bavarian German that my mother knew and the Berliner German that I was taught in language class. I had a connecting room to my parent's room at the hotel. The day after our arrival, we were having breakfast in the room. Dad had gone to shower and the chamber maid came in to remove the breakfast trays. Mom began trying on her German with the chamber maid in an attempted conversation. I listened to them both and I just didn't think they were making any progress. I assumed it was the dialect again. Finally I heard my mother say very clearly, in German, "I can not understand you." The chamber maid then replied in broken English, "I AM CZECHOSLOVAKIAN." Ah, that would explain it.
Later in the week, Mom had a unfortunate accident at the train station. A worker was pushing a chain of trolleys through the waiting area and, not paying attention, trapped Mom between a bench and the chain of trolleys. She was taken to a local hospital for examination. My father and I sat in the ER Waiting Room while Mom was examined (she was seriously bruised but not broken). There was a man sitting near us that attempted conversation. I was having a difficult time understanding him. I asked if he spoke English. He said no. He asked if I could speak Spanish. I said yes and we launched into a conversation as he explained that his wife had had a heart attack. I told him what happened to my mother and where we were from and so on and so on. My father tapped me and said, "you know, it almost sounds like you are speaking Spanish." I laughed, we Americans do hear only "babel" whatever the language is. Dad was confused why I was speaking Spanish in a German-speaking hospital.
For many years, Spanish came easily to me. One lazy afternoon, a friend was visiting and we were watching a movie on television. I had seen the movie a number of times; almost to the point that I knew the lines. There was a scene where the characters were all speaking Russian and the obligatory sub-titles appeared. She kept asking me what this was all about. I said they are speaking Russian; she said they were speaking Spanish. I said read the sub-titles. She said I can't. I accused her of having too much wine. We finally realized we were watching the Spanish-language TV station. They were speaking Russian, but the sub-titles were in Spanish and I was in "la la land".
We contend that the foreign language hinders our conversation, but, as we well know, accent and dialect in the same language can prove just as debilitating to communication.
For a number of years I dated a Southern man. He didn't have the slow southern drawl, but had a rapid paced explosion of words. On one occasion I was going on a trip with a friend and he advised that we should go to a particular restaurant. I wrote down his recommendation and upon arrival at our destination I tried to look the name up in the phone book. I was looking and looking and couldn't find it - I was looking under the "B"s. As I searched the rest of the listings I fell upon a restaurant, Vincenzo's. Oh I said, "he said "V" not "B". I thought he said Bincenzo's. Bless his heart; I won't even go into the troubles he had trying to understand broken English in South Florida and blank looks he got from the Latinos.
I am guilty of babel as well. I was once in a conversation with the executive director of a not-for-profit. I explained to him that our organization had a "philanthropic strategy that included youth, environment and the arts." He asked "what?" I repeated. He laughed, "what are youts?" I laughed at the reference to "My Cousin Vinny." He laughed again. "You really did say youts." I was embarrassed. I could say "philanthropic strategy" without stumbling, but I couldn't clearly pronounce "youth."
On the way to the ballet one evening, one of the Russian dancers, who I knew, asked if I could see to it that his visiting Mother found her seat in the theater. Of course. She spoke very, very little English. I began smiling fanatically and asking her if she was enjoying her visit. I spoke very clearly and distinctly. And then I hear my Irish friend behind me, "For heaven's sake Coralee, the woman is Russian not deaf!" Yes, somewhere along the line we learned that speaking very loudly makes us easier to understand.
POR FAVOR, SPRECHEN SIE ENGLISH!
Regrettably, I have to admit that I am not multi-lingual; not even bi-lingual anymore. The phrase "use it or lose it" is so true of language. Years ago I was quite fluent in Spanish. After leaving South Florida for South Carolina I found less and less use for my Spanish and eventually lost most of it. I learned German as a child and used it to some degree on my jaunts to Europe. I haven't been to Europe lately and would definitely need a refresher course should I wish to attempt conversational German.
Oh, I say I had a grasp for languages, but then I am reminded of some of my more amusing immersions into a language other than English.
On one of my first tours of Europe I was doing so well in communicating. I could speak English, I spoke Spanish, I had a working knowledge of German and I was great at reading French menus. As the three week trip was coming to a close, I was exhausted. Trying to find common language while drinking mass quantities of wine had become ever so stressful. There were times that I resorted to drawing pictures on napkins. I went in and out of the three languages at my disposal so many times that I wasn't clear on what I was saying. During one of the last stops in Amsterdam, I attempted to get directions from a woman on the street. Not speaking Dutch, I tried English and German and hand gestures and pointing at pictures. The woman was so kind and was trying so hard to make me understand where I needed to go. Finally in desperation I asked, "can you speak English?" Her reply, "I AM SPEAKING ENGLISH." And so she was.
When my father retired, I took he and my mother on a trip to Europe - Germany and Austria. Mom grew up speaking German, but her ability had diminished over the years from not using it. Dad did not speak a second language, but could understand a fair amount of Spanish. I was at my pinnacle of speaking both.
Vienna provided a number of communication challenges. Austrian German is a bit different from the Bavarian German that my mother knew and the Berliner German that I was taught in language class. I had a connecting room to my parent's room at the hotel. The day after our arrival, we were having breakfast in the room. Dad had gone to shower and the chamber maid came in to remove the breakfast trays. Mom began trying on her German with the chamber maid in an attempted conversation. I listened to them both and I just didn't think they were making any progress. I assumed it was the dialect again. Finally I heard my mother say very clearly, in German, "I can not understand you." The chamber maid then replied in broken English, "I AM CZECHOSLOVAKIAN." Ah, that would explain it.
Later in the week, Mom had a unfortunate accident at the train station. A worker was pushing a chain of trolleys through the waiting area and, not paying attention, trapped Mom between a bench and the chain of trolleys. She was taken to a local hospital for examination. My father and I sat in the ER Waiting Room while Mom was examined (she was seriously bruised but not broken). There was a man sitting near us that attempted conversation. I was having a difficult time understanding him. I asked if he spoke English. He said no. He asked if I could speak Spanish. I said yes and we launched into a conversation as he explained that his wife had had a heart attack. I told him what happened to my mother and where we were from and so on and so on. My father tapped me and said, "you know, it almost sounds like you are speaking Spanish." I laughed, we Americans do hear only "babel" whatever the language is. Dad was confused why I was speaking Spanish in a German-speaking hospital.
For many years, Spanish came easily to me. One lazy afternoon, a friend was visiting and we were watching a movie on television. I had seen the movie a number of times; almost to the point that I knew the lines. There was a scene where the characters were all speaking Russian and the obligatory sub-titles appeared. She kept asking me what this was all about. I said they are speaking Russian; she said they were speaking Spanish. I said read the sub-titles. She said I can't. I accused her of having too much wine. We finally realized we were watching the Spanish-language TV station. They were speaking Russian, but the sub-titles were in Spanish and I was in "la la land".
We contend that the foreign language hinders our conversation, but, as we well know, accent and dialect in the same language can prove just as debilitating to communication.
For a number of years I dated a Southern man. He didn't have the slow southern drawl, but had a rapid paced explosion of words. On one occasion I was going on a trip with a friend and he advised that we should go to a particular restaurant. I wrote down his recommendation and upon arrival at our destination I tried to look the name up in the phone book. I was looking and looking and couldn't find it - I was looking under the "B"s. As I searched the rest of the listings I fell upon a restaurant, Vincenzo's. Oh I said, "he said "V" not "B". I thought he said Bincenzo's. Bless his heart; I won't even go into the troubles he had trying to understand broken English in South Florida and blank looks he got from the Latinos.
I am guilty of babel as well. I was once in a conversation with the executive director of a not-for-profit. I explained to him that our organization had a "philanthropic strategy that included youth, environment and the arts." He asked "what?" I repeated. He laughed, "what are youts?" I laughed at the reference to "My Cousin Vinny." He laughed again. "You really did say youts." I was embarrassed. I could say "philanthropic strategy" without stumbling, but I couldn't clearly pronounce "youth."
On the way to the ballet one evening, one of the Russian dancers, who I knew, asked if I could see to it that his visiting Mother found her seat in the theater. Of course. She spoke very, very little English. I began smiling fanatically and asking her if she was enjoying her visit. I spoke very clearly and distinctly. And then I hear my Irish friend behind me, "For heaven's sake Coralee, the woman is Russian not deaf!" Yes, somewhere along the line we learned that speaking very loudly makes us easier to understand.
POR FAVOR, SPRECHEN SIE ENGLISH!
Saturday, September 26, 2009
Marriage?
I believe in marriage. I just don't believe everyone should be married. The ability to share a life, yet retain separateness is an art form. Some people can paint; some people can write; some people can sing; and then there are others that should not, under any circumstances, attempt this at home without the supervision of adults.
My parents were married 54 years before my father passed. During my lifetime I have witnessed some blessed marriages; marriages that survived in spite of themselves; and marriages that left deep wounds in the individuals that shared that domain. And then there are the marriages that ride the roller coaster of life, with all of the starts and stops; until they come to a peaceful rest - catching their breath and beginning another climb to the next plateau of life.
I have to admit that as a little girl I really did not have the visions of the expected wedding day. My dreams were consumed by travel and fame and arts and education. I dreamt of being a mother, but never being a wife. Believe me, I have explored this in depth, in therapy. I chose to be the friend, the lover, the guardian. I chose to be the long-time girlfriend, the liberal sister, the doting daughter, the caring niece and the wise and amusing aunt.
There are a half a dozen couples that have granted me the honor of officiating at their weddings (as a notary). It started as a request to assist in writing their vows and ended up with me delivering the vows. I took my assignment very seriously. How do I perform a marriage ceremony when I'm not even sure I believe in it? I studied holy scripture, romantic poems and prose; and, psychological dissertations on the union of marriage. Each ceremony was crafted to enhance the words given to me by the couples. Cherish; affection; laughter; security; hope. The descriptions of the relationship were as diverse as the couples themselves.
As I presented the first draft I always feared that it may sound as if I was preaching what I thought a marriage should be; and perhaps not at all what they had in mind. Each of the first drafts were tweaked with minor changes; and the vows stood.
I watch these couples and look for the vows in action. I watch these couples and hope that they are creating a masterpiece.
Each of these weddings had events that the superstitious believed were signs of failure to come: the bride that brought the groom's divorce decree instead of the marriage license; the ring that was tied too tight to the ceremonial pillow; the cat that walked down the aisle with the bride; and the torrential storm that opened over an outdoor wedding.
All is well. I was blessed to be part of their day.
I only wish I could find that wedding coordinator who told me to hold my stomach in before I entered the room; I still have a few words for her.
Grief Reconciled
Yesterday I read a fellow blogger's post ("Ramblings of the Bearded One" by Kim Ayres). Entitled, "Rebuilding", it was about grief and loss. It has been on my mind.
I know about grief and loss. I have suffered grief from the loss of many and I have suffered long over the loss of one. On this given day, I am reconciled and at a peace.
I went to my first funeral at the age of eight. It was a funeral home that I would visit a dozen times in the years to come. I remember seeing a postcard stand in the family waiting area. Postcards? "Having fun, wish you were here"? I laughed and the elders laughed too. Such a paradox this death and dying. Sad of the lost; glad of the ascent into the afterlife. Grief for death; celebration for life. It was at that time that I began my journey into learning and comprehending life, death and faith. A journey into learning how to keep the memories as part of who I was and who I would become.
Grief invades our lives not just at the loss of a loved one; but at the loss of anything we hold precious: home, job, pets. Throughout our lives we learn to temper our grief by the severity of impact on our life. I think there are two kinds of simple grief: child-like grief - "it will never be alright again"; and, grown-up grief - "this too shall pass." And with that grown-up grief there is also a fear that the memories and emotion will pass as well. We will achieve full loss. Both are right.
Elizabeth Kubler-Ross identified for us the five stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. I contend that we struggle within those stages intermittently, for years, following a loss. Some stages last longer than others. And the breath of acceptance is sometimes not permanent. We often lapses back into depression. I have.
"They will always live in our memories." C.S. Lewis, in his book A Grief Observed, called that sentiment a "pitable cant". They do not live; they do not share; they do not touch. A Grief Observed, is Lewis's account of his profound struggle with the despair that followed the loss of his wife, Joy Greshm. His bereavement is chronicled in a raw and very personal fashion. His faith is challenged. His writing must have been cathartic. Reading his writing was cathartic for me. I have read it several times over the years.
Sometimes the loss of someone proves to be the singular, most powerful force in our life. We pick up the torch that they lit and carry it forward for a new generation. We bring them with us and they become us. That light, the light they have left, invades my spirit and brightens my soul. Their wisps of remaining energy settles within me. I CAN accept this. I have no choice but to accept it. The damp fog dissipates and reveals a rainbow of new realization and faith. We are all ONE.
A smile crosses my face as I remember those that have left me. I never believed I would smile again and I can recall my heavy heart and the darkness of my soul. These memories warm me; they embrace me; the energy nourishes my spirit. And, I am at peace.
I know about grief and loss. I have suffered grief from the loss of many and I have suffered long over the loss of one. On this given day, I am reconciled and at a peace.
I went to my first funeral at the age of eight. It was a funeral home that I would visit a dozen times in the years to come. I remember seeing a postcard stand in the family waiting area. Postcards? "Having fun, wish you were here"? I laughed and the elders laughed too. Such a paradox this death and dying. Sad of the lost; glad of the ascent into the afterlife. Grief for death; celebration for life. It was at that time that I began my journey into learning and comprehending life, death and faith. A journey into learning how to keep the memories as part of who I was and who I would become.
Grief invades our lives not just at the loss of a loved one; but at the loss of anything we hold precious: home, job, pets. Throughout our lives we learn to temper our grief by the severity of impact on our life. I think there are two kinds of simple grief: child-like grief - "it will never be alright again"; and, grown-up grief - "this too shall pass." And with that grown-up grief there is also a fear that the memories and emotion will pass as well. We will achieve full loss. Both are right.
Elizabeth Kubler-Ross identified for us the five stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. I contend that we struggle within those stages intermittently, for years, following a loss. Some stages last longer than others. And the breath of acceptance is sometimes not permanent. We often lapses back into depression. I have.
"They will always live in our memories." C.S. Lewis, in his book A Grief Observed, called that sentiment a "pitable cant". They do not live; they do not share; they do not touch. A Grief Observed, is Lewis's account of his profound struggle with the despair that followed the loss of his wife, Joy Greshm. His bereavement is chronicled in a raw and very personal fashion. His faith is challenged. His writing must have been cathartic. Reading his writing was cathartic for me. I have read it several times over the years.
Sometimes the loss of someone proves to be the singular, most powerful force in our life. We pick up the torch that they lit and carry it forward for a new generation. We bring them with us and they become us. That light, the light they have left, invades my spirit and brightens my soul. Their wisps of remaining energy settles within me. I CAN accept this. I have no choice but to accept it. The damp fog dissipates and reveals a rainbow of new realization and faith. We are all ONE.
A smile crosses my face as I remember those that have left me. I never believed I would smile again and I can recall my heavy heart and the darkness of my soul. These memories warm me; they embrace me; the energy nourishes my spirit. And, I am at peace.
Friday, September 25, 2009
Failed Communication - a pre-existing condition?
"I'm just saying. . ."
You have heard that phrase; used to veil a declaration of displeasure. "I think some people need to practice what they preach." "Really? What do you mean?" "Nothing, I'm just saying." Saying what? Why? What's your point? What prompted the comment? I hear what you are saying, but, WHY are you saying it? Feeling a little passive aggressive today?
Few things frustrate me more than the "disembodied judgement." "Some people need to mind their own business - I'm just saying. . ." I think you need to mind your business and own what you are saying!
It is unfortunate that, as a culture, we prefer to cloak our feelings and ideas in glittering generalities rather than approach our communication with each other in direct sentences. Attribution is our crutch. We can safely set our understanding down without actually touching the ground with full weight. We plant seeds of disapproval, with plausible deniability. Is failed communication a pre-existing condition that we can no longer treat?
While we revert to this closeted communication style, we let "some people" take control of public opinion. Public opinion is shaped by the loudest and most direct communicators. "They" keep screaming out their opinion while others step back and timidly "just say" what they think or understand. We do not necessarily like what "some people" are saying, but we don't want to confront it. We may not understand it.
There is my frustration! To confront or disagree with an opinion or idea you must be educated on the facts of the opinion or idea; understand the issues that form the perception. Is that too much trouble? Apparently.
Over the course of the last month, the news cycle has spent a lot of time discussing the issue of racism as the basis for disagreement with the Obama administration. George Will made the comment that there is a "lust to politicize" every issue these days. I suggest that all opposition is driven by fear. . .I'm just saying. . .Fear of change or fear of loss or fear of not being on the winning side.
In times of unrest, and I submit that we are indeed in a time of unrest (i.e. economy, healthcare, two wars), people flock to sides of perceived, shared philosophy. Shared philosophy can be religious or political affiliation; cultural or ethnic; it can be what we were told we believe. We choose a side where we feel safe in numbers. It is so much easier to follow the herd than to break out onto a new path. We may find ourselves alone on the new path; then again we may find a new breed and join forces. We may find ourselves with the responsibility of leadership.
Perhaps the fear could be reduced if we listened more carefully, studied both sides of an issue and focused on the task at hand. It is not the person that needs to be resolved, it is the issue. Obama will continue to be Obama. Limbaugh will continue to be Limbaugh. Wilson will continue to be Wilson. Clyburn will continue to be Clyburn.
Heathcare in this country can be changed.
I'm just saying. . .
You have heard that phrase; used to veil a declaration of displeasure. "I think some people need to practice what they preach." "Really? What do you mean?" "Nothing, I'm just saying." Saying what? Why? What's your point? What prompted the comment? I hear what you are saying, but, WHY are you saying it? Feeling a little passive aggressive today?
Few things frustrate me more than the "disembodied judgement." "Some people need to mind their own business - I'm just saying. . ." I think you need to mind your business and own what you are saying!
It is unfortunate that, as a culture, we prefer to cloak our feelings and ideas in glittering generalities rather than approach our communication with each other in direct sentences. Attribution is our crutch. We can safely set our understanding down without actually touching the ground with full weight. We plant seeds of disapproval, with plausible deniability. Is failed communication a pre-existing condition that we can no longer treat?
While we revert to this closeted communication style, we let "some people" take control of public opinion. Public opinion is shaped by the loudest and most direct communicators. "They" keep screaming out their opinion while others step back and timidly "just say" what they think or understand. We do not necessarily like what "some people" are saying, but we don't want to confront it. We may not understand it.
There is my frustration! To confront or disagree with an opinion or idea you must be educated on the facts of the opinion or idea; understand the issues that form the perception. Is that too much trouble? Apparently.
Over the course of the last month, the news cycle has spent a lot of time discussing the issue of racism as the basis for disagreement with the Obama administration. George Will made the comment that there is a "lust to politicize" every issue these days. I suggest that all opposition is driven by fear. . .I'm just saying. . .Fear of change or fear of loss or fear of not being on the winning side.
In times of unrest, and I submit that we are indeed in a time of unrest (i.e. economy, healthcare, two wars), people flock to sides of perceived, shared philosophy. Shared philosophy can be religious or political affiliation; cultural or ethnic; it can be what we were told we believe. We choose a side where we feel safe in numbers. It is so much easier to follow the herd than to break out onto a new path. We may find ourselves alone on the new path; then again we may find a new breed and join forces. We may find ourselves with the responsibility of leadership.
Perhaps the fear could be reduced if we listened more carefully, studied both sides of an issue and focused on the task at hand. It is not the person that needs to be resolved, it is the issue. Obama will continue to be Obama. Limbaugh will continue to be Limbaugh. Wilson will continue to be Wilson. Clyburn will continue to be Clyburn.
Heathcare in this country can be changed.
I'm just saying. . .
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Readin', Writin' and Excel
I didn't write yesterday. Oh, I allotted time to write and I had a list of random thoughts to write about; just didn't sit down at the keyboard. Now, that isn't to say that I wasn't a productive citizen. I had a wonderful lunch with an old friend, went through 100 pages of Dan Brown's book and attended a sneak preview at the USC School of Dance (very impressive!); and I managed to do some work on my personal finances.
Checking my cash flow and my budget, I noticed that, while I may be very good at the reading and writing, my 'rithmatic is on hiatus. I actually entered 75 plus 35 in the calculator. I might as well have entered 2 plus 2. What happened?
I remember, as a young student, how many of my peers would always question "why do we need to know Algebra?" "We'll never use it in real life!" I knew better. I knew that math was important and that I would need it in "real life". I did need it. I needed it to balance my check book; I needed it to figure out which credit card was getting how much money; I needed it to do the profit and loss statements at work; I needed it to do budgets; I needed it to figure out who got what salary increase; I needed it to figure out which flight I could take to get me to my meeting on time in three time zones away. And I needed it to figure out the appropriate tip for the bartender. Numbers were, are, my life.
I remember finance, accounting and statistics classes and committing formulas to memory. I remember learning ways to use numbers to solve what seemed insurmountable problems. I scribbled formulas and calculated the answer to the identity of "X".
And then came those HP calculators; and then we were allowed to use calculators for tests. And then there were personal computers; and spreadsheet programs like Lotus and Excel. You still need to know your formulas to make the spreadsheets work,but you did not need to know how to add, subtract, multiply and divide. Why tax your brain with such mundane functions when the little device can do it for you. Common algebraic equations are already programmed into the hand held computer. Push this button, push that button and voila - the answer.
I cringe when I see a table of patrons at a restaurant pull out their cell phones and begin dividing up the dinner bill and calculating tips. I've lost a lot of money over the years by just grabbing the check and paying it to avoid the "you had the Cobb Salad and that was $11 and the martini was $7 and a 17.5% tip would be ????? Split it four ways and leave 20%!
I still hear young students today complaining, "why do I need to know algebra? why do I need to know geography? why do I need to know science?. You need to be financially accountable, you need to know where you are and where you are going and you need to know what household cleansers you can mix without blowing yourself up. If you don't learn these subjects you will never make it on Amazing Race!
Now to use Spellcheck and publish post. . .damn, my spelling has gotten bad too! Time to separate from the "borg".
Checking my cash flow and my budget, I noticed that, while I may be very good at the reading and writing, my 'rithmatic is on hiatus. I actually entered 75 plus 35 in the calculator. I might as well have entered 2 plus 2. What happened?
I remember, as a young student, how many of my peers would always question "why do we need to know Algebra?" "We'll never use it in real life!" I knew better. I knew that math was important and that I would need it in "real life". I did need it. I needed it to balance my check book; I needed it to figure out which credit card was getting how much money; I needed it to do the profit and loss statements at work; I needed it to do budgets; I needed it to figure out who got what salary increase; I needed it to figure out which flight I could take to get me to my meeting on time in three time zones away. And I needed it to figure out the appropriate tip for the bartender. Numbers were, are, my life.
I remember finance, accounting and statistics classes and committing formulas to memory. I remember learning ways to use numbers to solve what seemed insurmountable problems. I scribbled formulas and calculated the answer to the identity of "X".
And then came those HP calculators; and then we were allowed to use calculators for tests. And then there were personal computers; and spreadsheet programs like Lotus and Excel. You still need to know your formulas to make the spreadsheets work,but you did not need to know how to add, subtract, multiply and divide. Why tax your brain with such mundane functions when the little device can do it for you. Common algebraic equations are already programmed into the hand held computer. Push this button, push that button and voila - the answer.
I cringe when I see a table of patrons at a restaurant pull out their cell phones and begin dividing up the dinner bill and calculating tips. I've lost a lot of money over the years by just grabbing the check and paying it to avoid the "you had the Cobb Salad and that was $11 and the martini was $7 and a 17.5% tip would be ????? Split it four ways and leave 20%!
I still hear young students today complaining, "why do I need to know algebra? why do I need to know geography? why do I need to know science?. You need to be financially accountable, you need to know where you are and where you are going and you need to know what household cleansers you can mix without blowing yourself up. If you don't learn these subjects you will never make it on Amazing Race!
Now to use Spellcheck and publish post. . .damn, my spelling has gotten bad too! Time to separate from the "borg".
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Salon or So Long?
As a child I was lucky enough to be embraced as a "mascot" to the adult gatherings. The adult gatherings that produced heated debate over politics, government, philosophy, religion and art. Amidst the dysfunction of an extended family that shared similar ancestry but little more, the "idea" was always given fair consideration; even if the individual was not.
Among the food, wine and brandies, cigarettes and cigars, I learned some basic guidelines to turning thoughts and feelings into powerful sentences. I learned to listen carefully as not to miss the hidden meaning (because there was always a "hidden meaning"). I learned to watch the body language and see the "tells" that trumpeted the transformation of the idea into belief and belief into value. Once value was established, the conversation would become more robust. Sometimes ending with a slamming door and an abrupt departure. Ah, the evening was a success.
As a teen, my friends were a collection of diverse intellect and interests. There were the studious, the hippie, the jocks, the popular, the artistic and the few that were simply searching. A family friend was visiting my parents while I was entertaining my "peeps". He was European and his connection to the family was a mystery to me. He commented that I had "created an interesting assortment of disciplines for salon." "Really? Thanks. Gotta go." "Salon?" "Right."
A number of years later in college, as I sat wide-eyed through world history, world literature, art history and philosophy courses, that word "salon" always popped up. Salon: a gathering of intellectual, social, political and cultural elites under the roof of an inspiring hostess or host, partly to amuse one another and partly to refine their tastes and increase their knowledge through conversation. The salon was distinguished from other gatherings by its absence of social hierarchy and its mixing of different social ranks and orders.
Salon? Isn't that just a party or a visit to the coffee shop or an after-party debate?
I conjectured that this concept of "salon" was a forced discussion, improvisation or "study group." I imagined preparing notes and debate strategies before going to someones home. Why such structure for a social gathering? Can we discuss sex too?
As I learned more about the history of salon and the role of women in the facilitation of some of the more famous salons of the 17th and 18th centuries, the more the concept intrigued me. I want to be a salonniere! So once I sent invitations out to "join me for salon". My invitees began to question - what does that mean? What do we wear? Am I suppose to bring something? Yeah, really, sounds like fun Coralee. The gathering was a bomb; one guy was actually sitting in the corner reading the newspaper.
And, so I began planning my clandestine salon. I would get my guests to the house under the pretense of food, wine and frivolity. And then, I would spark a debate. I would throw topics out for discussion to enlighten and amaze. I would loft differing opinions into the air and see where the idea would land and what conversation would it ignite.
Sometimes we have salon, sometimes we have silly conversations over football, sex and which character on Friends is the most likable. Once we spent five hours laughing over who had the most embarrassing public bathroom experience.
I have given up my idea of having "salon". I just sit with friends and we talk about whatever. . .sometimes we sit in the kitchen.
The topic today is Rhode Island; its neither a road nor an island; discuss.
Among the food, wine and brandies, cigarettes and cigars, I learned some basic guidelines to turning thoughts and feelings into powerful sentences. I learned to listen carefully as not to miss the hidden meaning (because there was always a "hidden meaning"). I learned to watch the body language and see the "tells" that trumpeted the transformation of the idea into belief and belief into value. Once value was established, the conversation would become more robust. Sometimes ending with a slamming door and an abrupt departure. Ah, the evening was a success.
As a teen, my friends were a collection of diverse intellect and interests. There were the studious, the hippie, the jocks, the popular, the artistic and the few that were simply searching. A family friend was visiting my parents while I was entertaining my "peeps". He was European and his connection to the family was a mystery to me. He commented that I had "created an interesting assortment of disciplines for salon." "Really? Thanks. Gotta go." "Salon?" "Right."
A number of years later in college, as I sat wide-eyed through world history, world literature, art history and philosophy courses, that word "salon" always popped up. Salon: a gathering of intellectual, social, political and cultural elites under the roof of an inspiring hostess or host, partly to amuse one another and partly to refine their tastes and increase their knowledge through conversation. The salon was distinguished from other gatherings by its absence of social hierarchy and its mixing of different social ranks and orders.
Salon? Isn't that just a party or a visit to the coffee shop or an after-party debate?
I conjectured that this concept of "salon" was a forced discussion, improvisation or "study group." I imagined preparing notes and debate strategies before going to someones home. Why such structure for a social gathering? Can we discuss sex too?
As I learned more about the history of salon and the role of women in the facilitation of some of the more famous salons of the 17th and 18th centuries, the more the concept intrigued me. I want to be a salonniere! So once I sent invitations out to "join me for salon". My invitees began to question - what does that mean? What do we wear? Am I suppose to bring something? Yeah, really, sounds like fun Coralee. The gathering was a bomb; one guy was actually sitting in the corner reading the newspaper.
And, so I began planning my clandestine salon. I would get my guests to the house under the pretense of food, wine and frivolity. And then, I would spark a debate. I would throw topics out for discussion to enlighten and amaze. I would loft differing opinions into the air and see where the idea would land and what conversation would it ignite.
Sometimes we have salon, sometimes we have silly conversations over football, sex and which character on Friends is the most likable. Once we spent five hours laughing over who had the most embarrassing public bathroom experience.
I have given up my idea of having "salon". I just sit with friends and we talk about whatever. . .sometimes we sit in the kitchen.
The topic today is Rhode Island; its neither a road nor an island; discuss.
Monday, September 21, 2009
"Alan, I believe you have George's vegetable medley on your back!"
In the earlier years of my career I was given the task of developing a training program for our salaried sales force. The object of the training was to address some of the skill deficiencies we had identified and provide a foundation of information for the new sales personnel. The program included sales and marketing training and topics such as negotiating skills, product development, and administrative requirements.
Over the years the sales force grew upwards to 300+ people (in those days the group was about 90% male). Training was an important undertaking for us and we took the salespeople out of the field for one week every quarter. It was important that they had interaction with each other and home office management.
As most trainers, I preferred working with a small group. With workshop type classes we tried to keep the group at a maximum of 15; with lecture type material we went ahead and did auditorium classes. The auditorium classes were usually saved for the more "boring" topics (new product development and profit control). Hitting these subjects with one swoop was for the presenter more than the students: no one wanted to have to present that material more than once. No matter how hard we tried, we just couldn't glamorize profit control.
In the sales training classes we used a lot of role playing and employed videotaping as a critiquing tool. We put those guys and gals through some very disciplined processes and held them accountable for using a systemized sales process. Over the years, and as I changed companies, I found myself in the position of having former students coming to me to sell me something. It was shadow boxing at its best. One thing we agreed on was that we did have some fun as we went through, what became, a four level program and our formative years.
I recall some of the "students" with a smile (the names below have been changed - not to protect the innocent, but to keep me out of court):
Over the years the sales force grew upwards to 300+ people (in those days the group was about 90% male). Training was an important undertaking for us and we took the salespeople out of the field for one week every quarter. It was important that they had interaction with each other and home office management.
As most trainers, I preferred working with a small group. With workshop type classes we tried to keep the group at a maximum of 15; with lecture type material we went ahead and did auditorium classes. The auditorium classes were usually saved for the more "boring" topics (new product development and profit control). Hitting these subjects with one swoop was for the presenter more than the students: no one wanted to have to present that material more than once. No matter how hard we tried, we just couldn't glamorize profit control.
In the sales training classes we used a lot of role playing and employed videotaping as a critiquing tool. We put those guys and gals through some very disciplined processes and held them accountable for using a systemized sales process. Over the years, and as I changed companies, I found myself in the position of having former students coming to me to sell me something. It was shadow boxing at its best. One thing we agreed on was that we did have some fun as we went through, what became, a four level program and our formative years.
I recall some of the "students" with a smile (the names below have been changed - not to protect the innocent, but to keep me out of court):
- Andy: I think Andy had narcolepsy. On more than one occasion, I found myself standing in front of a snoring Andy who had managed to drool quite a reservoir on his crisp, white shirt. Isn't it amazing that every time you catch someone sleeping they are always surprised and often deny it? He later told me that he was often poked by little, old ladies on the plane, informing him of the "drool issue".
- Bob: In an effort to promote camaraderie, the training staff often hosted cocktail parties or dinner parties. The group would continue the party after the official party came to a close. The mornings after did indeed provide for some very "unhappy campers." Bob was looking green. I was surprised he even showed up on time for class. We took our morning break; Bob ran from the classroom. When we reconvened, Bob took his seat with a completely wet head. When I asked what happened, he replied that his friends "flushed his head in the toilet to revive him." I think he was telling me a story; I hope.
- Charlie: Charlie came to me very seriously during a morning break. "You have to change my room mate," he pleaded, "I haven't slept in two nights." He told me that Dave snored constantly, keeping him awake. Since I was head of the program he concluded that I was also in charge of room assignments. It turned out that we had to give Dave his own room thereafter - his snoring became infamous.
- Ed: Ed was a novice sales person. During the videotaping of a mock sales call, he had a number of false starts. He finally concluded his opening remarks and actually did quite well with the Q&A. When the taping was over, he gathered his things and left the room. My assistant broke into laughter as she pulled tissues from the nearby desk. Poor Ed had been so nervous that he left a puddle of sweat on the desk! The next time we videotaped him I told him to take off his jacket.
- Frank: Frank was actually a client. He was kind enough to agree to assist us in making a training video. The video was to be focused on what his expectations were of a quality sales presentation. I acted as the interviewer and we had pre-planned questions and answers. Frank was very nervous. Perhaps it was the bright lights, or the camera. After several takes we decided to break and I left the room. Our director, Bill, knew he had to find some way to get Frank to relax. When I returned we went back into the interview. Again Frank sat there rather stiffly but now with a little smirk on his face. As I launched into a question, Frank leaned forward and brought his hands onto the desk. We both broke into uncontrolled laughter. Bill had provided Frank with the grip's gloves. There was Frank, professionally suited, wearing these over sized, yellow gloves and twiddling his fingers. Frank relaxed and the taping went well. We used the out-take as a example of how you never know what the client may throw at you.
- George: Now I have already mentioned that we regularly provided some off-time activities. And, I have already mentioned that the mornings after were sometimes "eventful". Well, after one such night of rabble rousing, we treated the attendees to deep sea fishing the next morning. George did not fare too well and become ill. Poor George, to his colleagues dismay, became ill several times. His recovery was hastened as he heard one colleague say to another, "Alan, I believe you have George's vegetable medley on your back." That became a rallying cry for many years after; and a 'greeting' for George to this very day.
I remember those days and people with great fondness. We had a good time and created some of the best sales professionals in the industry. They taught me a lot of valuable lessons as well. I was honored to part of their professional development. Learning should be fun!
Sunday, September 20, 2009
Elvis Lives and Eats Donuts in Ohio
I started reading Dan Brown's The Lost Symbol this morning; and then I turned on the television and got caught up in a History Channel program on Dan Brown's Angels and Demons. It is indeed an interesting preoccupation that many of us have with conspiracy theory.
Do you think that our fascination with conspiracy is instinctual? Remember how as children we would taunt our siblings with stories of how they were left on the door step and Mommy and Daddy weren't Mommy and Daddy at all? There are aliens among us and they take the form of teachers. And then there were the ghastly tales of the witches that would kidnap the bad children and take them off into the dark forest? I lived in Miami and I still believed there was a dark forest hidden somewhere at the beach.
The stories of the magical and mystical heightened our curiosity and plunged us headfirst into the concept of conspiracy theories. Who are these puppet masters that weave the tales of a more powerful sect of humans; that can conceal the great treasures of the world? Who can promote people of seemingly common origins into greatness? How do you get invited into the secret societies that guard the "truth"? What is the real truth? And tell me again why we are hiding it?
I don't believe the theories are strictly countermanding the sides of science and religion. There are theories that attempt to promote opposing political views, the opposing sides of law and order; all in the name of gaining control. What of the creation of Santa Claus? Who is he really and how does he know if we are good or bad? A merchant's conspiracy?
The Kennedy assassinations; man walking on the moon; Freemasonry; buried treasures; Elvis lives and eats donuts in Ohio. Our blessed ability to think stretches our faith to believe that anything is truly true.
Ooh. . .is it a conspiracy of a group of the extremely wealthy to plunge us into an economy of unemployment and recession; and then to take our allegiance by providing us a way out? Do you think it is really true that television commercials have encoded subliminal messages that make us more and more accepting of the conspiracy theories themselves? Is is a vicious cycle? Am I part of the conspiracy theory? Is someone else really writing this?
I think I will leave the weaving of conspiracy theories to Dan Brown. Is he part of the conspiracy theory that leaves the writing of conspiracy theory to him? I'm putting down the book, turning on a football game. Football? A conspiracy? Don't get me started. . .
Do you think that our fascination with conspiracy is instinctual? Remember how as children we would taunt our siblings with stories of how they were left on the door step and Mommy and Daddy weren't Mommy and Daddy at all? There are aliens among us and they take the form of teachers. And then there were the ghastly tales of the witches that would kidnap the bad children and take them off into the dark forest? I lived in Miami and I still believed there was a dark forest hidden somewhere at the beach.
The stories of the magical and mystical heightened our curiosity and plunged us headfirst into the concept of conspiracy theories. Who are these puppet masters that weave the tales of a more powerful sect of humans; that can conceal the great treasures of the world? Who can promote people of seemingly common origins into greatness? How do you get invited into the secret societies that guard the "truth"? What is the real truth? And tell me again why we are hiding it?
I don't believe the theories are strictly countermanding the sides of science and religion. There are theories that attempt to promote opposing political views, the opposing sides of law and order; all in the name of gaining control. What of the creation of Santa Claus? Who is he really and how does he know if we are good or bad? A merchant's conspiracy?
The Kennedy assassinations; man walking on the moon; Freemasonry; buried treasures; Elvis lives and eats donuts in Ohio. Our blessed ability to think stretches our faith to believe that anything is truly true.
Ooh. . .is it a conspiracy of a group of the extremely wealthy to plunge us into an economy of unemployment and recession; and then to take our allegiance by providing us a way out? Do you think it is really true that television commercials have encoded subliminal messages that make us more and more accepting of the conspiracy theories themselves? Is is a vicious cycle? Am I part of the conspiracy theory? Is someone else really writing this?
I think I will leave the weaving of conspiracy theories to Dan Brown. Is he part of the conspiracy theory that leaves the writing of conspiracy theory to him? I'm putting down the book, turning on a football game. Football? A conspiracy? Don't get me started. . .
Saturday, September 19, 2009
The Walking Wounded
I am just like the weather today, partly cloudy with a chance of rain. Or is partly sunny with a chance for darkness later in the day?
My body is a barometer of the weather; the head aches a wee bit when rain is approaching. The head aches and so does the shoulder, neck, elbow, ankle, wrist and other assorted body parts that have been broken or cut upon. I am an orthopedist dream.
In my youth, I was quite graceful and resilient; I think? I may have fallen but I knew how to do it correctly: not breaking anything and rising to my feet before anyone really noticed the crash. I was Mary Catherine Gallagher. Ta da!
As I got older, my ability to bounce back up began to wane. First I broke an ankle and then I broke my wrist. A few years later I blew a disc in my neck; and then another one. I tripped over my own feet in the driveway and shattered my elbow; that took four surgeries to fix. And then there was the shoulder.
Through these events I have gathered a collection of orthopedic devices: slings, boots, neck braces, back braces, something that looks like a 13" television to restrict shoulder movement, a walker, crutches and a mnemonic device that fits on my forearm and has a blood pressure type pump. I think it had some sort of physical therapy use?
As Halloween is approaching I have been thinking that I could put all of these slings and braces to good use. I'm going to wear all of this equipment and I could be "The Walking Wounded." I "could be"? I think I am.
I still insist on wearing high heels although my feet and ankles are fighting me on that. If they didn't make my calves look so darn good I might retreat to flats. But no, I shall wear those beautiful high heels I have collected and continue to make my entrance; tall and statuesque. My orthopedist gives me the obligatory cautions and suggests that I stay closer to the ground. He says that out loud and secretly he's planning his next trip to Bali with his fee from his frequent patient.
I think two more surgeries and I get a trip to Hawaii! I hate it when the sand gets into your cast.
My body is a barometer of the weather; the head aches a wee bit when rain is approaching. The head aches and so does the shoulder, neck, elbow, ankle, wrist and other assorted body parts that have been broken or cut upon. I am an orthopedist dream.
In my youth, I was quite graceful and resilient; I think? I may have fallen but I knew how to do it correctly: not breaking anything and rising to my feet before anyone really noticed the crash. I was Mary Catherine Gallagher. Ta da!
As I got older, my ability to bounce back up began to wane. First I broke an ankle and then I broke my wrist. A few years later I blew a disc in my neck; and then another one. I tripped over my own feet in the driveway and shattered my elbow; that took four surgeries to fix. And then there was the shoulder.
Through these events I have gathered a collection of orthopedic devices: slings, boots, neck braces, back braces, something that looks like a 13" television to restrict shoulder movement, a walker, crutches and a mnemonic device that fits on my forearm and has a blood pressure type pump. I think it had some sort of physical therapy use?
As Halloween is approaching I have been thinking that I could put all of these slings and braces to good use. I'm going to wear all of this equipment and I could be "The Walking Wounded." I "could be"? I think I am.
I still insist on wearing high heels although my feet and ankles are fighting me on that. If they didn't make my calves look so darn good I might retreat to flats. But no, I shall wear those beautiful high heels I have collected and continue to make my entrance; tall and statuesque. My orthopedist gives me the obligatory cautions and suggests that I stay closer to the ground. He says that out loud and secretly he's planning his next trip to Bali with his fee from his frequent patient.
I think two more surgeries and I get a trip to Hawaii! I hate it when the sand gets into your cast.
Friday, September 18, 2009
Password - "Thingy Magigy"
I had to change a password on one of my Internet accounts this morning. I had to change it because I forgot it. Remember when all we had to remember was our social security number and the combination on our lockers?
I've been known to forget a password or two. As a privacy professional, I take the responsibility of protecting my identity very seriously. During lazier times I would have used the same password over and over again. But, my paranoia of identity theft has changed that. I take pride in creating strong passwords - combinations of lower case letters, upper case letters, numbers and symbols. We shouldn't write them down for fear someone will find them and hack into our computers. What this process has done, is prevent ME from logging on.
A number of years ago when password protected programs began to blossom, my assistant had a direct line to the IT Help Desk; that was because Coralee forgot her password again! In those days I would use word association to create my double secret entry code. Sometimes it was the first thing I saw on my desk: stapler, a big mess, phone, file and "thingy magigy". Natalie would come in as she heard my usual profanity in the morning and attempt to identify objects on my desk that may have gotten my attention. I eventually learned that word association didn't work for me in this circumstance.
I knew better than to use dates. No birthdays or anniversaries for me. For awhile I used pet names. Then I started using combinations of pet names and telephone numbers (not mine of course). The telephone number thing got confusing because I couldn't remember whose phone number I used for what program. You see there was some word association coupled with the phone number.
When the security questions were implemented as protocol I was relieved; there was a back-up process to get me into the wonderful world of cyberspace. Initially all I had to remember was my mother's maiden name. When that became too common, we were given the option of creating numerous security questions. I thought this was such a good idea that I created different questions for each program: My favorite pet, my first pet, the street where I grew up, the high school I went to, my paternal grandmothers middle name, my best friend's name in elementary school. ..it got out of control.
Forgetting the password was one thing, but remembering which animal I thought was my favorite pet at the given moment when I created the answer was another. Was it RC? Was it Murphy? Was it Jen? Once on the phone with a help desk, they asked me the security question - what is your favorite pet? In desperation I began throwing out names - Surrey? Mr. Tom? O'Hara? Claude? Dostoevsky? Zachary? Finally, the gentlemen on the other end of the phone stopped me - just how many pets have you had? Oh, is that the answer? Do I need to know how many pets I had? He felt sorry for me. ..just tell me what kind of pets they were. Dogs, cats, ducks! One answer please. My favorite pet was "cat". He tried the second security question - what high school did you go to? Yeah, I knew that answer. Pathetic, I thought, how pathetic I must sound. He chuckled, "no problem, this is why I have a job!"
I thought I had the right system created for designating passwords. I created three. Three because you usually have three chances to log in before you get locked out. I thought this to be brilliant - I don't have to remember which password I designated for what program. And then it became apparent that those three were not secure enough for some programs and hence I've been locked out once again this morning.
Knock, Knock - what's the password? I dunno - yep, that's it!
I've been known to forget a password or two. As a privacy professional, I take the responsibility of protecting my identity very seriously. During lazier times I would have used the same password over and over again. But, my paranoia of identity theft has changed that. I take pride in creating strong passwords - combinations of lower case letters, upper case letters, numbers and symbols. We shouldn't write them down for fear someone will find them and hack into our computers. What this process has done, is prevent ME from logging on.
A number of years ago when password protected programs began to blossom, my assistant had a direct line to the IT Help Desk; that was because Coralee forgot her password again! In those days I would use word association to create my double secret entry code. Sometimes it was the first thing I saw on my desk: stapler, a big mess, phone, file and "thingy magigy". Natalie would come in as she heard my usual profanity in the morning and attempt to identify objects on my desk that may have gotten my attention. I eventually learned that word association didn't work for me in this circumstance.
I knew better than to use dates. No birthdays or anniversaries for me. For awhile I used pet names. Then I started using combinations of pet names and telephone numbers (not mine of course). The telephone number thing got confusing because I couldn't remember whose phone number I used for what program. You see there was some word association coupled with the phone number.
When the security questions were implemented as protocol I was relieved; there was a back-up process to get me into the wonderful world of cyberspace. Initially all I had to remember was my mother's maiden name. When that became too common, we were given the option of creating numerous security questions. I thought this was such a good idea that I created different questions for each program: My favorite pet, my first pet, the street where I grew up, the high school I went to, my paternal grandmothers middle name, my best friend's name in elementary school. ..it got out of control.
Forgetting the password was one thing, but remembering which animal I thought was my favorite pet at the given moment when I created the answer was another. Was it RC? Was it Murphy? Was it Jen? Once on the phone with a help desk, they asked me the security question - what is your favorite pet? In desperation I began throwing out names - Surrey? Mr. Tom? O'Hara? Claude? Dostoevsky? Zachary? Finally, the gentlemen on the other end of the phone stopped me - just how many pets have you had? Oh, is that the answer? Do I need to know how many pets I had? He felt sorry for me. ..just tell me what kind of pets they were. Dogs, cats, ducks! One answer please. My favorite pet was "cat". He tried the second security question - what high school did you go to? Yeah, I knew that answer. Pathetic, I thought, how pathetic I must sound. He chuckled, "no problem, this is why I have a job!"
I thought I had the right system created for designating passwords. I created three. Three because you usually have three chances to log in before you get locked out. I thought this to be brilliant - I don't have to remember which password I designated for what program. And then it became apparent that those three were not secure enough for some programs and hence I've been locked out once again this morning.
Knock, Knock - what's the password? I dunno - yep, that's it!
Thursday, September 17, 2009
R-E-S-P-E-C-T
Respect: to consider or treat with deference or dutiful regard; to show consideration for; avoid intruding upon or interfering with; consideration; courteous regard, courteous expressions of regard; to show polite regard.
Yes, I know, everyone is weighing in on the issue of civility, rudeness and outbursts. Well I just need to get it off my chest.
It's not just the actions of the 3 Ws (Wilson, Williams and West) that have exposed an undercurrent of rudeness as acceptable under the guise of freedom of speech. I am listening and seeing disregard and contempt everyday from the shoppers in a retail environment to our children in schools.
We were taught to "speak our mind"; don't accept 'no' for an answer; you are entitled to your opinion; be yourself. I contend that some of "our selves" aren't very nice.
What happened to learning to share, cooperating and team work? Did the lessons of common courtesies fall by the wayside in our efforts to prepare our children for the "real world"? How did that happen?
Respect has been on the decline since the issue of "entitlement" moved in. The generations that are now parents and grandparents have allowed their youth to believe that the world is indeed their oyster and all you need do is claim it. I believe there are few lessons that were skipped here. Did we miss the class on negotiating a win-win solutions? Did we miss the class that describes there are two sides to each issue? What about the lessons of diversity and tolerance and just plain "please and thank you"?
It is not the fault of the kids that they lack respect. What of the teen who disrupts her class, yells at the teacher and suffers no consequence? When the school calls the parent about unacceptable behavior shouldn't there be a reprisal? No, the teen gets to go on a weekend outing. Doesn't that condone the behavior? Why do we expect the behavior to change when there are no consequences for unacceptable acts?
Recently I was dining at the lake. Three boys were on the shore, throwing rocks at a family of ducks. There was some muted mumblings of disapproval, but no one did anything to stop it. I couldn't help myself, being somewhat of a "Mommie Dearest." I went down to the boys and suggested they stop before one of the ducks were injured. No response nor acknowledgment of my presence. In a more stern voice I asked where their parents were. They rolled they eyes at me and tossed another rock. I then threatened to call Security if they did not stop; two of the boys ran off. The third boy rolled his eyes and tossed yet another rock. I know that if I attempted to pull him away I would be arrested. He knew that too. I repeated that I was going to get Security and began to walk off. He threw yet another rock, this time hitting the duck. He ran off, laughing. I suspect we will see him in court one day. I am just not sure if he will be the defendant or the attorney.
I am saddened by the lack of respect we see in our youth. I am saddened that as a nation we believe the loudest voice will have the victory. I am saddened that people believe the "freedom of speech" does not require sensitivity, compassion and some editing. I am saddened that we have become so intolerant.
There are so many wonderful, respectful and intellectual people out there. Why are we allowing the rudeness to grow? I do not have the answers for peaceful coexistence, but I do know it begins with RESPECT.
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
No Poker for Me
My jaw drops, my eyes flash and I throw my hands in the air. And that's before I start my rave.
My facial expressions have a "voice" of their own. For years I have tried to perfect a poker face. I've tried to hide my disdain, my surprise and my embarrassment. I am apparently lacking that gene that can mask my mask. I am expressive - in gestures, words, tone and facial contortions.
The hardest "comment" for me to hide is humor. I have never been able to suppress a laugh in it's entirety. I've tried to camouflage it as a yawn or a sneeze or a cough. But the suppression leads to watery eyes and then I get "caught". "What are you laughing at?" I try to deny it, but then my voice cracks and the giggle ensues.
Anger is the other reaction that bubbles to the surface. "Are you angry?" "No, why to you ask?" "Well, you face is turning red, your eyes are squinting and your lips just disappeared!" "No," I say, "I'm just thinking." Yeah, right. I'm thinking how I want to smack you!
And then there is disapproval; my head begins to shake ever so slightly; almost involuntarily. My eyes begin a piercing stare. No, there is no doubt, I do not like what is happening or being said.
Years ago, I wore my hair long and often in a "power bun." My staff could be heard over saying, "yep, her bun is spinning." That was code for "she's on one of her tirades." Over the years, I've mellowed and cut my hair. One less "tell" for my moods.
I've worked very hard to keep my gestures less threatening. I don't point, but I do use my hands in a sweeping motion. I have to, regrettably, admit to using air quotes and the "whatever" gesture. There is the shrug and the gesture of defeat when both hands and arms are throw haphazardly into the air.
Often there is a sight that I must convey silently. You know the kind - when you see a grave fashion violation or questionable public display of affection or the person who has fallen asleep in the theater. The kind when you tap the person sitting next to you and dart your eyes frantically to draw their attention to what you are witnessing. The entire head begins to toss to and fro and your mouth mumbles silently, "look at that. ..look at that." And then there is the moment of recognition, when you both acknowledge what you are seeing. Oh, we are so bad!
Growing up, I was never good at telling a lie - too many tells; and, Mom and Dad were very good at reading them. It's a blessing and a curse. Sometimes I would like to keep my opinion to myself. I have developed an expression which I am told resembles "Barbara Walters". It is the face of "active listening, positive reinforcement and empathy." Now, everyone knows I'm just trying to hide my feelings. I can't win.
I am looking forward to Halloween, when I can wear a real mask and safely express how I really feel. Maybe I'll join a poker game.
My facial expressions have a "voice" of their own. For years I have tried to perfect a poker face. I've tried to hide my disdain, my surprise and my embarrassment. I am apparently lacking that gene that can mask my mask. I am expressive - in gestures, words, tone and facial contortions.
The hardest "comment" for me to hide is humor. I have never been able to suppress a laugh in it's entirety. I've tried to camouflage it as a yawn or a sneeze or a cough. But the suppression leads to watery eyes and then I get "caught". "What are you laughing at?" I try to deny it, but then my voice cracks and the giggle ensues.
Anger is the other reaction that bubbles to the surface. "Are you angry?" "No, why to you ask?" "Well, you face is turning red, your eyes are squinting and your lips just disappeared!" "No," I say, "I'm just thinking." Yeah, right. I'm thinking how I want to smack you!
And then there is disapproval; my head begins to shake ever so slightly; almost involuntarily. My eyes begin a piercing stare. No, there is no doubt, I do not like what is happening or being said.
Years ago, I wore my hair long and often in a "power bun." My staff could be heard over saying, "yep, her bun is spinning." That was code for "she's on one of her tirades." Over the years, I've mellowed and cut my hair. One less "tell" for my moods.
I've worked very hard to keep my gestures less threatening. I don't point, but I do use my hands in a sweeping motion. I have to, regrettably, admit to using air quotes and the "whatever" gesture. There is the shrug and the gesture of defeat when both hands and arms are throw haphazardly into the air.
Often there is a sight that I must convey silently. You know the kind - when you see a grave fashion violation or questionable public display of affection or the person who has fallen asleep in the theater. The kind when you tap the person sitting next to you and dart your eyes frantically to draw their attention to what you are witnessing. The entire head begins to toss to and fro and your mouth mumbles silently, "look at that. ..look at that." And then there is the moment of recognition, when you both acknowledge what you are seeing. Oh, we are so bad!
Growing up, I was never good at telling a lie - too many tells; and, Mom and Dad were very good at reading them. It's a blessing and a curse. Sometimes I would like to keep my opinion to myself. I have developed an expression which I am told resembles "Barbara Walters". It is the face of "active listening, positive reinforcement and empathy." Now, everyone knows I'm just trying to hide my feelings. I can't win.
I am looking forward to Halloween, when I can wear a real mask and safely express how I really feel. Maybe I'll join a poker game.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
Dance like no one is watching
". . .and the visions of sugar plums danced in her head." ". . .she is a dancing queen. . ." "Dance, dance, dance. .." "I could have danced all night. . ."
I've got dance on my brain today; dirty dancing; ballet dancing; contemporary dancing; jazz dancing; ballroom dancing; Dancing with the Stars; You think you can dance; dance with me; and rest in peace, Patrick Swayze.
Dancing and watching dance is one of the great joys of my life. I am lucky to live in a community that embraces the art of dance. Or is it that I'm part of a microcosm in the community that embraces dance? We have more dance than we can financially support. That is sad. But,what is wonderful is that the options are endless for those talented few that can perform and lift your spirit and mind into new dimensions; as they lift each other with awe-inspiring grace.
There is a new company, South Carolina Contemporary Dance Company, making their debut this week. The talent in this company comes from the Columbia City Ballet, USC School of Dance and Carolina Ballet. I'm excited to see the best of the best perform together.
It is wonderful to provide these talented artists - the dancers, musicians, choreographers, costumers and set and lighting professionals - with yet another venue to display their wares.
I have to admit that I have a bias to the artists of the Columbia City Ballet. I've spent nearly ten years on their board and have been intricately involved with the ups and downs of the company's finances; comings and goings of dancers; and, the occasional public indiscretion. William Starrett, the Artistic Director is a true artist. With that designation comes all the monikers associated with the title: artiste, creative, stubborn, ego driven, disciplined, moody and protective of his creations and the young people he directs. Columbia City Ballet is his heart and soul. He wants dance to be better and he wants the community to be exposed to and love dance as much as he does. I am grateful to William and his commitment and vision to the dance.
I am also grateful to Miriam and Radenko and Susan and John and the entire dance community to continue to provide this community with options to expose quality and creative productions. I wish the competition for dollars did not create a divide between the companies. I do, however, believe that competition drives the quality of the performances; creates diversity; and challenges the dancers themselves.
Over the years I have been lucky to watch dance performances all over the world: New York, London, Paris, Vienna, Miami, Chicago, San Francisco and Columbia, South Carolina. I have seen ballet companies, contemporary companies, Irish step dancing companies, South American companies, Asian companies and the occasional amateur recital. Each performance warms my heart, feeds my soul and sends me to "a happy place." In my mind's eye I am moving and lifting and soaring with them. And when I go home, I dance because no one is watching. . .
Break a leg South Carolina Contemporary Dance Company. Columbia, get ready for another fabulous season of dance - Columbia City Ballet opens in October with Dracula. And as for me, I've got my dancing shoes on and tickets in hand.
I've got dance on my brain today; dirty dancing; ballet dancing; contemporary dancing; jazz dancing; ballroom dancing; Dancing with the Stars; You think you can dance; dance with me; and rest in peace, Patrick Swayze.
Dancing and watching dance is one of the great joys of my life. I am lucky to live in a community that embraces the art of dance. Or is it that I'm part of a microcosm in the community that embraces dance? We have more dance than we can financially support. That is sad. But,what is wonderful is that the options are endless for those talented few that can perform and lift your spirit and mind into new dimensions; as they lift each other with awe-inspiring grace.
There is a new company, South Carolina Contemporary Dance Company, making their debut this week. The talent in this company comes from the Columbia City Ballet, USC School of Dance and Carolina Ballet. I'm excited to see the best of the best perform together.
It is wonderful to provide these talented artists - the dancers, musicians, choreographers, costumers and set and lighting professionals - with yet another venue to display their wares.
I have to admit that I have a bias to the artists of the Columbia City Ballet. I've spent nearly ten years on their board and have been intricately involved with the ups and downs of the company's finances; comings and goings of dancers; and, the occasional public indiscretion. William Starrett, the Artistic Director is a true artist. With that designation comes all the monikers associated with the title: artiste, creative, stubborn, ego driven, disciplined, moody and protective of his creations and the young people he directs. Columbia City Ballet is his heart and soul. He wants dance to be better and he wants the community to be exposed to and love dance as much as he does. I am grateful to William and his commitment and vision to the dance.
I am also grateful to Miriam and Radenko and Susan and John and the entire dance community to continue to provide this community with options to expose quality and creative productions. I wish the competition for dollars did not create a divide between the companies. I do, however, believe that competition drives the quality of the performances; creates diversity; and challenges the dancers themselves.
Over the years I have been lucky to watch dance performances all over the world: New York, London, Paris, Vienna, Miami, Chicago, San Francisco and Columbia, South Carolina. I have seen ballet companies, contemporary companies, Irish step dancing companies, South American companies, Asian companies and the occasional amateur recital. Each performance warms my heart, feeds my soul and sends me to "a happy place." In my mind's eye I am moving and lifting and soaring with them. And when I go home, I dance because no one is watching. . .
Break a leg South Carolina Contemporary Dance Company. Columbia, get ready for another fabulous season of dance - Columbia City Ballet opens in October with Dracula. And as for me, I've got my dancing shoes on and tickets in hand.
Monday, September 14, 2009
Manic Monday - State of the Union
I'm worrying about finances; I'm worrying about the widening divide of public opinion on healthcare and financial reform; I'm worrying about the impact of partisanship on the character of the American voice; I am worried about the casualties that will result from the "wars", both domestic and foreign.
In the last week I've heard of a dozen cases of people losing work, losing their homes and in some cases just losing hope. I believe adversity will strengthen our resolve and motivate us to fight back. However, I'm not sure whom or what we will be fighting. I fear we have begun fighting each other.
The American middle class is in survival mode. In our efforts to survive and maintain, I see tolerance going out the window; in some case civility. We no longer have the "luxury" to leisurely weigh the vast amounts of information available to us and develop an opinion. Our patience has been tried and we are shouting at each other - just chose a side! Each side is fueled by passion. Passion fueled by fears.
We are in triage mode. What do "I" need to address first? Is it putting food on the table? Keeping the utilities connected? Affording the trip to the doctor? Depleting my retirement funds? Is the glass half full or half empty?
I am faithful and believe we can rise above the petty squabbles that ensue - economic stress is challenging. We are facing life changing decisions. Change produces uncertainty. Uncertainty produces fear. Fear creates stress and anger. And the cycle perpetuates itself.
I hear the fears of people who believe they are losing their freedoms to government intervention. And yes, I understand how uncomfortable it is to lose control. But don't you think someone has to be in charge? Don't we need to collectively migrate to a greener pasture? We can't fix this alone.
We have chosen our leadership. We voted for people that we believe will find solutions, not create problems.
I'm tired of fighting for what I believe. I'm tired of partisanship. We need to address the ISSUES and focus on the TASKS; we need to leave the PERSONALITIES and egos at the door.
There is a process to fixing what ails us. Let's support the process and accept the outcomes.
God Bless America.
In the last week I've heard of a dozen cases of people losing work, losing their homes and in some cases just losing hope. I believe adversity will strengthen our resolve and motivate us to fight back. However, I'm not sure whom or what we will be fighting. I fear we have begun fighting each other.
The American middle class is in survival mode. In our efforts to survive and maintain, I see tolerance going out the window; in some case civility. We no longer have the "luxury" to leisurely weigh the vast amounts of information available to us and develop an opinion. Our patience has been tried and we are shouting at each other - just chose a side! Each side is fueled by passion. Passion fueled by fears.
We are in triage mode. What do "I" need to address first? Is it putting food on the table? Keeping the utilities connected? Affording the trip to the doctor? Depleting my retirement funds? Is the glass half full or half empty?
I am faithful and believe we can rise above the petty squabbles that ensue - economic stress is challenging. We are facing life changing decisions. Change produces uncertainty. Uncertainty produces fear. Fear creates stress and anger. And the cycle perpetuates itself.
I hear the fears of people who believe they are losing their freedoms to government intervention. And yes, I understand how uncomfortable it is to lose control. But don't you think someone has to be in charge? Don't we need to collectively migrate to a greener pasture? We can't fix this alone.
We have chosen our leadership. We voted for people that we believe will find solutions, not create problems.
I'm tired of fighting for what I believe. I'm tired of partisanship. We need to address the ISSUES and focus on the TASKS; we need to leave the PERSONALITIES and egos at the door.
There is a process to fixing what ails us. Let's support the process and accept the outcomes.
God Bless America.
Sunday, September 13, 2009
A Date to Remember
Yesterday I spent some time with the girls. And, as sometimes happens during visits with the girls, the conversation turned to the topic of men (and I assume the reverse occurs when the guys get together). On the way home I began thinking of my many years of dating. I have had more first dates than I can count; first dates that never made it to the second. More often than not, that decision was mutual. Sometimes I had to go out a second time to just make sure my decision not go out again was correct. It couldn't have been that bad; could it?
There were laughable dates; scary dates; argumentative dates; boring dates; surreal dates; blind dates; short dates; and dates they seemed to last a week. I've been embarrassed, enraged, dumbfounded and just plain angry.
There have been the low talkers, the bad dancers, the sloppy eaters, the socially inept and the ego-maniacal. Understand that there have also been some wonderful men and great relationships; but that's not the topic of discussion when the girls get together. Somehow if we talk about those infamous liaisons we can justify that time spent in pursuit of romance and companionship. The good guys then seem that much better.
I have had my share of "cheap dates." I once had a date who took a change purse out of his suit pocket to tip the bartender after our pre-dinner cocktails. Another man, exited off the expressway into a rather unruly part of town, just to avoid the toll booth. Then there was the guy who actually took me to a function that he was not invited to nor did he know any of the attendees. I became suspicious after half a dozen people ask me how I was associated with the organization.
I was dining with a man who actually fell asleep in his plate; and another who nodded off in mid-sentence with a glass of wine in his hand. My first reaction was that they were ill, but they said no. I once left a table to "powder my nose" and ran into someone I knew. When I returned to the table, my date was gone and the waiter informed me he was getting the car. I met him at the valet stand to find that he thought I had taken too long so he decided to end the date. I wasn't gone that long (or was I?). It was a very quiet drive home.
And there was an extremely wealthy man, whose driver joined us in the club. My date asked if I wanted to dance. I said "of course" and he told his driver to dance with me. The driver was a great dancer and I spent a good deal of my "date" with him. I was then asked if I could cook breakfast. I took a cab home.
I've been taken to great restaurants; seedy little bars; wonderful concerts; and bad movies. I've dined; I've picnicked; I've sailed; I've clubbed; I've shopped; and I have hidden under a table while guns were drawn.
One man became quite amorous at the end of the date. As he leaned in to kiss me, he became ill and threw up on the ground next to my feet. I couldn't help myself: I launched into my best Roseann Roseanadana voice and asked "am I makin' ya sick or what." Needless to say, I never saw him again either. It must have been the beurre blanc sauce we had at dinner.
My last date ended in a rather robust debate over politics. Did he call you? Because he hasn't called me either.
There were laughable dates; scary dates; argumentative dates; boring dates; surreal dates; blind dates; short dates; and dates they seemed to last a week. I've been embarrassed, enraged, dumbfounded and just plain angry.
There have been the low talkers, the bad dancers, the sloppy eaters, the socially inept and the ego-maniacal. Understand that there have also been some wonderful men and great relationships; but that's not the topic of discussion when the girls get together. Somehow if we talk about those infamous liaisons we can justify that time spent in pursuit of romance and companionship. The good guys then seem that much better.
I have had my share of "cheap dates." I once had a date who took a change purse out of his suit pocket to tip the bartender after our pre-dinner cocktails. Another man, exited off the expressway into a rather unruly part of town, just to avoid the toll booth. Then there was the guy who actually took me to a function that he was not invited to nor did he know any of the attendees. I became suspicious after half a dozen people ask me how I was associated with the organization.
I was dining with a man who actually fell asleep in his plate; and another who nodded off in mid-sentence with a glass of wine in his hand. My first reaction was that they were ill, but they said no. I once left a table to "powder my nose" and ran into someone I knew. When I returned to the table, my date was gone and the waiter informed me he was getting the car. I met him at the valet stand to find that he thought I had taken too long so he decided to end the date. I wasn't gone that long (or was I?). It was a very quiet drive home.
And there was an extremely wealthy man, whose driver joined us in the club. My date asked if I wanted to dance. I said "of course" and he told his driver to dance with me. The driver was a great dancer and I spent a good deal of my "date" with him. I was then asked if I could cook breakfast. I took a cab home.
I've been taken to great restaurants; seedy little bars; wonderful concerts; and bad movies. I've dined; I've picnicked; I've sailed; I've clubbed; I've shopped; and I have hidden under a table while guns were drawn.
One man became quite amorous at the end of the date. As he leaned in to kiss me, he became ill and threw up on the ground next to my feet. I couldn't help myself: I launched into my best Roseann Roseanadana voice and asked "am I makin' ya sick or what." Needless to say, I never saw him again either. It must have been the beurre blanc sauce we had at dinner.
My last date ended in a rather robust debate over politics. Did he call you? Because he hasn't called me either.
Saturday, September 12, 2009
Objectivity is a Myth
So - what went wrong yesterday: the Coast Guard conducting a training exercise on 9/11 or CNN reporting a "suspicious" incident in restricted waters near the Pentagon and between the bridges that POTUS was traveling? Bridges that carry traffic in and out of our nation's Capital.
Did the Coast Guard really think that such a training exercise would go unnoticed on 9/11? On 9/11, when we are all holding our breath, hoping there are no "crazies" out there looking to stick holes in our security. Couldn't the "daily training exercise" be held in another location less conspicuous?
Did CNN react too quickly? Were they wrong to report what they heard and what they saw? I believe they were in a "catch-22". Had they not reported the situation, and had the event been an attempt to breach security, and had the bridges been damaged and lives lost - would we not have looked to them as "failing" to provide the citizenry with needed information? Let's face it, we always look to someone to blame; whether or not, blame is appropriate.
I believe the editors found themselves in a moral quandary. In their attempt to maintain objectivity, they reasoned that the event was questionable and deemed a warning of caution to those in the area. They continually advised that the event was not verified and they were seeking to validate the transmission.
"Objectivity is a myth"; so I was told by a journalism professor in my first incarnation as a student. And, as any philosophy student learns, "perceptions are fact."
As human beings, our realities are shaped by our experiences, our knowledge and our exposure to the world around us. In our attempt to be "objective" we draw on our value system and beliefs. Can I be objective on a jury trying a home invasion when I have been a victim of the same? As a reporter I choose the "facts" to relate in my observations of the story. I prioritize those facts and present what is "most important" as I believe them to be. That is the rub between writers and editors - our perceptions of objectivity are different - subjectively determined.
What is the truth to the story around Joe Wilson's outburst during the Obama speech to Congress on healthcare? He was wrong to shout out "you lie"; it is rude, disrespectful and untrue. Others believe he was right to call the President on a "misrepresentation" of the facts of the bill. The bill does not provide coverage for illegal aliens; but the bill does not provide for enforcement to prevent coverage for illegal aliens. Who is right?
The search for truth is stressful. Logic can confuse us. People do not always respond and react logically. We are told to maintain objectivity when we can not remove ourselves from our own experiences coloring a situation.
Jack Nicholson was right, "we can't handle the truth."
Did the Coast Guard really think that such a training exercise would go unnoticed on 9/11? On 9/11, when we are all holding our breath, hoping there are no "crazies" out there looking to stick holes in our security. Couldn't the "daily training exercise" be held in another location less conspicuous?
Did CNN react too quickly? Were they wrong to report what they heard and what they saw? I believe they were in a "catch-22". Had they not reported the situation, and had the event been an attempt to breach security, and had the bridges been damaged and lives lost - would we not have looked to them as "failing" to provide the citizenry with needed information? Let's face it, we always look to someone to blame; whether or not, blame is appropriate.
I believe the editors found themselves in a moral quandary. In their attempt to maintain objectivity, they reasoned that the event was questionable and deemed a warning of caution to those in the area. They continually advised that the event was not verified and they were seeking to validate the transmission.
"Objectivity is a myth"; so I was told by a journalism professor in my first incarnation as a student. And, as any philosophy student learns, "perceptions are fact."
As human beings, our realities are shaped by our experiences, our knowledge and our exposure to the world around us. In our attempt to be "objective" we draw on our value system and beliefs. Can I be objective on a jury trying a home invasion when I have been a victim of the same? As a reporter I choose the "facts" to relate in my observations of the story. I prioritize those facts and present what is "most important" as I believe them to be. That is the rub between writers and editors - our perceptions of objectivity are different - subjectively determined.
What is the truth to the story around Joe Wilson's outburst during the Obama speech to Congress on healthcare? He was wrong to shout out "you lie"; it is rude, disrespectful and untrue. Others believe he was right to call the President on a "misrepresentation" of the facts of the bill. The bill does not provide coverage for illegal aliens; but the bill does not provide for enforcement to prevent coverage for illegal aliens. Who is right?
The search for truth is stressful. Logic can confuse us. People do not always respond and react logically. We are told to maintain objectivity when we can not remove ourselves from our own experiences coloring a situation.
Jack Nicholson was right, "we can't handle the truth."
Friday, September 11, 2009
9/11/01 - My Memory
I'm outraged this morning that the Coast Guard would conduct a "training exercise" THIS morning on the Potomac near the Pentagon. Turning on CNN to see and hear that "gun fire challenged a recreational craft" brought back visions of the crumbling towers and a sinking heart; helpless and bewildered. What were they thinking?
It is hard to reconcile that eight years ago those planes, driven and fueled by such hatred, slammed into the bustling microcosm of the World Trade Center and the Pentagon. I was at home recovering from a recent hospitalization and my sister-in-law Bea was staying with me. I turned on the television to see flames billowing from the Pentagon. I went into the kitchen to refill my coffee and Bea took my place in front of the TV. "No!" she said, "it's the Towers." It took me several minutes to understand that this attack was occurring on two venues.
Bea immediately got on the phone to find the whereabouts of family members in the NYC area. I sunk into the couch to begin my 24 hour vigil switching from CNN to NBC to CBS to ABC. The grim photos were on every station. Coming from a family with many members serving on fire and police departments, my prayers were now focused on the responders. Prayers for their safety and prayers for their success at rescuing survivors.
The phone began ringing and we reached out to neighbors and friends to find some solace in this national tragedy. Bea and I went out on frantic search for an American flag; something I am ashamed I did not have at the time. We met some friends at a local restaurant to recount the tragedy and begin our mourning; and fire up our resolve not to let this change our way of life. We joined members of the community in the park for a concert and prayer service. We had to share and grieve together.
Two days later, I had a doctor's appointment. I left Bea at the church to pray. While with my physician, the fire alarms began ringing in the medical tower and we were told to evacuate. My heart was racing and so was my mind. How could this be happening in Columbia, South Carolina? The patients, physicians and staff were all evacuated into the parking garage. I didn't think that this was such a good idea. Since I was parked there I decided to leave. All I wanted to do was get back to my house and in front of the TV. (The fire alarm was set off by a grease fire in the cafe on the third floor of the medical building.) It was weeks before I left that television for more than an hour or two. I can still hear the "silence" at Ground Zero when another victim was brought out of the rubble into the lights. I remember the announcement that the "search and rescue" was now a "search and recovery."
In April of 2002, I visited NYC. I was there for two days before I conjured up enough courage to go to Ground Zero and visit Battery Park. It was a silent pilgrimage. Along with many others, I walked the perimeter of the site, hearing the rumbling of machinery and seeing the bright lights piercing through the darkness of night. There are times that I wish I had not gone because my memory of the Towers is now changed; as is the skyline.
When I think of the Towers, I try to remember other days in the history of World Trade Center. I remember having Sunday brunch in the Windows of the World, sipping Mimosas and watching Lady Liberty keeping vigil over the harbor. God Bless America.
It is hard to reconcile that eight years ago those planes, driven and fueled by such hatred, slammed into the bustling microcosm of the World Trade Center and the Pentagon. I was at home recovering from a recent hospitalization and my sister-in-law Bea was staying with me. I turned on the television to see flames billowing from the Pentagon. I went into the kitchen to refill my coffee and Bea took my place in front of the TV. "No!" she said, "it's the Towers." It took me several minutes to understand that this attack was occurring on two venues.
Bea immediately got on the phone to find the whereabouts of family members in the NYC area. I sunk into the couch to begin my 24 hour vigil switching from CNN to NBC to CBS to ABC. The grim photos were on every station. Coming from a family with many members serving on fire and police departments, my prayers were now focused on the responders. Prayers for their safety and prayers for their success at rescuing survivors.
The phone began ringing and we reached out to neighbors and friends to find some solace in this national tragedy. Bea and I went out on frantic search for an American flag; something I am ashamed I did not have at the time. We met some friends at a local restaurant to recount the tragedy and begin our mourning; and fire up our resolve not to let this change our way of life. We joined members of the community in the park for a concert and prayer service. We had to share and grieve together.
Two days later, I had a doctor's appointment. I left Bea at the church to pray. While with my physician, the fire alarms began ringing in the medical tower and we were told to evacuate. My heart was racing and so was my mind. How could this be happening in Columbia, South Carolina? The patients, physicians and staff were all evacuated into the parking garage. I didn't think that this was such a good idea. Since I was parked there I decided to leave. All I wanted to do was get back to my house and in front of the TV. (The fire alarm was set off by a grease fire in the cafe on the third floor of the medical building.) It was weeks before I left that television for more than an hour or two. I can still hear the "silence" at Ground Zero when another victim was brought out of the rubble into the lights. I remember the announcement that the "search and rescue" was now a "search and recovery."
In April of 2002, I visited NYC. I was there for two days before I conjured up enough courage to go to Ground Zero and visit Battery Park. It was a silent pilgrimage. Along with many others, I walked the perimeter of the site, hearing the rumbling of machinery and seeing the bright lights piercing through the darkness of night. There are times that I wish I had not gone because my memory of the Towers is now changed; as is the skyline.
When I think of the Towers, I try to remember other days in the history of World Trade Center. I remember having Sunday brunch in the Windows of the World, sipping Mimosas and watching Lady Liberty keeping vigil over the harbor. God Bless America.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
It might be time to change MY batteries!
This morning I hooked-up a new telephone system for the house. Besides being an answering machine and having an intercom system between three hand sets, it also has Bluetooth capacity. Since my sister spends more time in the house, I paired her cell phone with the device so she wouldn't have to carry it around with her upstairs and downstairs. Diane isn't the most electronically savvy person. She can do most anything, but for some reason this Bluetooth connection just isn't "connecting" with her. She received a couple calls, couldn't hear on the handsets and finally asked me to "disconnect" her.
I am reading the manual and started to think how complicated we make our lives in the pursuit of conveniences. A month or so ago I was driving home and was preoccupied and upset with the events of the day, my cell rang in my vehicle. I have a Bluetooth connection on the dashboard. I missed the call because I couldn't remember which button to push to receive the connection. I remembered after the call went to voicemail. Between our computers, GPS, TV's, DVRs, stereos, telephones, security systems, pre-programmed devices on all of our appliances, iPods, iPhones, and Blackberries, it sometimes gets confusing.
Am I confused because I have too many devices? Or, am I confused because I've gotten older and can no longer assimilate into i-electronic age? Where is George Jetson when I need him!
I love those devices that take my voice commands. Unfortunately I do not speak clearly enough to have my command followed on the first attempt. "Call MaryHelen" becomes "Call Mandy Allen"; "Call Bea's Cell" becomes "Call Beasly's". I yell at the lady on the phone, I yell at the GPS lady all of the time and I wonder why these devices do not have men's voices? I do believe that as we get older, as we become more set in our ways, we become less willing to take on new technology.
I am reminded of my parents, many moons and mango seasons ago, as we desperately tried to bring them into the realm of available technology. Mom and Dad were around for the first generation of "Life Call"; we got them the "I've fallen and can't get up" connection. The home base of the system was set up in their bedroom. The living room, where they spent much of their time was adjacent to the bedroom. With the television on and both of them sitting in their respective recliners, Dad turned to Mom and asked "what?". Surprised, Mom shook her head, "I didn't say anything". "Are you sure?" retorted Dad. A few moments passed and Mom turned to Dad, "I told you I didn't say anything." "Well I didn't say anything either." Surprised, Dad muted the television and they both heard "someone" calling, "Robert? Antoinette? Are you all right? Do you need assistance? Robert? Antoinette?." Looking at each other they finally realized that the voice was coming from their bedroom and their Life Call system. Somehow, one of them had inadvertently "pressed" the alert button hanging around their neck. I am quite certain that those systems get a lot of "false alarms".
Another incident with the parents' learning curve with technology involved a smoke detector. Not the most technological device, but it had batteries and "magically" responded to smoke thereby falling into Mom and Dad's definition of technology. My brother Bob and I got a request to check out their bedroom. Mind you, the parents did not suspect the smoke detector. Bob and I were told that there was a "cricket" in the room and it was keeping them awake at night.
After a couple of glasses of wine, Bob and I entered the room for the big hunt. We both acknowledged that we heard the "cricket" (I need to point out here that Bob was a firefighter). We carefully spread out in the room, pulling back drapery and peering behind furniture. As we followed the sound we found ourselves face to face in the entry to the room. As we both looked up we realized that we were hearing the smoke detector's waning battery. I do know now when those "crickets" show up that it's time to change the smoke detector batteries.
Yes I do think that as we get older we become less compatible with the changes in technology. I don't think it is because we don't understand, but it's that we don't want to change. Maybe we need our batteries changed as well.
I am reading the manual and started to think how complicated we make our lives in the pursuit of conveniences. A month or so ago I was driving home and was preoccupied and upset with the events of the day, my cell rang in my vehicle. I have a Bluetooth connection on the dashboard. I missed the call because I couldn't remember which button to push to receive the connection. I remembered after the call went to voicemail. Between our computers, GPS, TV's, DVRs, stereos, telephones, security systems, pre-programmed devices on all of our appliances, iPods, iPhones, and Blackberries, it sometimes gets confusing.
Am I confused because I have too many devices? Or, am I confused because I've gotten older and can no longer assimilate into i-electronic age? Where is George Jetson when I need him!
I love those devices that take my voice commands. Unfortunately I do not speak clearly enough to have my command followed on the first attempt. "Call MaryHelen" becomes "Call Mandy Allen"; "Call Bea's Cell" becomes "Call Beasly's". I yell at the lady on the phone, I yell at the GPS lady all of the time and I wonder why these devices do not have men's voices? I do believe that as we get older, as we become more set in our ways, we become less willing to take on new technology.
I am reminded of my parents, many moons and mango seasons ago, as we desperately tried to bring them into the realm of available technology. Mom and Dad were around for the first generation of "Life Call"; we got them the "I've fallen and can't get up" connection. The home base of the system was set up in their bedroom. The living room, where they spent much of their time was adjacent to the bedroom. With the television on and both of them sitting in their respective recliners, Dad turned to Mom and asked "what?". Surprised, Mom shook her head, "I didn't say anything". "Are you sure?" retorted Dad. A few moments passed and Mom turned to Dad, "I told you I didn't say anything." "Well I didn't say anything either." Surprised, Dad muted the television and they both heard "someone" calling, "Robert? Antoinette? Are you all right? Do you need assistance? Robert? Antoinette?." Looking at each other they finally realized that the voice was coming from their bedroom and their Life Call system. Somehow, one of them had inadvertently "pressed" the alert button hanging around their neck. I am quite certain that those systems get a lot of "false alarms".
Another incident with the parents' learning curve with technology involved a smoke detector. Not the most technological device, but it had batteries and "magically" responded to smoke thereby falling into Mom and Dad's definition of technology. My brother Bob and I got a request to check out their bedroom. Mind you, the parents did not suspect the smoke detector. Bob and I were told that there was a "cricket" in the room and it was keeping them awake at night.
After a couple of glasses of wine, Bob and I entered the room for the big hunt. We both acknowledged that we heard the "cricket" (I need to point out here that Bob was a firefighter). We carefully spread out in the room, pulling back drapery and peering behind furniture. As we followed the sound we found ourselves face to face in the entry to the room. As we both looked up we realized that we were hearing the smoke detector's waning battery. I do know now when those "crickets" show up that it's time to change the smoke detector batteries.
Yes I do think that as we get older we become less compatible with the changes in technology. I don't think it is because we don't understand, but it's that we don't want to change. Maybe we need our batteries changed as well.
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
Long Lines: An Economic Observation
I made some "economic" observations yesterday. I was running errands and had a number of stops to make: Target, PetSmart, pick-up prescriptions, grocery shopping, ATM, make-up at the department store and a quick stop for Starbucks.
Target was pretty empty. I not sure if it was because I was there at mid-day or because it was the day after Labor Day or if it's because the kids have gone back to school. In any case, I breezed through, found an open register and was out of there in 20 minutes.
The same was true in the department store and PetSmart; no one in line at the Starbucks either. In and out; get what I needed and I was on to the next errand. The joys of discretionary spending.
Now, the rest of the errands were a different story. The line at that drive-thru ATM was eight cars deep. I guess we all needed funds after the long weekend. The cars weren't zipping through as usual; each of the transaction seemed to be "thoughtful". I know I changed my mind at least three times while waiting: how much do I want to withdraw?
The line to pick-up prescription was about ten deep. In line were some elderly, people with crying children and those who were visibly "not well". All were complaining about the line. I know the pharmacy had recently changed it's computer system, but that wasn't really the problem. The clerk explained that they had also experienced some "right sizing"; they added pharmacists, but reduced the tech and clerk staff. So, we have more pharmacists moving at the speed of light to keep up with the demands and less staff to pass the product on to the end user. A recessionary evil; not to mention that we are probably an over-medicated society.
The grocery store was buzzing. People running into each other with their carts, blocking lanes and making serious decisions over brand names versus generic. The bread aisle was being restocked and the shoppers were taking the bread off the stock boy's cart. The bulk sale aisle was full of people taking advantage of the "10 for $10" sale. I only had a few things to get, so I maneuvered through the masses, picked up my five items and went to check out. You would have thought it was the evening before Thanksgiving. They had seven registers open including the express lane and the U-scan. Lines formed behind each lane. The U-scan lane, which I chose, had at least twelve people in line and we were snaking out down the seasonal products aisle (which already has Halloween candy and costumes - yikes!). No one, in any lane, had a lot of items; there were just a lot of shoppers and fewer clerks to check them out. All of the managers were manning registers.
These lines are also a recessionary evil. Fewer employees to serve the customers; and those fewer employees are dealing with a heavier work load. No one complains because this is the sign of the times. We are literally standing in "bread lines."
On my drive back to the house I noted yet another business closed down. I started rambling off the names of local establishments that have fallen prey to the economy. My sister, who was accompanying me, chided me for being "such a pessimist". I retorted that I was "a realist". Pessimist, realist or optimist, we are all standing in more and more lines.
Lines for groceries; lines for medicine; lines for unemployment benefits; lines at job fairs; lines at clinics; lines at gas stations; lines at the "dollar store" and discount emporiums.
When a line forms, I ask myself, do I really "need" this item? Do I want to "stimulate the economy" or do I want to save my time and money? And so the cycle continues, I don't stand in line, I don't spend the money and the retailer cuts back on staff and then I have to stand in line the next time I go. Or are the long lines a sign of recovery? I will believe that when I have to stand in line to buy lingerie.
Remember, the line forms in the rear and we're all frustrated.
Target was pretty empty. I not sure if it was because I was there at mid-day or because it was the day after Labor Day or if it's because the kids have gone back to school. In any case, I breezed through, found an open register and was out of there in 20 minutes.
The same was true in the department store and PetSmart; no one in line at the Starbucks either. In and out; get what I needed and I was on to the next errand. The joys of discretionary spending.
Now, the rest of the errands were a different story. The line at that drive-thru ATM was eight cars deep. I guess we all needed funds after the long weekend. The cars weren't zipping through as usual; each of the transaction seemed to be "thoughtful". I know I changed my mind at least three times while waiting: how much do I want to withdraw?
The line to pick-up prescription was about ten deep. In line were some elderly, people with crying children and those who were visibly "not well". All were complaining about the line. I know the pharmacy had recently changed it's computer system, but that wasn't really the problem. The clerk explained that they had also experienced some "right sizing"; they added pharmacists, but reduced the tech and clerk staff. So, we have more pharmacists moving at the speed of light to keep up with the demands and less staff to pass the product on to the end user. A recessionary evil; not to mention that we are probably an over-medicated society.
The grocery store was buzzing. People running into each other with their carts, blocking lanes and making serious decisions over brand names versus generic. The bread aisle was being restocked and the shoppers were taking the bread off the stock boy's cart. The bulk sale aisle was full of people taking advantage of the "10 for $10" sale. I only had a few things to get, so I maneuvered through the masses, picked up my five items and went to check out. You would have thought it was the evening before Thanksgiving. They had seven registers open including the express lane and the U-scan. Lines formed behind each lane. The U-scan lane, which I chose, had at least twelve people in line and we were snaking out down the seasonal products aisle (which already has Halloween candy and costumes - yikes!). No one, in any lane, had a lot of items; there were just a lot of shoppers and fewer clerks to check them out. All of the managers were manning registers.
These lines are also a recessionary evil. Fewer employees to serve the customers; and those fewer employees are dealing with a heavier work load. No one complains because this is the sign of the times. We are literally standing in "bread lines."
On my drive back to the house I noted yet another business closed down. I started rambling off the names of local establishments that have fallen prey to the economy. My sister, who was accompanying me, chided me for being "such a pessimist". I retorted that I was "a realist". Pessimist, realist or optimist, we are all standing in more and more lines.
Lines for groceries; lines for medicine; lines for unemployment benefits; lines at job fairs; lines at clinics; lines at gas stations; lines at the "dollar store" and discount emporiums.
When a line forms, I ask myself, do I really "need" this item? Do I want to "stimulate the economy" or do I want to save my time and money? And so the cycle continues, I don't stand in line, I don't spend the money and the retailer cuts back on staff and then I have to stand in line the next time I go. Or are the long lines a sign of recovery? I will believe that when I have to stand in line to buy lingerie.
Remember, the line forms in the rear and we're all frustrated.
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
"The Price of Greatness is Responsibility"
Winston Churchill made the remark, "the price of greatness is responsibility." Barack Obama underscored that message today in his address to the school children of America.
Had you a problem with the idea of the President of the United States speaking to American school children? I hope you are feeling a little ashamed about that misguided protest.
His speech was "really inflammatory". . .ooh. .."take responsibility and stay in school". . .ooh. .."no excuses". ..yep, the kids are going to run home and smack down anyone who isn't a Democrat. The kids may not feel that way, but I am feeling that way towards all the people that made such a controversy over a message that all parents should be having with their kids.
The controversy actually started over the accompanying lesson plan developed by the Department of Education: write a letter to yourself on what you can do to help the President. While I don't see that being "over-the edge-political", I will acknowledge that it may be unsettling to some people. Fine. They changed the lesson plan and people still got caught up with the "speech". The "Right" does a really good job at confusing the issue at hand.
Obama told our youth that "being successful is hard." He told them that we depend upon them to find solutions for our future. He told them that there is "no excuse" to drop out of school, skip classes and not study. He told them that their "education was their future." Isn't all of this true? Right, Left or Middle of the Road - who can argue with this?
What does it stay of a nation that can not come together on a message to their youth? I believe that it says we will continue to make the same mistakes, deny the issues that threaten to envelop us and lead us further away from finding the solutions.
I hope that those of you who denied your children the right to hear this message will let them watch the replay or better yet, READ the speech and discuss over dinner. Which part don't you agree with?
Had you a problem with the idea of the President of the United States speaking to American school children? I hope you are feeling a little ashamed about that misguided protest.
His speech was "really inflammatory". . .ooh. .."take responsibility and stay in school". . .ooh. .."no excuses". ..yep, the kids are going to run home and smack down anyone who isn't a Democrat. The kids may not feel that way, but I am feeling that way towards all the people that made such a controversy over a message that all parents should be having with their kids.
The controversy actually started over the accompanying lesson plan developed by the Department of Education: write a letter to yourself on what you can do to help the President. While I don't see that being "over-the edge-political", I will acknowledge that it may be unsettling to some people. Fine. They changed the lesson plan and people still got caught up with the "speech". The "Right" does a really good job at confusing the issue at hand.
Obama told our youth that "being successful is hard." He told them that we depend upon them to find solutions for our future. He told them that there is "no excuse" to drop out of school, skip classes and not study. He told them that their "education was their future." Isn't all of this true? Right, Left or Middle of the Road - who can argue with this?
What does it stay of a nation that can not come together on a message to their youth? I believe that it says we will continue to make the same mistakes, deny the issues that threaten to envelop us and lead us further away from finding the solutions.
I hope that those of you who denied your children the right to hear this message will let them watch the replay or better yet, READ the speech and discuss over dinner. Which part don't you agree with?
Monday, September 7, 2009
Wish List Number 19 - A Driver
One of the items on my wish list is to have a driver. That doesn't necessarily mean a limo as well (although that would be nice). I am just tired of wasting so many hours behind the wheel.
I calculated how much time I have spent behind the wheel. During my 30+ years of commuting, I have spent approximately TWO YEARS of my life driving back and forth to the office. TWO YEARS!
And that doesn't include driving around town on errands, going to lunch, going to dinner, grocery shopping, the vet, doctor appointments, road trips, to and from the airport, visiting family and friends, going to the movies, concerts and performances, etc.. Let's just say, I've spent three years of my life behind the wheel.
Had I a driver, think of all the phone calls I could have made; books I could have read; letters, notes and stories I could have written; meals I would not have missed; sleep I could have had; work I could have prepared; thoughts I could have jotted down; the views I could have seen; and, the loss of temper I could have saved.
An efficient public transportation system may have, perhaps, saved those years for me; but, alas the cities I have lived did not provide that option. In my current location there is minimal public alternatives. I have been very fortunate to be able to telecommute for the most part during the last several years. However, few days will pass that the vehicle doesn't have to leave the garage.
I have reached that point in life that I actually consider travel time before deciding to do something I want to do. I remember being somewhat annoyed by people who wouldn't attend downtown events nor travel more that ten miles to a function because it was "too far" or it took "too long" to get there. I remember being amazed by people who lived on the south side of town who had never ventured to the north side. I remember not understanding why someone would rather be driven than drive themselves. Have I become one of 'those" people?
A driver would make so much difference in my life. I would go out to events all the time; multiple events in one evening. I could be let off at the front door of my destination without having to find a parking space. I could fit more into the day, because I could now "safely" apply make-up in the car. I could text, email and talk on the phone to my heart's content. I could write up my notes, have a cup of coffee, read the paper and take my shoes off. Oh, how wonderful that would be.
As I get older I tend to reassess how I spend time. I do not believe I have another two or three years that I wish to spend behind the wheel; NOT when I have places to go and people to see and things to do. I wish I had a driver. Methinks the driver just moved up a few places on my wish list.
See you in traffic.
I calculated how much time I have spent behind the wheel. During my 30+ years of commuting, I have spent approximately TWO YEARS of my life driving back and forth to the office. TWO YEARS!
And that doesn't include driving around town on errands, going to lunch, going to dinner, grocery shopping, the vet, doctor appointments, road trips, to and from the airport, visiting family and friends, going to the movies, concerts and performances, etc.. Let's just say, I've spent three years of my life behind the wheel.
Had I a driver, think of all the phone calls I could have made; books I could have read; letters, notes and stories I could have written; meals I would not have missed; sleep I could have had; work I could have prepared; thoughts I could have jotted down; the views I could have seen; and, the loss of temper I could have saved.
An efficient public transportation system may have, perhaps, saved those years for me; but, alas the cities I have lived did not provide that option. In my current location there is minimal public alternatives. I have been very fortunate to be able to telecommute for the most part during the last several years. However, few days will pass that the vehicle doesn't have to leave the garage.
I have reached that point in life that I actually consider travel time before deciding to do something I want to do. I remember being somewhat annoyed by people who wouldn't attend downtown events nor travel more that ten miles to a function because it was "too far" or it took "too long" to get there. I remember being amazed by people who lived on the south side of town who had never ventured to the north side. I remember not understanding why someone would rather be driven than drive themselves. Have I become one of 'those" people?
A driver would make so much difference in my life. I would go out to events all the time; multiple events in one evening. I could be let off at the front door of my destination without having to find a parking space. I could fit more into the day, because I could now "safely" apply make-up in the car. I could text, email and talk on the phone to my heart's content. I could write up my notes, have a cup of coffee, read the paper and take my shoes off. Oh, how wonderful that would be.
As I get older I tend to reassess how I spend time. I do not believe I have another two or three years that I wish to spend behind the wheel; NOT when I have places to go and people to see and things to do. I wish I had a driver. Methinks the driver just moved up a few places on my wish list.
See you in traffic.
Sunday, September 6, 2009
To Labor or not to Labor?
As Craig Ferguson would say, "it's a great day for America."
Yep, tomorrow is Labor Day and most of us don't have to go to work; that's because many of us don't have a job to go to!
I'm told that we've hit the highest unemployment figures in 26 years. I have to admit that I don't remember much of the recession 26 years ago. I was young, working and making lots of money and spending it. I just wasn't paying attention. I was very lucky.
I have been watching this economy for the last ten years and waiting for the shoe to drop. I was in the financial services industry and knew "it was a matter of time." "Knowing" doesn't mean I was prepared for this. When I was in product development I had a boss who would always ask the question, "what is this product going to do when we have another 1929?" After a few years of hearing that I would always respond, "hopefully we'll be retired." How flippant; and naive.
Well I am semi-retired now and not by choice. I need to go back to work in a full time position; but that doesn't seem to be working out for me that way. I believe there has been a reason for me to be "free" of employment these past eighteen months; there have been family illnesses and I have been able to assist. I needed some time to reassess who I am, what I am doing and what I want to do. And, I was very fortunate to be in a financial position that I have been able to "hold it together." That grace period is quickly eroding.
It is fascinating to me that so many people are casting blame on the Obama administration for their current circumstances. Did you really think that he was going to be able to do "magic" and "fix" what ails us in eight months? I would be doing some things differently, but it's so easy for me to say that while I do not have get the consensus of 500+ people in Congress. And, this controversy over Obama speaking to the youth to encourage study and staying in school. . .no, that's a rave for another day.
These are the times that our ingenuity and imagination must see us through. We have to "work" at finding work; prioritize our values and beliefs and move away from the material needs. It is a great day for America - because we have to rely on ourselves, inner and physical strength and "labor" to do the right things in this "not so right times."
Enjoy the weekend with family and friends for on Tuesday we must "labor to labor."
Yep, tomorrow is Labor Day and most of us don't have to go to work; that's because many of us don't have a job to go to!
I'm told that we've hit the highest unemployment figures in 26 years. I have to admit that I don't remember much of the recession 26 years ago. I was young, working and making lots of money and spending it. I just wasn't paying attention. I was very lucky.
I have been watching this economy for the last ten years and waiting for the shoe to drop. I was in the financial services industry and knew "it was a matter of time." "Knowing" doesn't mean I was prepared for this. When I was in product development I had a boss who would always ask the question, "what is this product going to do when we have another 1929?" After a few years of hearing that I would always respond, "hopefully we'll be retired." How flippant; and naive.
Well I am semi-retired now and not by choice. I need to go back to work in a full time position; but that doesn't seem to be working out for me that way. I believe there has been a reason for me to be "free" of employment these past eighteen months; there have been family illnesses and I have been able to assist. I needed some time to reassess who I am, what I am doing and what I want to do. And, I was very fortunate to be in a financial position that I have been able to "hold it together." That grace period is quickly eroding.
It is fascinating to me that so many people are casting blame on the Obama administration for their current circumstances. Did you really think that he was going to be able to do "magic" and "fix" what ails us in eight months? I would be doing some things differently, but it's so easy for me to say that while I do not have get the consensus of 500+ people in Congress. And, this controversy over Obama speaking to the youth to encourage study and staying in school. . .no, that's a rave for another day.
These are the times that our ingenuity and imagination must see us through. We have to "work" at finding work; prioritize our values and beliefs and move away from the material needs. It is a great day for America - because we have to rely on ourselves, inner and physical strength and "labor" to do the right things in this "not so right times."
Enjoy the weekend with family and friends for on Tuesday we must "labor to labor."
Friday, September 4, 2009
Welcome!
Welcome to my random thoughts. You will note 18 postings for today. These random thoughts are the accumulation of writings over the last month. This is my attempt at self-discipline and the plan is to write something each day.
Your comments are welcome. Bear in mind that I am who I am, write what I feel and will respect your disagreement. I do not plan to become too political. My posts are a matter of taste, not judgement. I am open to looking at issues from a different perspective, so please do feel free to let me know what you think.
I am looking forward to broadening my mind, your's and in the process have some fun and share some stories.
Have a great day and I'll chat with you tomorrow.
Your comments are welcome. Bear in mind that I am who I am, write what I feel and will respect your disagreement. I do not plan to become too political. My posts are a matter of taste, not judgement. I am open to looking at issues from a different perspective, so please do feel free to let me know what you think.
I am looking forward to broadening my mind, your's and in the process have some fun and share some stories.
Have a great day and I'll chat with you tomorrow.
Elke is Pregnant
At the beginning of the year, a orange stray cat showed up on my back deck. I usually keep some cat food out there for the strays and neighborhood cats who are left out on their own on a cold winter's day. Initially I thought Elke to be a male; she had that "lion look". I started to call her "LK" as in Lion King. As the weeks passed she became more and more trusting and I was able to determine that she was indeed a she; hence, I feminized her moniker and she became "Elke".
Elke was a mess. She had a number of open wounds and her teeth needed a good brushing. As time passed she allowed me to tend her wounds and "massage" her gums. On several cold winter nights I took her to the garage and provided a warm bed. She wanted to come into the house. I couldn't take the chance on bringing her in without a vet check up. Claude and Camille couldn't be exposed.
She began to frequent "Chez Harris" and eventually chased off the other cats from the deck. It's been months since I have seen any other cat at the food bowls. I began to leave the garage door cracked to provide her with a safe haven. In the mornings she would be sitting on the stairs leading to the house; ready for a feeding. She became very affectionate while maintaining her feline independence.
The scrawny, injured stray began to gain some weight and heal. She allowed me to comb her and "demanded" attention. I could go out the door and call for her and she would come running from the creek or the golf course. I knew if I brought her in the house, she would be constantly trying to get outside again. I had to respect "her wishes" and designated her as the "outside" pet.
Yesterday, while I was sitting at my kitchen table I glanced out to the backyard. I thought there was a new cat in town. I opened the back door and the "new cat" came running to me; it was Elke. Perhaps I just haven't been paying attention, but she was looking so well; her coat is full and shining and she's put on some weight.
Later in the day, I returned from grocery shopping and again was surprised to see her looking so robust. And then it hit me - she's pregnant! I scooped her up and began to examine her belly; she was purring loudly and "schmoozing" my chin. I suspect she is half way through the pregnancy with a due date in early October. That will mean I will have kittens through the fall and into the winter. Kittens ready to be Christmas presents.
And so I have decided that I will move the car outside the garage to create an environment for her to nest and have the babies; a quiet place with space, a warm bedding and my third liter box to maintain. The vet visit is now imminent.
My sister suspects that Iwill not be able to part with the kittens; and if she has a small litter that will be true. But, the appropriate thing for me to do is find homes for the babies. So my FB friends, please consider gifting an adorable kitten this holiday season. If for no other reason, to save me from becoming the "crazy cat lady on the hill."
Meow.
Elke was a mess. She had a number of open wounds and her teeth needed a good brushing. As time passed she allowed me to tend her wounds and "massage" her gums. On several cold winter nights I took her to the garage and provided a warm bed. She wanted to come into the house. I couldn't take the chance on bringing her in without a vet check up. Claude and Camille couldn't be exposed.
She began to frequent "Chez Harris" and eventually chased off the other cats from the deck. It's been months since I have seen any other cat at the food bowls. I began to leave the garage door cracked to provide her with a safe haven. In the mornings she would be sitting on the stairs leading to the house; ready for a feeding. She became very affectionate while maintaining her feline independence.
The scrawny, injured stray began to gain some weight and heal. She allowed me to comb her and "demanded" attention. I could go out the door and call for her and she would come running from the creek or the golf course. I knew if I brought her in the house, she would be constantly trying to get outside again. I had to respect "her wishes" and designated her as the "outside" pet.
Yesterday, while I was sitting at my kitchen table I glanced out to the backyard. I thought there was a new cat in town. I opened the back door and the "new cat" came running to me; it was Elke. Perhaps I just haven't been paying attention, but she was looking so well; her coat is full and shining and she's put on some weight.
Later in the day, I returned from grocery shopping and again was surprised to see her looking so robust. And then it hit me - she's pregnant! I scooped her up and began to examine her belly; she was purring loudly and "schmoozing" my chin. I suspect she is half way through the pregnancy with a due date in early October. That will mean I will have kittens through the fall and into the winter. Kittens ready to be Christmas presents.
And so I have decided that I will move the car outside the garage to create an environment for her to nest and have the babies; a quiet place with space, a warm bedding and my third liter box to maintain. The vet visit is now imminent.
My sister suspects that Iwill not be able to part with the kittens; and if she has a small litter that will be true. But, the appropriate thing for me to do is find homes for the babies. So my FB friends, please consider gifting an adorable kitten this holiday season. If for no other reason, to save me from becoming the "crazy cat lady on the hill."
Meow.
Bob and Dolly and the Eyeglasses
While drinking my coffee this morning, a random thought popped into my head that made me smile.
My Mother and Father have passed quite a few years ago. As in need of therapy as I am now, I do have some wonderful memories of them both, indivdually and together. They had been married 54 years at the time my father passed. It was quite a long love affair and as they grew older they tended to share the same afflictions. I recall one story that had me crying with laughter.
As we age, our sleep patterns tend to be chopped up. We fall asleep, awake and then nap. This was true of my father. For the last three of four years of his life, Dad would awake around 4:30 in the morning, shave, go for a walk, have his cereal, read the paper, shower and then nap until about 10 AM. Mom on the other hand, stayed up late, falling asleep in the chair and going into the bed around 2 AM, sleeping until Dad's second awakening. And then they would have coffee together and plan the rest of their day.
ne early morning, Mama awoke and was going to go to the bathroom. Without her glasses and half asleep she stumbled and fell to the floor; somehow wedging herself between the night stand and the bed. She believes Dad is still in bed asleep. She begins calling for him repeatedly, "Bob, Bob, Bob." After several minutes and her calls becoming somewhat panicy, the bathroom door opens and there stands my father with razor in hand, shaving cream on his face and the water running in the sink. Startled by Mom's position he asks "Dolly, what are you doing down there?" After she reacts to him with an angry word or two, they both fall into laughter. "My God," she said, "the kids will certainly put us in a home after this."
After stumbling around, Bob gets his glasses on and helps Dolly up from the floor and onto the bed. She isn't really hurt but stinging from hitting the nightstand. She falls back into laughter as she looks up at her husband of 50+ years standing there with shaving cream on his face, shirtless and wearing his glasses (now smudged with shaving cream). They fall into another wave of laughter; mind you Dolly hasn't gotten to the bathroom yet. I will leave that picture to your imagination as they both scrambled into their small master bedroom bathroom.
Now being wide awake, the two of them go into the kitchen to have coffee together. Still laughing, Dolly takes off her glasses and rubs her eyes, wipes off her glasses and replaces them on her nose. She looks at Bob and says, "maybe I did hit my head, because I'm having a hard time seeing." Bob takes his glasses off and says, "well, I didn't hit my head but I'm a little blurry as well." As he sets his glasses on the kitchen table he realizes that Dolly had HIS glasses on. Somehow in the bathroom phase of this event, they had both set their glasses on the sink and picked up the wrong set. Nearly an hour has gone by before the couple realize this.
Mom waited until about 9 AM to call me at the office to recount this tale. When I heard her voice at 9, I was immediately on guard thinking something had gone wrong. I guess you can say the morning went "alittle wrong." But it was a story I still cherish.
As my Dad would always say, "that's my wife." There was never a dull moment with Bob and Dolly.
My Mother and Father have passed quite a few years ago. As in need of therapy as I am now, I do have some wonderful memories of them both, indivdually and together. They had been married 54 years at the time my father passed. It was quite a long love affair and as they grew older they tended to share the same afflictions. I recall one story that had me crying with laughter.
As we age, our sleep patterns tend to be chopped up. We fall asleep, awake and then nap. This was true of my father. For the last three of four years of his life, Dad would awake around 4:30 in the morning, shave, go for a walk, have his cereal, read the paper, shower and then nap until about 10 AM. Mom on the other hand, stayed up late, falling asleep in the chair and going into the bed around 2 AM, sleeping until Dad's second awakening. And then they would have coffee together and plan the rest of their day.
ne early morning, Mama awoke and was going to go to the bathroom. Without her glasses and half asleep she stumbled and fell to the floor; somehow wedging herself between the night stand and the bed. She believes Dad is still in bed asleep. She begins calling for him repeatedly, "Bob, Bob, Bob." After several minutes and her calls becoming somewhat panicy, the bathroom door opens and there stands my father with razor in hand, shaving cream on his face and the water running in the sink. Startled by Mom's position he asks "Dolly, what are you doing down there?" After she reacts to him with an angry word or two, they both fall into laughter. "My God," she said, "the kids will certainly put us in a home after this."
After stumbling around, Bob gets his glasses on and helps Dolly up from the floor and onto the bed. She isn't really hurt but stinging from hitting the nightstand. She falls back into laughter as she looks up at her husband of 50+ years standing there with shaving cream on his face, shirtless and wearing his glasses (now smudged with shaving cream). They fall into another wave of laughter; mind you Dolly hasn't gotten to the bathroom yet. I will leave that picture to your imagination as they both scrambled into their small master bedroom bathroom.
Now being wide awake, the two of them go into the kitchen to have coffee together. Still laughing, Dolly takes off her glasses and rubs her eyes, wipes off her glasses and replaces them on her nose. She looks at Bob and says, "maybe I did hit my head, because I'm having a hard time seeing." Bob takes his glasses off and says, "well, I didn't hit my head but I'm a little blurry as well." As he sets his glasses on the kitchen table he realizes that Dolly had HIS glasses on. Somehow in the bathroom phase of this event, they had both set their glasses on the sink and picked up the wrong set. Nearly an hour has gone by before the couple realize this.
Mom waited until about 9 AM to call me at the office to recount this tale. When I heard her voice at 9, I was immediately on guard thinking something had gone wrong. I guess you can say the morning went "alittle wrong." But it was a story I still cherish.
As my Dad would always say, "that's my wife." There was never a dull moment with Bob and Dolly.
The Airport Paradox
I love airports. I hate airports. I love airports. I hate airports.
Yes, I have a "love/hate" relationship with airports. Over the last thirty-plus years, I've spent many hours of my life in these places of arrivals and depatures. It all started as a child in awe of travel to exotic places. . .and ended up with travel to places like Bristol, TN and South Bend, IN.
For reasons that escape me now, I would go with several friends to the airport in Miami to "hang out". Actually the airport book stores had the best selections in those days; so we would go off to buy books and end up staying to people watch and weave stories of where we were going and who we would pretend to be.
There is nothing like flying into a new city with a bird's eye view of the lives below. I remember arriving for the first time in places like Nice and Paris and Vienna, NYC, DC and San Francisco. Due to delays, I was on a first name basis with airline personnel in places like Boston, Philadephia, Atlanta and Chicago.
Business travel was so "glamourous" as a twenty-something; "pretentous" as a thrity-something; "laborious" as a forty-something; and, "robotic" at best these days. I have been through countless pieces of luggage and brief cases; my vehicles have spent more time in airport parking lots than in my own garage; I have walked through more security points without shoes than I care to remember; and, I have spent a small fortune on Airborne, bottled water, magazines and trail mix.
My first airline club was the Ionosphere of the now defunct Eastern Airlines. Those were the days of immediate upgrades, free cocktails and endless frequent flier miles. Every flight was an adventure and not the tedium of travel in these times.
In the early days there were no briefcases nor garment bags or carry-ons on wheels. My father used to call me a "pack mule". I would head off to the airport with my purse, briefcase and luggage all hanging from my shoulders and walking briskly in three-inch heels. A couple of years ago I was having trouble with my shoulder. After the ritual MRIs and arthograms, my orthopedist asked if I had played a lot of sports. Those who know me know how laughable that is. I had a "ripped" rotator cuff and labral tears. The result, we now believe, from the constant struggle of shoving carry-ons into the overhead compartments. I had "traveler's shoulder".
I can count on my hands the number of times I was greeted by friends or family upon arrival. The business travler was not met with warm hugs and flowers. And as a frequent flier, friends nor family felt it necessary to pick me up at the airport since I was so capable of finding my own way. If I was met, it was a barely slowing vehicle outside of baggage claim.
I have been "off the road" for the past year and a half. But I have spent a good deal of time picking people up at airports. I am overdue for a trip - a pleasure trip- to remind me once again that I love airports. . .or is it hate airports?
Safe travels. . .
Yes, I have a "love/hate" relationship with airports. Over the last thirty-plus years, I've spent many hours of my life in these places of arrivals and depatures. It all started as a child in awe of travel to exotic places. . .and ended up with travel to places like Bristol, TN and South Bend, IN.
For reasons that escape me now, I would go with several friends to the airport in Miami to "hang out". Actually the airport book stores had the best selections in those days; so we would go off to buy books and end up staying to people watch and weave stories of where we were going and who we would pretend to be.
There is nothing like flying into a new city with a bird's eye view of the lives below. I remember arriving for the first time in places like Nice and Paris and Vienna, NYC, DC and San Francisco. Due to delays, I was on a first name basis with airline personnel in places like Boston, Philadephia, Atlanta and Chicago.
Business travel was so "glamourous" as a twenty-something; "pretentous" as a thrity-something; "laborious" as a forty-something; and, "robotic" at best these days. I have been through countless pieces of luggage and brief cases; my vehicles have spent more time in airport parking lots than in my own garage; I have walked through more security points without shoes than I care to remember; and, I have spent a small fortune on Airborne, bottled water, magazines and trail mix.
My first airline club was the Ionosphere of the now defunct Eastern Airlines. Those were the days of immediate upgrades, free cocktails and endless frequent flier miles. Every flight was an adventure and not the tedium of travel in these times.
In the early days there were no briefcases nor garment bags or carry-ons on wheels. My father used to call me a "pack mule". I would head off to the airport with my purse, briefcase and luggage all hanging from my shoulders and walking briskly in three-inch heels. A couple of years ago I was having trouble with my shoulder. After the ritual MRIs and arthograms, my orthopedist asked if I had played a lot of sports. Those who know me know how laughable that is. I had a "ripped" rotator cuff and labral tears. The result, we now believe, from the constant struggle of shoving carry-ons into the overhead compartments. I had "traveler's shoulder".
I can count on my hands the number of times I was greeted by friends or family upon arrival. The business travler was not met with warm hugs and flowers. And as a frequent flier, friends nor family felt it necessary to pick me up at the airport since I was so capable of finding my own way. If I was met, it was a barely slowing vehicle outside of baggage claim.
I have been "off the road" for the past year and a half. But I have spent a good deal of time picking people up at airports. I am overdue for a trip - a pleasure trip- to remind me once again that I love airports. . .or is it hate airports?
Safe travels. . .
My name is Coralee and I am a Liberal
Last week I got into a debate over my self-proclaimed liberalism. As is par with this conversation, the discussion centered around taxes. "Why," he asked, "should I have to pay more taxes to support government programs to support people who won't support themselves?" I countered against the word "won't". There are so many cases of "can't", not won't". He replied, "that's why I believe in philanthropy." Well good for him. The trickle down theory of economics hasn't seemed to work effectively.
I have a philanthropic strategy and freely contribute to local causes that I believe are effectively serving their clients. I pay property taxes to support the school district. I vote for individuals that I beleive will be effective stewards of the public monies. I volunteer my time and talent when I can not donate "treasure." I believe we are our "brother's keepers."
That does not mean that I do not spend money on myself. It does not mean that I do not believe that hard work and intelligence should not be rewarded. It does mean that if I am able to work and smart enough to achieve greater monetary reward that I am obligated to share with those who can not. Those who will not are on their own.
It is not the liberal platform that should be questioned; it is the execution of the platform that has faultered. "Give a man a fish and you feed his hunger; teach him to fish and you feed him for a lifetime." But what of those who can not help themselves? The children. The elderly. The infirmed.
Should parenthood be left only to the wealthy? Should a long life be achieved only by the wealthy? Does illness afflict only the wealthy?
While in college I was once told by a sociology professor that I had the "luxury" of being a liberal; of lacking predjudice; of volunteerism. It is by the grace of God that I can help; that I can speak out; that I can provide for myself and contribute to others.
No, I will not apologize for my liberalism. I will not cease to fight for fairness and equality. I will not stop demanding accountibility from my elected officials. I will not stop asking the hard questions.I will listen to the beliefs, wants and needs of those around me. And I will be a voice of reason to those who claim philanthropy yet deny the needs of public programs.
If the conservative belief is that philantrophy is the answer, then I say, "show me the money."
I have a philanthropic strategy and freely contribute to local causes that I believe are effectively serving their clients. I pay property taxes to support the school district. I vote for individuals that I beleive will be effective stewards of the public monies. I volunteer my time and talent when I can not donate "treasure." I believe we are our "brother's keepers."
That does not mean that I do not spend money on myself. It does not mean that I do not believe that hard work and intelligence should not be rewarded. It does mean that if I am able to work and smart enough to achieve greater monetary reward that I am obligated to share with those who can not. Those who will not are on their own.
It is not the liberal platform that should be questioned; it is the execution of the platform that has faultered. "Give a man a fish and you feed his hunger; teach him to fish and you feed him for a lifetime." But what of those who can not help themselves? The children. The elderly. The infirmed.
Should parenthood be left only to the wealthy? Should a long life be achieved only by the wealthy? Does illness afflict only the wealthy?
While in college I was once told by a sociology professor that I had the "luxury" of being a liberal; of lacking predjudice; of volunteerism. It is by the grace of God that I can help; that I can speak out; that I can provide for myself and contribute to others.
No, I will not apologize for my liberalism. I will not cease to fight for fairness and equality. I will not stop demanding accountibility from my elected officials. I will not stop asking the hard questions.I will listen to the beliefs, wants and needs of those around me. And I will be a voice of reason to those who claim philanthropy yet deny the needs of public programs.
If the conservative belief is that philantrophy is the answer, then I say, "show me the money."
Picking up where we left off
I was fortuate to spend some time with some old, dear friends this weekend. It is such a comfort to know that friendship can survive through the years without the necessity of daily contact (with even several years in between).
Maybe we start yawing earlier in the evening than we used to; maybe we can't drink as much wine as we used to; our memory may not be as sharp as it used to be, but even if the memory evades us, the feelings remain. We've been through many life changing events together and we may have, perhaps, missed a few in between, but the empathy, respect and console remain.
Someone once told me that I "collect people". At first I thought that the comment was negative and then she continued to tell me that it was an admirable trait. I don't collect people to show them off, I collect people to share with; to laugh with; to cry with; and, to be with. People that share my many moods and eclectic tastes. Bringing different people together and facilitating conversation and sharing is my joy.
I'm known to introduce the same people to each other several times during the course of the evening. I get lost in the excitement of sharing the people around me. Introducing people to people and people to events and people to ideas and people to music and people to art and people to food and people to wine. . . . . . .and pets and places and books and me. . . it is an adventure that brightens my heart, my soul and my mind.
I believe in creating memories and lasting friendships. Social media is a great help to keeping in touch. My sister tells me just pick up the phone; there are not enough hours in the day to speak to everyone as frequently as I can share, and you can share, through Facebook.
It indeed keeps us connected so we may pick up where we left off when we do get some moments together; the circle of friends light the way.
Maybe we start yawing earlier in the evening than we used to; maybe we can't drink as much wine as we used to; our memory may not be as sharp as it used to be, but even if the memory evades us, the feelings remain. We've been through many life changing events together and we may have, perhaps, missed a few in between, but the empathy, respect and console remain.
Someone once told me that I "collect people". At first I thought that the comment was negative and then she continued to tell me that it was an admirable trait. I don't collect people to show them off, I collect people to share with; to laugh with; to cry with; and, to be with. People that share my many moods and eclectic tastes. Bringing different people together and facilitating conversation and sharing is my joy.
I'm known to introduce the same people to each other several times during the course of the evening. I get lost in the excitement of sharing the people around me. Introducing people to people and people to events and people to ideas and people to music and people to art and people to food and people to wine. . . . . . .and pets and places and books and me. . . it is an adventure that brightens my heart, my soul and my mind.
I believe in creating memories and lasting friendships. Social media is a great help to keeping in touch. My sister tells me just pick up the phone; there are not enough hours in the day to speak to everyone as frequently as I can share, and you can share, through Facebook.
It indeed keeps us connected so we may pick up where we left off when we do get some moments together; the circle of friends light the way.
Spark of Faith
Senator Ted Kennedy's funeral is about to begin. The bells of the Basilica are ringing. I am reminded of the song "Three Bells". The chapel bells ring for Johnny Brown's birth; again for his marriage; and again for his death. Continuity; as it should be; not always as it is.
More of us than not, begin our physical lives in a hospital; and in most instances, end our physcial lives there as well. In our spiritual life we come of age in the Church and return there at the end.
And the cycle continues.
In these "celebrations of life" that the living carry out for the dead, it is the physical life that is commemorated. As the life is returned to the Church, shouldn't the celebration commemorate the spirit?
The spirit in all of it's glory; warts and all? For it is that story that the true character is exposed. The failings that are corrected; the acts of kindness that are revealed; the somber moments of failed faith and the consequences that ensue. The spark of the soul is like that of a fire. It may sometimes burn brightly and if not tended may reduce to mere embers; but with the grace of God and the acts of humanity, the fire is stoked and the spirit returns to the glow of faith.
As we connect with each other in our lifetimes, we share the spark of divinity; it is transferred in those moments of friendship, compassion and consolation. We share it through a tender touch, a wink of the eye and in the words of reprimand. It is together that the flame of faith ignites our souls. The flame burns most brightly in the face of forgiveness. Forgiveness of others, but more importantly forgiveness of self.
Before we make that last trip to the Church we must ready ourselves and set our souls free through forgiveness of self. As in life, it is the "brightest" that finds the glory in the Kingdom beyond.
Shine on.
More of us than not, begin our physical lives in a hospital; and in most instances, end our physcial lives there as well. In our spiritual life we come of age in the Church and return there at the end.
And the cycle continues.
In these "celebrations of life" that the living carry out for the dead, it is the physical life that is commemorated. As the life is returned to the Church, shouldn't the celebration commemorate the spirit?
The spirit in all of it's glory; warts and all? For it is that story that the true character is exposed. The failings that are corrected; the acts of kindness that are revealed; the somber moments of failed faith and the consequences that ensue. The spark of the soul is like that of a fire. It may sometimes burn brightly and if not tended may reduce to mere embers; but with the grace of God and the acts of humanity, the fire is stoked and the spirit returns to the glow of faith.
As we connect with each other in our lifetimes, we share the spark of divinity; it is transferred in those moments of friendship, compassion and consolation. We share it through a tender touch, a wink of the eye and in the words of reprimand. It is together that the flame of faith ignites our souls. The flame burns most brightly in the face of forgiveness. Forgiveness of others, but more importantly forgiveness of self.
Before we make that last trip to the Church we must ready ourselves and set our souls free through forgiveness of self. As in life, it is the "brightest" that finds the glory in the Kingdom beyond.
Shine on.
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