Things Remembered

Things Remembered

One summer spent in Arkansas gave me memories of fireflies that can’t be reproduced for the grandchildren.  Oh, Arkansas is still there even if the farm has long since been sold and the grandparents gone to glory.  But the summer nights were special for a particular reason.  Granddad Kennedy didn’t believe in lighting up the entire farm with those night lights up on huge electric poles.  Certainly the chicken houses were well lit, but the front lawn and the horse trap out in front of the barn were pools of darkness lined by huge trees.  And they sparkled at night with the flashing of fireflies.

In Texas it always seemed to be too dry to think about fireflies, but northwest Arkansas was almost juicy with moisture.  The fireflies seemed to like it, anyway.  We would catch them—probably mostly males—and put some in a jar for a while before we turned them loose.  They could never have produced enough light to show a path or anything of that nature, but they were purely fun to catch and imagine as our own personal lanterns.

Years ago our children were able to catch some fireflies out in the backyard or down toward the lake on the Fenoglio’s lawn.  Mrs. Fenoglio found their attempts as amusing as we did and let them run around all over her hill.  And the fireflies were great fun to chase.  But something has happened to the fireflies.  At first I thought it might have something to do with the spraying for the mosquitoes that has caused them to disappear.  But a little research has given me more things to consider.

According to an Associated Press article, fireflies have declined as much as 70 percent in some areas.  Part of the reason is due to loss of habitat—housing projects built in creek beds.  Part of the loss is due to lights—yes, lights.  Fireflies need darkness to find their mates.  Well, duh.  That makes sense.  But if one of these huge, oversized, overpriced houses has 32 big lights shining to show off its ostentatiousness, then the firefly doesn’t have a chance to be even a tiny bit of a showoff for his potential mate.  If insects like the firefly don’t mate, we lose another species. 

Ok, so the loss of one species of firefly out of 2,000 may not sound like a big deal in the overall picture of the insect world.  It only matters if one is a member of that species, I suppose.  But if we are so callous as to ignore our responsibility to the survival of the smallest things, what does that say about our stewardship of the larger things of life?

Oh, and I plan to find a book to explain fireflies to the grandchildren.  Otherwise they may never have any idea of what they have missed.

More rain, anyone?

Unto the Least of These

Unto the Least of These

No, animals are not our brothers in the sense that they are not born of men; but we share this earth with them, and in many respects, share the same fate.  What happens to them eventually happens to us in ways we might not even consider.  If we poison our planet, we poison life that is sustained by the planet.  If we show little regard for the small creatures of this place we call home, can our disregard of life not quickly extend to the lives of people as well? 

Today our neighbor’s daughter took four little kittens to the animal control facility.  When she spoke to me about it, she said that she regretted having to do it, but the kittens were ‘feral’ and unhealthy.  No one had ever taken the time to show any attention to the mother cat, so the kittens’ relationship with humans consisted of staying just out of reach.  The kittens were undoubtedly euthanized this morning shortly after their arrival at animal control.

Each day thousands of kittens, puppies, cats, dogs, and assorted critters are killed one way or the other.  We have agencies that try to prevent cruelty to any animal, but the fact is that the animals are in an overwhelming majority.  Even if every family in America took in two dogs and cats today, thousands would still be out there roaming the streets and alleys.  And the outlook for their survival—much less their healthy existence—is pretty dismal.

Horses were once the treasure and pride of kings.  Today it almost takes a king’s financial backing in order to keep a horse.  So what happens to the thousands that are not in stables and beautiful green pastures?  They die of neglect.  It is just that simple.  An animal that carries its pride in its head and flying mane can become a bedraggled carcass just as quickly as the dogs and cats roaming the streets unless someone cares for it.

Now the little child that roams the streets is no different than an animal—and almost as dangerous.  It may grow up to become a vicious killer.  It needs loving care, attention, and someone to teach it—to tame it.  The child may belong to a neighbor, but we pay attention if we want to reach out to tame a little heart.  We teach by example.  The child sees how we treat our cat, our dog, and our neighbors.  And the child becomes tame.

None of us can prevent abuse or neglect of all the animals.  And none of us will ever overcome the crises of child abuse in this world.  But each of us can take responsibility where we can, in whatever way we can.  One kitten, one old dog, one little boy at a time can be loved.

"So How Does THAT Concern Me ?"

So How Does THAT Concern Me?

So many of us today would just like to live our lives in peace without having to fuss with anyone over property boundaries, the volume of the neighbor’s music, the color scheme the neighbor chose for his house and garage, the number of pets or children running amok among our flower beds, the little things like property taxes, the price of fuel, the price of food or medical services.  No, those are not the most earth shattering things, but we really would like to be able to just ignore them and enjoy our favorite hobbies or otherwise be able to quietly go about our lives.  But such is life that we are constantly brought up short by some ‘problem’ with a capital P.

One neighbor has caused property values to plummet by parking dilapidated cars all over his yard.  So we ask the city offices to ‘do something’ about it.  Another neighbor has decided to plow up his front yard and plant a garden of cotton, okra, and sunflowers.  The neighborhood children have discovered they can hide there and throw things out at people passing on the sidewalks.  Oh well.  It is HIS yard and kids will be kids.

Some things are just not worth our concern.  It is pointless to complain or worry if things will change in three months, a year, or two years.  My favorite grandmother used to say that no one would know the difference in a few years anyway.  And that is so true of many things that irritate or otherwise grate on our nerves.  But some things do actually matter now—and will matter in years to come.

Animal abuse has probably been around in some form since mankind discovered his ability to chain them up or even eat them.  But seeing abuse of animals hurts the spirit of those who can make a difference.  So, that is one concern that can and should be addressed by everyone.  But is child abuse?  Our youngest son reminded me of an incident that happened when he was little.  He wanted a toy while we were at the grocery store and I said we could not do that.  He threw a hissy fit and got an immediate response from me—a paddling right then and there in the grocery aisle.  If I had done such a thing today, I might have been arrested for child abuse!

Animals and small children need to be corrected immediately to help them associate the behavior with the response.  The response does not have to be terrifically painful, just definitely unpleasant.  Just as we give rewards immediately for good behavior, we have to be able to respond to wrong behavior immediately.  A good parent doesn’t just ignore bad behavior.

Somehow I feel a bit like a neglectful parent when I see our government running amok among our civil rights.  But I will be dipped in kerosene for fleas if I can figure out exactly how to ‘correct’ our government’s behavior.  Voting or not voting doesn’t seem to make a whole lot of difference these days—if it ever did.  I can remember that our city government planned years ago to build a convention center and events complex.  The citizens of our fair city voted it down numerous times, but somehow it managed to slip in there on a ballot and get built anyway.  Now a convention center might be a pretty expensive item for a fairly small city like ours, but some of the ‘items’ on our government’s list are so big that they defy imagination.  Two commas in a figure just about top my ability to imagine an amount.

Even if the government were not spending as freely as a child who stole his brother’s piggy bank and found his way to the candy store, something about the way things are being done—even in the open and semi-above board—makes me suspect that citizen rights are far from being of first consideration these days. 

Oh, I have already written to the Texas governor about Bill 1440 that gives Child Protective Services the right to invade and kidnap our children just like a SWAT team on a mission.  But what about government agencies that MAKE money off of taking away citizen rights?  Whether it is the local drug enforcement people who decide we MIGHT be druggies or CPS who think we are too strict with our children, who gives these people the right to force their way into private homes? 

Today we saw that the government has decided to tax 25 percent of the cost of business cell phone use because they have somehow decided that the normal person (?) uses a business phone for personal use about 25 percent of the time.  Now, when will the government decide it can tax my playing Farm Town because it is an unnecessary addiction similar to alcoholism?  Makes sense to me! 

Being concerned somehow is just not enough when civil rights violations are so ubiquitous and so idiotic.  Some things were never meant to be taxed.  Some rights (ownership, privacy, and self-defense) were never meant to be seized.

There Came a Woman of Samaria

There Came a Woman of Samaria

Former President Jimmy Carter has declared in an article called “Losing My Religion for Equality” that a group of men called The Elders have determined that women are misused and abused due to tradition and religious viewpoints:

"The justification of discrimination against women and girls on grounds of religion or tradition, as if it were prescribed by a Higher Authority, is unacceptable."

We are calling on all leaders to challenge and change the harmful teachings and practices, no matter how ingrained, which justify discrimination against women. We ask, in particular, that leaders of all religions have the courage to acknowledge and emphasize the positive messages of dignity and equality that all the world's major faiths share.

In order not to confuse religion with faith, let’s clarify that neither Jimmy Carter nor any other person is being asked to disavow his or her faith in God in whichever name one knows Him.  Religion is, after all, man’s view of God.  Faith is a gift from God that allows us to believe in that which is not seen.

The subject of woman’s image in the eyes of man has taken many convoluted turns throughout the centuries.  Only literature, and now other forms of entertainment, can give us an accurate measure of how women are or have been perceived.  Literature, especially the Bible, has been instrumental in forging the foundation of men’s opinions about woman’s place in life.  One work that had such a strong influence was Dante’s Inferno.  Even the Church itself could not have prevented such lively and ingenious images from becoming part of man’s concept of woman and of her place in causing so much sorrow.  But not many people read Dante today, so why are the concepts so prevalent? 

Ian Fleming wrote some spy thriller books back in the 50s which became movies in the early 60s.  About the only name more familiar than James Bond is John Wayne. John Wayne was sure to treat a woman with respect, but the James Bond woman played only an ancillary part to preen the male ego and purpose.  Death for a James Bond woman provides realistic, if merely collateral, damage.  The same is true in a later movie called The Bourne Supremacy.  About the only movie that shows respect between a woman and a man in modern times is the new Walt Disney movie UP.

Most people today who have the luxury of belief, faith, and any concept of a higher power have heard of the Christ.  The story of His life and the repetition of the things He said have been the basis for many of the traditions that men have created concerning their place in the world and its order.  Two important stories from His life are quite often ignored.  During the lifetime of Jesus Christ, the people of Samaria were considered less than illegal aliens and squatters upon the land of Jacob.  No Jewish man would even speak to a Samaritan, much less a woman of Samaria.  But Christ did.  He first revealed Himself to the Gentiles through a woman.  He flat out told her that he was the Christ for whom they watched.  Oh, the men of the village came to see Him because of her report, but they were quick to tell her that they believed because of HIM, not because of her part in the revelation.  They missed the point.  HE had shown her respect.

Finally, the woman who loved Jesus was the first to see Him after He arose from the tomb.  And it was the women who went by themselves to wrap in spices the body they expected to find in the tomb.  No man went with them to help in any way.   The women served Him to the bitter end.  And it was their voices which brought the good news of His resurrection.

Oh, no one has to believe in one man’s version of the creation or the names of a creator if that belief can be avoided, but we are all the result of an ongoing process of becoming something other than individuals or egos.  We share this planet and its destiny.  The final result for all lives can be much more than ideas, beliefs, and determinations if we treat each other with dignity and respect.

Trash Trends & Happiness Index

Trash Trends and Happiness Index

The Fourth of July was on a Friday this year.  Tuesdays and Fridays are trash pickup days in this neck of the woods, so we notice things like the absence of the usual services when a holiday rolls around.  Oh, Christmas is always a problem with most families considering all the boxes and extra wrappings and trappings that require disposal, but on our little street that occasion is just like another week.

The family across the street has enumerable boxes associated with the liquids needed for dialysis treatment for their granddaughter, but they also have a large family and assorted visitors during the week.  Their trash can often overflows before the two pickup days.  Our trash can is normally reserved for two old fogies and two domestically spoilt rotten animals, so it often isn't even half full by the time the second pick up day arrives.

We saw an article about the happiest countries on the Internet and began to talk about how the environmental footprint—that index of consumerism and use of natural resources—differentiates one nation from another.  Finally we began to examine our own level of happiness, contentment, and consumer demands by a history of our trash cans.

Forty years ago we still burned the papers, boxes, and assorted trash in a barrel and paid to have it dumped every month or so.  Then our fair city banned burning and initiated a garbage service.  We had one silver can with a tight fitting lid which quickly got tossed by the garbage men.  As soon as we bought a new can and wired the lid to the handle, the men became known as sanitation engineers—which just meant that their talent for disconnecting the lid from the handle was recognizable as a service. 

This exchange of services and increasingly diverse types of garbage cans meant that we now had two metal cans recognizable only by the dents and one tough plastic garbage can that lasted one entire summer before disintegrating under the swift kick of one of the ‘sanitation engineers.’

The cost of the curbside services began to rise with the price of the water we consumed for some reason.  Perhaps one’s happiness index might be found in correlation to the amount of water consumed and its equivalent in waste for disposal.  Whatever the reason, the city priced our happiness based on water consumption for years. 

Then the services changed a few years ago.  Each home has one rather large rollaway trash bin that is collected twice weekly.  Some discussion has made the rounds about restricting the collection days to once a week in order to save money.  However, our sanitation engineers have plenty to do and have to be paid weekly whether or not they work, so for the time being, we are happily serviced twice a week.

Now the point of this observation of our trash index might be that we have begun to consume excessively in comparison to our consumption of forty years ago.  But let’s examine the contents of the trash can next to the kitchen stove:  one relatively large box for the popcorn packages, two ramen noodle plastic wrappers, two Mcbags, two small Mcdrink cups, egg shells (that used to be placed in a compost heap), a small carton that once contained ice cream drumsticks for the grandchildren, a cat food sack, and two cat food metal cans, and some cucumber peels along with the remains of a couple of tomatoes (again, items which at one time were placed in a compost heap).  Multiply those contents or some quite similar for seven days, and it is easy to see how happy we must be.  Or we could just use the bathroom scales to see how jolly we have become in the past 40 years.

If our trash is not an indication of happiness, and our weight is worrisome, perhaps we must find a different index of happiness.  Personally, I think seeing the grandchildren tie strings from the front porch to the tree out front in a spider web of imagination is about as happy as life can get.  We can always push the trash down just a bit more in the bottom of that big bin if the kids need more ice cream or popsicles.

They Grow Up

They Grow Up

By this Thursday, at least two things will have happened.  Our youngest grandchild will have her fifth birthday, and our daughter will return for her two boys.  It seems so strange that the baby girl has grown up so quickly.  Hardly any time at all has gone by since we sat down at Thanksgiving dinner with our son and his family and waited for the blessing to be asked.  And then they told us that they were going to be parents to another child.  They both seemed a bit shocked by the entire situation--though surely by then they knew the process.

But now the little girl is going to start "real" school this fall.  And our oldest grandson will be in seventh grade.  Wasn't he just a little boy not too long ago?

Today I asked the boys to be careful with their granddad and watch after him while they went target shooting.  He doles out the .22 shells one at a time so he can be sure who is doing what, but I want them to be sure they are listening to him.  My own dad KNEW we would listen to him by the time he let us use a gun.  But our boys are a bit like the dogs on the new movie UP--squirrel!!  Their attention can be totally off a subject in a heartbeat.

We took these boys to see the Walt Disney movie UP and laughed until our sides hurt.  Both boys would wait a few minutes between shouts of 'squirrel' before they would start laughing again, but otherwise, they thoroughly enjoyed the ideas behind the movie.  I could have cried in a few places, but perhaps it is just as well that the boys kept me laughing.  We are all adventurers at heart.  But adventures are so much more worthwhile when they are shared.  These two boys will share the adventure of growing up together--even if it is ever so fast.

Each child should have a sibling or at least a cousin with whom to share childhood.  Oh, we can compare sizes, eye color, hair thickness, and all that other silly stuff, but what really matters is sharing a time in life that only comes once.  None of our children or grandchildren will ever be perfect, but they can learn to appreciate family ties.  Sharing a grandparent or two helps, but they also need to have experiences together that they can recall when they are grown.

Now I know what some siblings would think: Oh, never again!  My brother was a character and a good brother.  But that did not keep him from throwing rocks at the hen house while I was in it and scaring the liver out of me.  But I remember he also tried to teach me to swim and to drive.  I never have been much good at either, but that wasn't his fault.  We can all recall some of the things that a sibling did that wasn't the best thing for us at the time.  But we can usually also recall some of the things that made for good times or better understanding.

Whatever life brings to our grandchildren, I hope that they can look back someday and recall that they were loved and appreciated for who they are/were.  And perhaps when they get together with cousins, they can share again some of those memories of growing up.

Grandparenting

Grandparenting

Somewhere in the hall of fame for strange critters, the grandparent must have a place.  He or she feels responsible for the little darlins while enjoying the realization that the situation is generally temporary.  The hall of fame has several categories of grandparents; so for the edification of those who have yet to experience one of life’s final ironies, the following enumeration of their characteristics is offered.

The all-permissive grandparent may be either male or female, but the entire idea behind being permissive is to allow the grandchild/ren to go home and tell the parents that ANYTHING is permissible at Granddad’s or Grandmother’s house.  Candy, late hours, bouncing on the bed in the back bedroom, coffee in the morning with the grandparents, just about anything not allowed at home is allowed by these grandparents.  We won’t go into the reasoning behind this kind of grandparenting because some mothers and fathers feel that an insidious—if not vicious—delight is expressed when their children are allowed non-standard child fare or activities.

The “we will buy it for you” grandparents may be about the most dangerous type in existence.  Children who inherit this type of grandparent will have considerable difficulty in learning to value doing things the hard way or earning their own treasures.  Parents who must deal with the grandparents must find a way to manage their frustrations and their children at the same time.  Only if the grandparents can be persuaded to invest in long-term values like education or real properties will the goodness of their intentions have worth to the grandchildren or parents.

The most blessed children are those who have grandparents who will share their stories of growing up and a history of their own family.  Children don’t see themselves as their parents do, so a grandparent’s memories can shed insight upon both the child and the grandchild when traditions are involved. 

The story about the daughter asking her mom why she always cut the roast edges off before putting it all in the pan illustrates one of the funnier traditions.  The mother couldn’t tell her daughter why she cut the roast up in that way except that she always had seen HER mother do it that way.  The mother called the great grandmother and asked her why she cut the roast up before putting it in the pot.  The answer was simple:  HER pot was not big enough for the full roast to spread out.

Our parents knew us as children.  Their memories bear repeating for all concerned.  We had grandchildren before we ever heard of the term ADHD, but now we understand why our parents thought their children were scatter-brained and never still.  And believe it or not, we were well-behaved, good children.  But the world we lived in had very little resemblance to that of today.  We rode real bikes with one speed—whatever our legs would pump up.  We rode all over town without our mom worrying about us. 

The neighbors all knew us and had us run errands for them.  Our toys included hop toads, horny toads, grass lizards, and June bugs.  We played in the rain, got muddy, got dirty, got hot, and got cold with the seasons.  And all the time we had parents and grandparents who loved us and cheered us on.  We were so blessed to have both.

If a child has even one grandparent, a certain amount of history will come out about the child’s parent.  But the best part about having a grandparent is seeing the continuity of life in a family, from one generation to the next, with love.

Heart Healthy

Heart Healthy

Today Fang wanted vanilla ice cream, chocolate fudge, and nuts. Now that sounds like a good start on a banana split to me. Of course, all the ingredients have to be sugar free and low in carbs. That makes life interesting, but thanks to our country's lifestyle, so many people need sugar-free products that it is much easier to find a good selection of products in almost any store.

While I was picking out Fang's favorite Braum's ice cream, I noticed a man with a rather large protrusion from his chest to his lap. This protrusion reminded me of an article I read about measuring our diabetes risk with a ruler or--as it would have had to be in this man's case--with a yardstick. My thoughts were that the fellow needed to put back something or go for a nice healthy walk.

Now, I would never pick on folks who are overweight--if for no other reason than that I count myself among the many who are. But since Fang just returned from quadruple bypass surgery only yesterday, I am more aware than ever of our need to control what we put in our bodies and how much exercise we really need. Genetics plays a big part in our tendency to become diabetic or to have heart disease, but we can do so much to help ourselves.

Fang was especially blessed to have a very healthy vascular system--except for four blockages. He has always been active and keeps his mind busy learning things and exploring the richness of being a grandfather. To put it bluntly, he is a happy man. But lack of oxygen to his heart has caused problems this past several months that just seemed to come out of nowhere. And we never suspected that his heart was the problem and would never have known had he not had a simple EKG done in our doctor's office.

The long and short of my thoughts today is that life is too wonderful to throw away or to treat carelessly. Happiness is a choice; to some degree, health is among our choices as well. Take care of yourselves; we need every gripey old man and woman around here to support the
doctors who take Medicare.

Racism

Racism

Recently some companies decided that they were not being properly represented in the marketplace by sponsoring a nationally syndicated talk show.  The host managed to comment in a censorious manner upon the ultimate authorities in America, the President and Congress.  He cast aspersions upon what he considered to be corrupt, suspect, or at least unworthy intentions as demonstrated by forthcoming legislation and contradictory utterances that seemed to make a mockery of truth and forthrightness. 

His remarks bring to mind—at least to my mind—two questions:  What is racist and in what possible contexts can the term be properly used? 

Race is defined—other than by genetic characteristics—as those united by common history, language, or cultural traits.  Racial is defined as pertaining to or characteristic of one race or the races of humankind; or between races: the terms are racial harmony and racial relations.  Racism is defined thus:  a belief or doctrine that inherent differences among the various human races determine cultural or individual achievement, usually involving the idea that one’s own race is superior; or a policy, system of government, etc., based on such a doctrine; hatred or intolerance of another race or other races. 

One assumes that the racist would be anyone who makes a remark or otherwise indicates that he or she holds the beliefs of racism.

Do any of our countrymen consider themselves superior to John Q. Public or Janice Q. Jones of Jonesville?

The television and the Internet provide a wonderful window on America.  How realistic the view might be is another question.  But the definition may have to be stretched across the screen or compared to the sites found on the Web:  racism is a belief or doctrine that inherent differences among the various human races determine cultural or individual achievement.  The teachers who discovered that their students WOULD learn if the expectation was given to them have proven that individual achievement has nothing to do with race.  So much for that idea!

Television has presented the entire world with the extreme contrasts between those who have much and those who have little to nothing.  Whether it is the ‘star’ of some soap opera, an athlete, or someone who has inherited an insane amount of wealth, the lives of those who have something make a couple of things obvious:  wealth can make a difference in the manner one eats and in the manner one goes to jail.

Does the wealthy person fit the definition of racist?  Does wealth cause hatred or intolerance of others?  It is more likely that the wealthy person never considers those who have no wealth.   Of course, no overall judgment can be made about any people:  wealthy, healthy, wise, talented, or fumbling.   The importance of knowing those who consider themselves above anyone else is the effect on the rest of us.  So who makes the laws we must follow?  Who consider themselves above those same laws?  Who are the racists?

Does Diogenes still speak?

Seasonal Affective Disorder

Seasonal Affective Disorder

So SAD Season

Each year thousands of people begin to lose any sense of happiness as one season changes to another.  Seasonal Affective Disorder may affect as much as 6 to 14 percent of the U.S. population with an even higher percentage in Alaska and among women more than in men.  SAD symptoms may be acerbated by allergies to anything from ragweed to stale, indoor air, but most scientists seem to agree that SAD is caused by a lack of sunshine and its benefits.

The connection of SAD to allergies has not been proven yet simply because the lack of sleep associated with allergy symptoms tends to mimic the symptoms of SAD—a blue feeling, difficulty waking up in the morning, tendency to overeat, especially craving carbohydrates, lack of energy, difficulty concentrating on tasks, and a withdrawal from friends, family, and social activities.  Those affected by SAD tend to be depressed, pessimistic, and cheerless.

Although the medical community has recommended to their patients bright light therapy, medication, ionized-air administration, cognitive-behavioral therapy, and even carefully administered doses of melatonin, the average person can do much to treat his or her own symptoms once the problem is recognized.

Exercise—especially aerobic [oxygen absorbing]—and increased outdoor activity on sunny days can make a huge difference in mood and physical health for anyone, but for those who already suffer from any kind of depression, outdoor exercise and vitamin D [from fish oils or from eating more fish] will make the world seem like a happier place.

One would think that the changing of the seasons could do more than signal the passing of time, but for at least one young poet the changing of the seasons simply strains his personal view:

        This Autumn

I hate it when my mistakes follow me from season to season
Youthful heart-struck emotions that last for the moment
Just the moment
I am a distant uncle
An absent father
A loving son with good intentions
And a brother no one should pray for
The distance in my eyes is as clear as the day
And I don’t imagine my lover spends much time wondering why
Once again fall has fallen
I don’t expect more than gray skies
Winds that cut through me like thin sharp sheets of steel
That yes, will earn me a living
My cigarettes, beer and heartache—what this working man lives for
Never mind the dreams these stars dream
In this land of stars
LA holds me cold tonight
It holds me against all I truly know
Seasons that leave me begging for the next
Seasons that mark the years like gray hairs
Like the lines that cut from the corners of my eyes
As I peer into the setting sun
Dearly troubled about, yes, one more autumn
         Hanan J. Dickerson October 2009

For additional information and assistance, please visit:

It's a SAD Tome of the Year (Mayo Clinic)

Seasonal Affective Disorder (National Institute of Health)

Non-Political Government

Non-Political Government

No intelligent person is without an opinion, or a viewpoint, however warped or skewed either might be.  Intelligence has no immunity from stupidity or egotism.  But generally the intelligent person has something in common with his fellow man—a sense of right and wrong.  Today some of the leaders of our nation have told us that THEY hold the hallmarks or standards of right and wrong—that they alone have the intelligence and common sense understanding to guide the rest of the nation in the best path for the common good.

When a standard applies to ALL, it is truly a standard.  When some exempt themselves from the same standard that applies to others, it no longer can be called a standard.  Government can be called a standard for those governed, but it MUST apply to all equally.  In America, this concept goes back to that one statement with which most are familiar:  “all men are created equal.”

Apparently, if what is shown on television and seen or read on the Internet can be considered any indication of the concept of ‘equality,’ NOT every American has been created equal.  The average American equals a source of income or self-aggrandizement for those who have bought a position in ‘government.’  Those in government positions are not now, nor conceivably ever have been considered ‘equal’ to the rest of Americans.  They are ABOVE the rules and regulations that apply to Joe and Jane Citizen.

Joe and Jane Citizen may or may not have a bank account, a home, a means of transportation, and decent food that must be prepared daily by one of the household members.  Of all the ‘things’ that appeal to them as desirable, they generally understand the difference between a desire and a necessity and are willing to forego the pleasure of more ‘things’ until the family budget can accommodate such a purchase.  Either one or both of these family members work diligently to fulfill the desires of the rest of the family, sacrificing individual desires for the good of the entire family.

Joe and Jane also have hopes for the future and compassion for those who seem less fortunate than themselves.  Joe works and Jane volunteers her time to help build a home or to volunteer in some capacity to serve the community.  Neither take for granted that life will give them what they need or desire simply because they exist; they understand that effort is required for whatever they earn.  But they are willing to do whatever is necessary to provide for their family and to secure their future as they conceive it.

The ‘government’—those in charge of determining the value applied to the lives of all the Joes and Janes of America—have their own standard of compassion and their own set of hopes for the future.  No concept of earning respect or serving exists in the standards of those involved in ‘government’ unless the person has already proven himself or herself to be a servant of those governed.  One wonders how many servants currently exist in government.  Can a few servants offset the entrenched attitudes of self-importance among those who have come to feel superior to all the Joes and Janes?

What made America great from the very beginning?  The servants who were willing to work for the good of all and who realized that they were, indeed, servants made the difference.  Individuals were willing to set aside whatever could have created personal comfort to assist in creating security and comfort for all.  It was not the ‘government’ they created that made America what it should be; it was the individual who was willing to sacrifice self for others.  How much of that sacrifice is left in our government today?

Gifts and Gambles

Gifts and Gambles

Sooner or later—not just at Christmas time or for some other special holiday—we all end up giving a gift to someone.  Now not everyone is as paranoid about gift giving as I am, but let’s just assume that someone else feels nearly as uncertain about what to give to whom and in what manner.  Gift giving is NOT easy, despite commercials to the contrary.  Expecting a pleased reaction is like gambling on the lottery.

Certain factors affect what can be given to whom and how.  For instance, a beach pail with shovel and assorted summer accessories for the beach just doesn’t cut it during winter.  Never mind that all those beach things were on sale two months ago when the stores were trying to clear out merchandise!  Not many families with small children will be going to a beach during the winter—much less allow the kids to play in the wet sand.

Then there are those leftover boxes of Valentine candy that were on sale right after that holiday.  True, Aunt Julie would love the candy, but she might wonder why it is frozen solid and question whether the chocolate Easter bunnies and Cadbury eggs would have stayed good even kept in your deep freeze.  Personally, I think the combination of red hearts and colorful eggs would be quite attractive.  I can skip the plastic grass easily enough—even if it was cheap.

Our family doctor moves into his new office next week.  I have the perfect gift for him if I can just find a nice gold string for a bow.  He is a cowboy type who has some carved cacti and spurs in his office waiting room.  So my old antique barbed wire should be just about right for an ‘office warming’ present.  That wire has been in the family for a long time—so long I can’t remember the last time one of the kids got cut on it.  Like I said, it’s the perfect gift for a doctor’s office.

Gifts should be surprises and fun to give or get.  I like the song that Rod Stewart sings that asks, “Whose gonna bring you a broken arrow; whose gonna bring you a bottle of rain?  Here he comes, walkin’ across the water.”  The only one I know who gave the ultimate gift to ALL of us still gives it to us every day.  And I am still surprised that He loves us.

Safety Catch

The Safety Catch

Each weapon I ever saw had at least one safety device to prevent unintentional discharge.  We were always taught to treat each weapon as if it were loaded, even if we had just removed all the ammunition.  We were taught to respect weapons for what they were—useful, but very dangerous tools.

In the past ten to fifteen years, we learned to use another dangerous tool—the Internet.  However, the Internet has a less obvious safety device than any weapon.  The first obvious safety device for any tool should be common sense.  However, not everyone has or uses common sense.  Obviously that is true of those who use the Internet just as much as it is of those who carry weapons.

Privacy on the Internet is a joke.  Nothing that can be heard on a cell phone or seen on the Internet can remain hidden or private.  This certain knowledge can be regarded as the warning on the carton of ammunition—potentially dangerous and explosive.  User is solely responsible for outcome.  Even if posted, this warning probably would be ignored by Internet users just as often as it is ignored by those who load weapons.

Whether it is a princess, an athlete, the son of a college dean, or a politician, what is said or written in private is no longer private when it goes to the Internet. 

Words and opinions can be dangerous when used irresponsibly.  But which is worse?  Is irresponsible use of words any worse than the demands of those who feel they have the right to judge what was supposed to be a private message?

 Many companies now control their e-mail systems to prevent unfair business practices or other insider damage control.  But when did our high schools and universities begin to practice the same type of control?  When young people post foolishness on a social Internet site, the foolishness is their problem—not that of the school.  When a college student privately posts critical remarks about his school, does that give the school the right to harass the student?

One step further leads us to public words spoken, written, or posted online:  does any government entity have the right to judge, condemn, or coerce a person who is critical of our government or any laws passed by our government?  The obvious answer sounds like a safety catch—The Patriot Act. 

No one wants anarchy in our country or even acts or words to incite rebellion.  But the Patriot Act can take away our right to express our honest—even though critical—opinions.  Restricting freedom of speech is the same as saying that we are too foolish to be responsible citizens.  Yet somehow freedom of speech always seemed like a good idea.  Just as competition seems to help markets grow, freedom of speech seems to help us develop ideas and learn more about our fellow man.  What happens when we remove the safety catch on democracy?

Perhaps it is true: it is the empty weapon which kills. 

Washtub

Not Your Mother’s Washtub

Our lives just seem to become more convenient every day, so it seems a horrible shock when incredible doesn’t work the way it should.  If the TV should lose its signal, we hardly know what to do beyond griping and snorting—especially if we miss a play during the World Series.  It is difficult to imagine the days when folks had to listen to sporting events on the radio.

My grandmother thought her life had become almost heavenly when she finally got a ringer washer out on the farm.  Our fourth or fifth washer went out the other day, and we went to our local lumber yard the very next day and brought home another one because we consider that appliance essential.  It is strange how some things have taken their own positions on our list of priorities.  A telephone is one item on that list.  Our cell phone isn’t all that technical.  I can actually use it to make and receive calls and even have some numbers installed in its memory—which is extra nice now that my memory seems to balk on occasion.  Most of the children in our extended family have texting on their cell phones down to a speed system, however.  And eventually they will consider their ‘old’ phones too obsolete for use.

We seem somehow to have lost that sense of adventure that came naturally with living in the country.  We never knew when we would find a snake in the hen house or an armadillo in the garden, but recently it seemed like a very strange inconvenience to have our dog make the acquaintance of a skunk.  When HarleyB returned to the back door reeking of essence of skunk, I was able to access the formula for removal of skunk oil immediately by using the Internet.  Using peroxide, baking soda, and soap to clean the dog, we were able to allow him to finish spending the night in the house.  It occurred to me that I would not have known what to use to clean him if it had not been for the convenience of instant information from the Internet.

The contrast between what our lives were like 50 or 60 years ago and our lives today may seem silly in a few short years for one reason or another.  When contrasted with much of the world, we are so blessed. Our forefathers wrestled with this land during years of drought, floods, storms, and other natural disasters. But the blessings came despite the circumstances. Opportunistic scoundrels or gifted individuals, they gave back to the world what they were given, full measure, shaken down.  Giving back became the American way, but it was always with a generous willingness.   May we continue to be a blessing to others no matter what changes may develop in this world.

Generations

Generations

Today the great-granddaughter worried about those two old people she visits in that little town where her mother grew up.  She thought they might need help to get some groceries to their house because they couldn't possibly get out in this snow and ice after the storm.  So her mom used Face Book to contact the old folks’ daughter and from that point the groceries were assured of arrival before the next storm came through.

Children are amazing—simply amazing.  The youngest show love in small ways, but their hearts are just as brim full as that of the most loving adult.  Oh, sometimes we think that children learn love from being loved, but that just doesn't quite ring true.  More likely, each child comes already full of love and just learns more and more ways of showing it with age.  Given loving parents, the child will quickly learn to show concern for others and share the love in practical ways just as this child did today.

Probably the quickest way to understand how easily a child can love is to see a child’s concern in action.  During the blizzard that hit our part of Texas this past week, some young kids got out shovels and managed to help a few cars and trucks escape the snow trap on one of the major highways.  The children—not teenagers nor young adults, but children—didn't stay around to be thanked.  They cut a path through the high drifts and left.  But they showed their concern for others just as surely as if they had passed out hot coffee and warm blankets.

But it does not take blizzard conditions to see the joy and love in the face of children.  This past summer we watched young ones open envelopes of butterflies at the River Bend Nature Center.  They were fascinated and concerned that their butterflies would be able to fly.  Each child realized that life is delicate and is held in the steady hand of someone who helps life continue.  Oh, they realized that a butterfly’s life is temporary; but for now, this moment, they could open an envelope and release that life to freedom.

A minister once said that love is selfish among children and parents, but he was a grown man with his own problems.  For children need no motive for love.  It is enough for them that they have something to give of freely—something they can afford to give in full measure, shaken down.  Oh to be able to continue to free the butterflies and watch over the old folks!

Do You Want to Know?

Do You Want to Know?

Customers are some of the most sensitive people in the world.  When the product they are considering is a bit out of their normal sphere of knowledge, customers can be almost defensive because they may feel intimidated by the salesperson or what they consider to be the “expert” about the subject.  Whether a person is buying a new tech gadget like a phone or a service such as rehabilitation exercises and classes, the customer should be treated as an intelligent person rather than as a child to be taught or as a negligent student to be scolded.

Recently we met up with an excellent sales person who rolled her eyes, growled, shouted, and otherwise showed her irritation with the phone service connection which was needed to activate our new phone.  Never once did she show any indication that her displeasure had been caused by our inability to complete the same communication with that company. 

When she finished and gave us the paperwork, indicating the pieces of information that were essential to save, she made the comment that these companies who made products that required a call to a foreign country or to an automated system should have to spend their days shouting into a fuzzy call system in order to obtain a pay check.  We thanked her for her patience on our behalf, and she went on about her business with a cheery demeanor.  We were very glad to have had her help since she obviously knew what to do and what to expect.

Not every situation is so pleasant.  Lifestyle changes involving foods meet those criteria.  Recently published articles concerning genetic tendencies and a body’s ability to switch on or off certain enzymes have changed the way nutritionists have to look at foods and how their substances are absorbed within the body. 

Furthermore, scientists have observed that certain food combinations can change the body’s ability to convert foods into energy.  Basically, changing one’s eating habits may help considerably when attempting to reduce cholesterol levels along with the use of drugs, but even certain changes or stresses on the body may change its ability to use nutrients.

No one minds putting forth his or her best efforts, but whether it is lifting weights, going to nutrition classes, or losing weight, the customer should be encouraged and appreciated rather than scolded or treated like a red-headed step child.  Customers don’t come back when they expect negative feedback. 

Even teachers have to learn to cheerfully help students realize that the full load can be nibbled away one spoonful at a time.  A nutritionist must learn to load her students with piles of good things they can choose rather than focus on the necessary restrictions.  No one is so foolish as to expect to eat as much or any type of foods available, but it is nice to hear suggestions for healthy changes rather than doom and gloom about cholesterol, blood sugars, and weight loss. 

If you want customers to return, be positive!

You Don’t Have to Be Crazy to Work Here

You Don’t Have to Be Crazy to Work Here

The millions of jobs needed by Americans could almost be funny if one’s sense of humor were entirely warped.  In the first place, some of the jobs actually available would set a new standard for the show Dirty Jobs.  For instance, experienced infant to three-year-old teachers are needed for classes.  Just WHAT could one teach an infant?  Or better yet, what is that three year old going to teach?  But did anyone notice that the postal workers are taking part time jobs sacking groceries?  Maybe a new television series is about to be born—Making Ends Meet in This Economy.

The flip side of looking for a job has to be an employer’s hiring practices.  How many felons or former drug addicts can one nursing home hire?  Does a business or vocational school really have to prove that its teachers have degrees?  Does its financial aid officer or its director need to be honest and law abiding before taking the students' expense checks to the bank?

Congress has proven that honesty is not a high priority for public office, so is it any wonder that some privately owned business schools are not too careful about checking out the records and backgrounds on their teachers?  One school in Texas hired an instructor for its computer program without ever seeing a transcript of college classes.  No degree.  The same school hired another instructor who had just been fired from a local high school.  When her car was repossessed later that week, a meth lab was discovered in the trunk.

One instructor used to open the local newspaper and say that he was going to check roll for his classes by seeing who had been arrested the night before.  No school can refuse to serve those who have criminal backgrounds, yet failing to check the backgrounds of instructors seems bizarre at the very least.  At one time public schools had a standard for teacher certification that included a criminal background check—or at least the teacher had to certify that he/she had never been convicted of a felony.  Unfortunately, that standard does not apply to all schools—or apply to many occupations.  The minister, the vocational school instructor, the nursing home director, the child care worker—guess which one or ones have/has a felony conviction.  No, insanity is not a prerequisite for being hired in some positions, but sooner or later one might have to wonder what the employer was looking for when he was hiring.

Pet Peeves

Pet Peeves

The spring garden catalogs come to us around this time of year.  Oh, they make me drool over flowers, bushes, vegetables, and dreams of dirt that crumbles easily through my fingers without any burrs or stickers to mar the enjoyment of gardening.  Oh, the warmer weather and the scent of freshly turned earth is something for dreams and daydreaming. 

The realities are not always quite up to the level of those daydreams; in fact, after years of planting and watching hail, high winds, and even drought ruin my efforts to produce succulent tomatoes and edible salad greens, my expectations are much closer to culling through the seeds to find some that are bug, wind, and heat resistant enough to live for the brief period of time that we gallantly call spring in North Central Texas.

The Indians who traveled from the East Coast to Indian Territory brought with them some beans that produce such gorgeous blooms that I replant them each year in an effort to produce a beautiful corner of the yard to face the road in front of our house.  Those beans have reproduced for four years now from beans I have saved from each succeeding planting.  Aptly enough named ‘Survival Beans,’ the plants don’t die back until frost and the beans continue to dry in the pods until removed by hand.  For some reason, the bugs don’t eat these strong vines and the blooms, leaves, or beans.

My father-in-law used to say that he always planted three seeds for every one plant he expected to harvest: one seed for the ground, one seed for the bugs, and one seed for his stomach.  And yes, he planted his seeds in this general area of Texas, but he was a much better gardener than I am.  He knew how to use water quite effectively.

Even if a can of green beans did not cost 72 cents in the store, I much prefer green beans fresh out of the garden.  A squash freshly picked and sliced up raw in a salad is something only short of heaven, and a juicy tomato hidden beneath netting and allowed to ripen naturally away from bugs and birds’ beaks is a treasure only box turtles and a determined gardener deserve. 

Oh, we are sure to waste water and plenty of sweat out there in the dirt this spring, but I will do it again and again as long as I can still bend over or get down on my knees in the dirt.  But please!  When will those companies quit sending me pictures of perfect veggies and fruits that make my efforts seem so pitiful?  I guess they are sure that hope springs eternal in the breasts of all gardeners.  Yes, the check is in the mail for some more of those lovely berry vines.

Sunshine

The Smell of Sunshine

Sometimes sights, sounds, and smells just overwhelm the senses and a person becomes almost claustrophobic in the middle of life surrounded by sensations.  And at other times one tiny whiff of the slightest taste of a past memory can drive a person to the extremes of nostalgia.  Today the snow whirled down in huge feathers before it became white petal-sized blossoms driven by the wind, but the air lacked even the hint of perfume that had enticed the bees to visit the fruit trees yesterday.  Spring is an idea forced upon hopeful natures such as bees, robins, and winter-weary adults.  Only children still find amusement in snowflakes at some point.

Yesterday a tiny drift of sunshine held out hope for the smell of summer in sheets hung on a clothesline—like the long ago starch in pillow cases ironed and slipped under sleepy heads, the sensation passed quickly to wrinkled clouds of tired winter.  And the robins were caught hunting in small snow drifts across the winter rye grass.  Too soon passed by the fickle favor of the season, no insects warranted their probing efforts.  Only the doves and cardinals were unaffected as they returned to the stale familiarity of the feeders.

Does this frozen force hold the insects in suspension until they can live out their lives in sunshine?  Do the crumpled blooms foretell their demise along with the fruits of the season?  Perhaps only the few bees visited yesterday because the season was so premature—only the few hopefuls will have passed with the driven snow.  These precipitant few waxed extravagant in their efforts—much like the lake-bound campers and motorcyclists who have attempted to usher in warmer weather and freedom in the outdoors.  Jackets and swimsuits clash in the muddle of seasonal changes.

No, the smell of winter still reigns in the houses—the semi-damp shoes and the jeans holding on to the wet dog smell of closed rooms.  But soon the smell of sunshine will again open the windows and lift hopes.  The grills will waft with the wonder of wieners, corn wrapped in wet husks, and onions skewered on racks of beef.  And the bees can visit sweetened tea glasses and pools of beer to the contentment and detriment of their honeyed hearts.  Hope and honey bees never truly die—despite the late snows and early storms of spring.

Retirement

Retirement?

A young couple recently came to our place to bring us a load of six bales of good coastal Bermuda hay.  The wife was telling us that her husband had some serious concerns about retirement.  He had worked for 40 years in the milk industry, first as a driver and then as a manager.  His routine currently takes him to the office around 8 or 9 before he returns home for a small nap at 12.  Then he returns to the office and works until 4 or 5 in the afternoon.  His concern regards being with his wife for 24/7 after being at work all those years.  We just laughed at him.

Fang and I discovered early on that retirement does NOT mean doing nothing, no matter who is or is not at home otherwise. The things that had to be done in a rush on weekends now take a little more time during the week.  The grass still grows; the vehicles still need to be cleaned; fences still need to be mended or rebuilt—and those are just some of the outdoor tasks. Inside the house, the work is never totally caught up. If nothing else, the laundry and the dishes will never cease to be a challenge to orderly chaos.

Bill Turley walks his dog Wrinkles and watches the hummingbirds as part of his daily routine. We, on the other continent, hang on to a lead and try to keep Harley B from eating any stray cats or rabbits.  And Oliver Twisted is the bird watcher extraordinaire.  So far this winter, he has just watched.  We feed the birds, and he sits in the window and makes faces at them.  They don’t seem to care and seem pretty sure that he can’t get to them.  When warmer weather gets here, the birds will have to fend for themselves because we—animals and humans alike—will all be outside sitting on the front bench watching the world go by.

Even having grandkids and neighbors with grandkids is part of retirement.  The neighbors across the street come over during decent weather and visit with us on the front patio.  Their grandkids like to dig in the same dirt where our kids used to play—in dirt that our grands think belongs to them now.  Funny how much things don’t really change.

We keep a jar of marbles in the kitchen window.  It is partially a joke and partially a plan for our retirement.  As long as we still have our marbles, we plan to enjoy being together and doing our own “work” on our own terms.  The grandkids keep bringing us marbles, so I guess we have to stay right here and continue to be happily retired.  That isn’t such a bad idea, after all is said and done.

Shared Spaces

Shared Spaces

We share a home with animals.  We used to think we were pet owners.  We used to gripe about cleaning up after ‘our’ pets.  We now have learned a new perspective—WE are the ones owned by these animals.

Dog:  Ok, I will stand up and look at her and she will let me out the door so I can go redecorate the back yard.  As soon as I am finished, she will let me back through that door.  I might have to paw the door once or twice to get her attention.  She’s getting old, you know.

Cat:  Maybe some of that nice shredded beef would taste good.  Look at her and then put a paw on her.  She didn’t ‘get’ it that time.  I will paw the desk handles and make noises with them.  That will tell her to get up right NOW.  See, she is such a good girl—a little slow, maybe, but pretty good.

Dog:  A nice game of ‘throw it’ would help her get some exercise.  I will just put this ball in her lap.  See, that was a good throw.  Now do it again and put some effort into it.  Now, scratch all the good places and pat my back.  Put some muscle into it, Sweetie.  It’s not like I am asking you to walk with me or run or do something really good for you.

Cat:  Let’s see if I can get her to be still and relax.  Ok, she is sitting and I can jump on that part of her.  Now to do the head rub part and purr loudly to give her the relaxing idea.  No, don’t get up!  Get back down and let me give you a good relaxing purr.  Rub here and listen to the rhythm.  See, isn’t that MUCH better.  I can already feel that your blood pressure is getting lower.

Dog:  The back door again, Dearie.  You need the walk through the house.  Check out that moving thing down there on the road.  I will bark and you tell me how good I am to notice these things since you never seem to notice them.

Cat:  Nap time.  Let me just get here on your arm near your chin to help you rest.  I will just give you a few minutes of this nice relaxing purr before I show you the soft, deep breathing you need to practice.

Dog:  Did you feed the cat?  Did he leave any leftovers?  I can clean that up for you and keep the floor clean too.

Cat:  This food is just a teensy bit stale, Dearie.  Let’s just give it to the dog.  See, I can push the container off on the floor and he will take care of every bit of it.

Dog:  Oh, aren’t you SO glad we love you!  See how I thump my tail on the front of the computer for you.  I have no idea why you think those little lights on it are important.  But I will thump the desk instead if that pleases you.  We take SUCH good care of you.

Reunions and Farewells

Reunions and Farewells

A friend of ours is leaving Texas this next week for another state.  It’s cold up there in the winter, but the summers are pretty, so we are told.  She won’t get to be here when it is 119 degrees in the shade.  She probably won’t even think twice when she pays her utility bills this summer.  She probably won’t even think about how we drive around looking for a tree when we want to park somewhere in the summer.  But come winter, we might think about her and the snow, ice, and cold nights and days.

Today we got together with mutual friends and laughed at some of the funny things we have done together and at some of the things that we have endured together.  And at least one person was so glad to know that she will be going home to her husband who has already begun to settle into the new house.  She and the children can look forward to being welcomed home.  It won’t be the reunion they have had in the past when he served in the military, but in a way, it will be a much better reunion because now they won’t be going separate ways ever again—except when the children grow up and go out on their own.

A family is so important to us in so many ways.  Sometimes we just have to change our definition of family, however.  Our friend watched her mom die of cancer, watched her father lose his self-identity, watched her siblings lose sight of the importance of loving family, and watched her world begin to shrink to the size of her husband and children.  Oh, she has friends and those who will remember her, but family is there—or should be there—long after the seasons change and the houses are sold.

We said farewell to this young friend today and expect to hear from her sporadically, if at all.  She is, after all, very involved with her family.  One older friend could give her a piece of advice—if she were ever interested in looking toward a future that most of us face eventually.  This older lady (a widow herself) has served the older widows of her church while making friends of the younger generation.  Those young friends will eventually be her family unless something changes in the lives of her daughters.  Her older friends will shuffle off into the sunset soon, and the younger ones may or may not realize that a widow needs a hug and some appreciation just like their own mothers.

Mother’s Day is a misnomer if ever there were one.  What we really have is Family Day, whether or not one is related by blood or marriage to those who love us.  It is too hard to say goodbye to our mothers.  Instead we have to adopt more family to love—at least until the next reunion.

Just How Funny is It?

Just How Funny Is It?

America has enjoyed the blessings of good men and women since before it became a nation.  Its national character has been reflected in the standards of the outstanding majority who have done their best to be good citizens, good parents, good neighbors, and good examples to those around them.  When the nation faltered, its economy and its standards fell as well.  A civil war, the Great Depression, and the paranoia of the McCarthy era marked some of the low spots in our history.

Our very own internment camps for Japanese and German Americans during World War II contrast with the awareness that equality has to belong to all races.  And a man named Martin made us even more aware of our prejudices.  Always a man or a woman has stood up and has spoken for reason and common sense.  Oh, sometimes the pendulum has swung a bit over the edges of sanity as when a position has been filled due to race or gender rather than qualifications; and a few bras were burned needlessly.  Nonetheless, our nation has had voices to remind us and to chide us when as a nation we have apparently ignored the consequences of political policies or social trends. 

Somehow it is the comedians whose voices seem to echo loudest in our ears: Will Rogers, Bob Hope, the Smothers Brothers, Andy Rooney, Art Buchwald, Bill Cosby, and even George Carlin.  Some of these spoke quietly and caused us to chuckle as we thought about what they said; and some of them raised our eyebrows a few notches before we could even get to their message.  But quiet or raucous, we listened then and listen still.  We hear the humor in gay and lesbian lifestyles.  We see the silliness of hanging onto every word from the “newscasts.”  We see our cartoonists’ renditions of our national obsessions.

Will Rogers and Mark Twain are about as American as we will ever need; but what we need as much or more than their voices is the ability to hear and see ourselves as we really are.  Then we might wonder: Just how funny is it?

To Suffer the Slings and Arrows of Outrageous Fortune

To Suffer the Slings and Arrows of Outrageous Fortune

Dear Shakespeare, no offense intended, but this line just ‘works’ today. You see, some male person in one of the noble countries of the Middle East stated his belief that earthquakes are caused by the mammary glands of women. This person may not be the same one who insists that women should not wear bras because they make the chests of women more noticeable, but the entire attitude of at least some men makes one wonder what would happen if all men were suddenly women for a day—just a day, not even an entire month with all that that entails!

Some few men have already recognized that women should have equivalent status in life. As an example, read what one writer states about how language recognizes status differences between the feminine and masculine:

“Often the feminine equivalents of terms have inferior connotations: imitation (leather/leatherette), small size (statue/statuette), lesser social status (governor/governess), and at times the two terms are poles apart (wizard/witch) - wizard is a compliment while witch is disparaging.

Why is it important to recognize this? It's because while our language is a reflection of our society, the reverse is also true. Our society is also shaped by the language. So the trend is towards common terms to describe both men and women in the same professions, especially where the sex of the person is immaterial in context.”      (A.Word.A.Day with Anu Garg. Used with permission.)

Attitudes that focus on body parts of either sex actually demean the worth of the individual. But invariably the Marilyn Monroes provoke more comments or reactions than the Paul Newmans or Rob Pattinsons. And HOW people talk about these folks shapes attitudes both here and wherever they become known. Is it so shocking then that some man with limited social experience would think that women can cause earthquakes? Bombshells and studs slink and strut in movies, videos, and books. And the James Bond type strikes again, building images of random violence while his women provoke anything OTHER than a realistic image.

No, it really would be interesting if men suddenly had to conform to the image of a woman. Would men-women suddenly cease to find that body parts are of so much significance if they were the ones wearing those slings? If fortune had caused them to be the ‘inferior’ ones?

Throw the Horses over the Fence

Throw the Horses over the Fence

The English language is probably one of the most difficult to learn—much less to use correctly.  The misuse of words like to, too, two, their, they’re, and there would generally be considered an illiteracy by an English teacher, but some mistakes have become so prevalent that misused terms or words have become acceptable.  For instance, teachers have drilled into the heads of their students for years that pronouns should agree with their antecedents.  Yet lately it has become more and more acceptable to say ‘everyone should bring their own lunch.’

Back years ago when German immigrants moved into North Texas, my father heard some totally strange syntax that made him laugh at the use of his language: throw the horses over the fence some hay.  But good ole Texans who have lived here all their lives are just as likely to use interesting dangling participles or other constructs that can be misinterpreted: Seething the cook threw the steak back on the grill; driving along the road, the longhorns lowered their heads, raised their tails like flags, and ran away from the trucks; seeing the snake lying on its back on the blacktop, the driver assumed it was dead. [seething, (use of comma) as the truck drivers drove…, the driver assumed the snake…]

Recently an e-mail arrived which pointed out the many uses of the word UP.  Idiomatic phrases involve many uses of words just like up: look up an old friend [visualize lying on the ground looking up].  Or think about how we use the short phrase ‘find out.’  Some students from India were attempting to use this term in formal file papers along with terms like hitched to and ditched.  Rather than overuse the word discover, they learned to substitute the word ascertain.  But how can the term ‘find out’ be explained as an act of uncovering or exposing when it can mean discover as well?  How terms are used currently becomes a process as scary as defining the words gay and cute.

English, at least in Texas, also has many pronunciations that cause problems: we refuse to pay state income taxes, and most Texans would like to throw cacti in the refuse along with tumbleweeds.  Then we have to pronounce the name of our cities and rivers: Nacogdoches, Waxahachie, Latittie [pronounced La Tish], along with the Wichita and the Ouachita Rivers.

One grandchild began public school this year taking what were called dual language classes where she learned both Spanish and English.  It would be nice if she could learn another language because most Texans just speak English, Spanish, Vietnamese, Chinese, or some variation thereof.  And then there are those like our editor who only speaks English and cat.  Should he and his wife ever visit Texas, he might hear something along these lines: Woodya lack sum ahced tay?  Yes, English is definitely a difficult language—especially for English speakers.

The Inevitable

The Inevitable

Old age is not inevitable, but death most assuredly is. 

One of the problems each generation faces is the aging of parents and the attendant worries about their welfare.  My grandparents took their mothers into their homes, along with younger siblings when it was necessary.  But that has not been the case for our grandparents—and now for our parents.  So, in two generations something has changed drastically that aging parents have either become less dependent on their children or life has become more demanding on all concerned.

Unless one has the financial means to live in an assisted living facility, the choices for living out one’s life independent of one’s children and their decisions are somewhat limited.  For a couple of years, my grandparents had a live-in housekeeper, cook, and helper who lightened their load enough that they were able to remain together at home until my grandfather died.  The lady needed a home, and my grandparents needed help, so the cost for this arrangement was manageable.  Because Grandmother was a pretty sharp lady, she was able to maintain her independence for a long time, but she eventually had to give up driving.  In Texas, wheels are essential since there are plenty of areas that have absolutely no public transport.  Loss of transportation means loss of independence.

My mother-in-law and Grandfather Kennedy both lost their sense of direction long before they gave up their wheels.  However, it was not just their independence and sense of direction that they lost.  They both lost a sense of purpose for life.  Both had worked since they could remember, and now they had nothing to keep their minds and hands busy.  Grandfather Kennedy sat down and died at 85.  Mother-in-law hung on until she was nearly 90.

As much as we love our parents and grandparents, the realities of living with an older generation place some pretty difficult demands on us.  One woman we talked with yesterday had to try to help her mother understand that she could no longer expect to be able to remain independent.  The disease disabling her limbs had no real effect on her mind, but she could not accept the inevitable results of paralysis.  Her children are caught between the woman’s mind and her disability; they have to make the motions to suit the expectations—with frustrating results for all concerned.

When the mind leaves the body in a helpless state, we understand our parents or grandparents and know that someday that could easily be our own situation.  But when the mind is sharp and the limbs are fragile beyond belief, our tendency is to try to protect and be a caretaker to the extreme.  The woman we spoke with said that she felt horrified with herself when she actually thought that it would be so much easier if her mother were just able to die.  The woman felt guilty for having such thoughts, and yet what she had expressed to us was very familiar.  Being trapped inside a body that is too strong to quit living while the mind wanders on its own has got to be about the ultimate insult to the human condition. But being the child or caregiver to someone in this situation is miserable on two levels: we hurt for those we love; we hurt for ourselves and our loss.

Each person is going to react to the loss of independence according to his/her own personality, and children-caretakers’ reactions are just as varied as those of the parents—or in some cases, of those of the spouses.  Probably the best advice available will involve learning not to expect unrealistic miracles or improvements. Life develops in stages; living and leaving the stages is the hard part.  We are especially blessed if someone walks beside us to watch the last steps as objectively as we watched with joy for their first steps.

It is just so difficult to be objective about watching someone we love and the inevitable.

With All Due Respect

With All Due Respect

Even when President Nixon resigned, I felt respectful of him and the office he was leaving.  He had made some mistakes, and those mistakes became painfully public.  It occurred to me at the time that other presidents had probably made—and would make—mistakes.  The main difference seemed to be that those mistakes were a matter now of public knowledge and reaction. 

What a difference 20 or 30 years have made!  Our heroes have become sports, acting, modeling, or performing ‘artists’ or ‘stars.’  How pitiful.  At one time our nation could hold up an Audie Murphy or Ronald Reagan or even a John Wayne as a representative of the American way of life and heroics.  A president who had his boat blown out from under him in a war, a congressman who served in Vietnam, and a Supreme Court justice who could ride the Arizona ranges on her own land—we could know these as American heroes and knew that however imperfect they were, we need not be ashamed of them.

Generations of Americans taught their children to use respectful terms of address for anyone they met—but especially for those who were considered elders or those who were authority figures such as nurses, doctors, and yes, especially politicians.  That is not to say that elders or authority figures were considered ‘perfect’ or without faults.  But at one time in our national history, the imperfections lacked the impact on and therefore the focus of the nation.  During those halcyon days, representatives were still considered servants of the national interests rather than prisoners of their own greed or aggrandizement.

A young politician recently announced that he would no longer serve in public office here in Texas.  The man gave family obligations as his reason for leaving the political arena.  But could it also be that like the rest of us, he smells the stench that seems to permeate national politics?  When it becomes public knowledge that a congressman or congresswoman has put himself or herself above the laws of the nation, how can that person be allowed to continue in an office that represents others who have to obey those laws?  Who do criminals represent?

With all due respect for the offices and the positions of authority developed by our founding fathers and sanctioned under Judeo-Christian beliefs, how has our government come to so blatantly not represent ethical and real values?

Calling Doctor Schaffner

Calling Doctor Schaffner

My Grandfather Pollard watched his little sister die of diphtheria when she was about eight years old.  He loved her dearly and was as devastated by her death as her mother was by the loss of her only daughter.  Perhaps it was little Lena who Granddad was thinking about the day he came to visit me when I was terribly sick with strep throat.  He thought that I had diphtheria and might die.  It was Granddad who called for the county doctor to come see me.

My parents were as loving toward their children as any young couple could be, but they also struggled desperately financially.  They could not afford the cost of a doctor’s visit for themselves or their two children.  A doctor’s visit back in those days would be the equivalent of a plumber’s visit today—very expensive.  Many young children died from simple illnesses because of the lack of health care—even when it was available.

In 1945, President Truman wanted to see Americans healthy and well.  A healthy America was a wealthy America in his way of looking at things.  And perhaps he was not too far off in his estimation; however, then, as now, folks feared government intrusion into health care calling it socialism and communism.  A universal national health insurance plan was debated to death during President Truman’s term in office.  It was not until July 30, 1965, that Medicare and Medicaid were signed into law by President Lyndon B. Johnson.  Truman was the very first enrollee, but 19 million Americans enrolled when the law went into effect in 1966.  In that year, Medicare Part B premiums were $3 per month; by 2000, Part B premiums were $45.40 per month.

At almost 84, my dad still groans every time he pays his supplement insurance premiums for his and Mom’s Medicare.  Of course, out of their combined income, my parents pay $312 per month for their supplemental insurance.  That is a FAR cry from the $3 per month (or for them, $6 per month) that the insurance would have cost in 1966.  Even so, any insurance is better than none unless a person is independently wealthy and exceptionally healthy.
One of the biggest problems Americans face today is not the cost of insurance per se, but the lack of professional health caregivers who are willing to service their needs.  No one would expect a normal person to spend thousands of dollars on an education and investments in facilities to work for minimum wage, but a doctor with two nurses and a receptionist/billing person might end up with costs of better than $60, 000 a year out of an income of $100,000.  No, $40,000 is not minimum wage, but then take one full third away from Medicare payments and see what happens to that $40,000.  That is exactly what is about to happen when the 21% reduction in Medicare payments is scheduled to take effect this next month.

Many doctors have begun to refuse to treat Medicare and Medicaid patients entirely.  Others want a group practice that will ensure that they get paid through private payments by patients or through some group plan paid for by the patients.  This is a case of a workman being worth his wages.

If finding a doctor to treat someone is not enough of a difficulty, heaven help the person who must be admitted to a health care facility—hospital, clinic, or rehabilitation services.  Nurses are not concerned about getting paid or receiving low pay.  They are more concerned about work load and how much time they actually have to spend with each patient.  Nurses know that 24% of medical errors are due to low staff levels—too few nurses per patient.  Part of this problem is the lack of willingness of hospitals and clinics to spend money on extra staff; the rest of the problem is the nursing shortage.  Nurses now in their 50s make up 25% of the RN population.  By 2025, the nursing shortage will equal 260,000 nurses.  The workforce in the medical field is aging just as rapidly as the rest of America.

The family doctor who cared for me by the time I was a teenager and who delivered all four of our children retired about 13 years ago.   He didn’t exactly get rich taking care of our family, but we loved and trusted him.  Today I try to take care of myself and the spouse, but we do our best to only get sick during office hours.   This new doctor would have to have a throat culture done to diagnose strep throat.

All in a Name

All in a Name

Does every family have names to call those characters who did something memorably zany or whose habits needed a name rather than an explanation?  As long as I can remember, someone who lied about something was a J.Y.---a term named for a man whose wife didn’t want him to drink.  They would go to town on a Saturday and he would buy two pints of whiskey.  He would drain the one and take a few sips from the other and put it in his pocket.  When he would meet up with Melba, she would swear he had been drinking. He would pull out the partially full bottle and show her that he had had just a few sips. Her response: “J.Y.! You lyin’ ….”

Then there was the uncle whose feet were invariably the first under the table at every meal and whose next destination was the royal throne as soon as dinner was over.  Most of the family would claim that they had pulled a Leonard if they ate a big meal and immediately needed to go to the outdoor facilities.  Apparently, other families notice these things too as one of Fang’s neighbors always managed to get out of helping the girls do the dishes by getting up before the meal was ended to use the facilities and never returning to the kitchen until the dishes were done.  To this day, anyone who gets up from a family meal before it is over is pulling a ‘Jackie Lloyd.’

Almost anyone recognizes a reference to ‘the squeaky wheel.’  That comes from a saying that the wheel that squeaks the loudest gets the most grease.  This applies to everyone from hurricane victims to automobile makers, perhaps, but it is considered an insult to be ‘as poor as Job’s turkey.’  Now Job was a rich man in the beginning and lost it all, including his children.  Somehow it is not likely he ever saw a turkey, but if he had, it would have been a mighty poor one since he had lost everything else worth taking.  I am not sure exactly how poor a person has to be so that no one else would think he or she had anything worth taking, but that is the point of the saying.

Perhaps younger folks would not recognize how lucky one would have been to be Mrs. Astor’s pet horse, but it is possible that they might have heard ‘let them eat cake’ in reference to Marie Antoinette’s supposed suggestion for those who needed bread in France.  No, the younger generation would be more likely to grin upon discovering that your rooster was named Rambo or the slider turtle in your fish tank was named Terminator.  And the really young set will recognize the name of I-anything from I-pod to I-pal or something of that nature. 

At our age, Fang and I will sit back and wait for a new computer to come out that will fit our need for versatile, cool efficiency---something named .007.  That’s a name we can appreciate.

Justice by Clain

Justice by Claim

Five years ago our neighbor was told that her granddaughter and another little girl were missing—and then were found murdered.  Semen found on and in one girl’s body did not match that of anyone on record at the time.  Since that time, a man arrested in another sexual assault case has matched the DNA found on the 8-year-old girl.

Common sense would seem to indicate that the man—or teenager—who sexually assaulted the girl might be the prime suspect in the murders.  Yet some kind of convoluted logic has affected those who are attempting to prosecute another man as the murderer.  That man had no bloodstains on his clothes, no motive, and no other recognizable proof of guilt; yet he was held for questioning and coerced into a “confession” after a grueling 20 hours of verbal and sometimes physical assault by officers.

Now I don’t know about what most folks could stand in the way of harassment by authority figures, but after no sleep, food, or restroom breaks, I would be willing to vow and declare that I am bald-headed and possess a third eye right above my nose just as long as folks would be willing to leave me alone.  Such a confession doesn’t hold water in my book; but I know that the treatment makes my blood boil with indignation for such a travesty of justice.

Now this Wednesday the man accused of the murders may be released—though not exonerated at this time.  The officials who want to keep his life on hold longer than the five years he has already spent in jail want to keep his court date open just a bit longer—until October, to be exact.  That means that he may or may not be tried for the murders and sentenced to the death penalty for something he did not do. 

Two factors in this situation have colored the thinking of those who care about justice and those who care about their careers: the man had previously spent time in prison before the girls were murdered; and one little girl was the man’s only daughter.  Somehow a previous conviction for whatever crime can almost guarantee the suspicion and conclusions of some people. 

Granddad Kennedy used to say it was hard to break a dog from killing chickens—but it can be done.  A man is NOT a dog and a child is not a chicken, but to hear some folks talk about a person who has been in prison, one would think the entire makeup of a person is tainted with guilt and viciousness from time spent there.  But this man is going to have a special problem.  In five years time, how was he able to grieve for the daughter he lost?  How much compassion did anyone show him?  Who gave him even one hug and comforted him?

A prison is not designed to be a place for the mentally handicapped or a group home for the emotionally ill.  It is designed to separate those who can live among others from those who cannot.  Sometimes the ones who walk among us are as guilty of a crime as those who actually steal, lie, murder, or otherwise violate the lives of others.  Taking five years from a man’s life, threatening him, preventing him from receiving counseling or comfort for the loss of his child—are these things not as hurtful as a murder? 

In this country we claim that our citizens are innocent until proven guilty.  In this man’s circumstances—that of a parolee—he was assumed guilty until he will be proven innocent.  We should be ashamed of such a perverse system.  Release the man without further prohibitions for his past.  Has he not given up enough?

She Knows (Part 1)

She Knows

(Part 1 of 3)

Fang gets such a big kick out of asking the grands questions and waiting for the answers. He recently asked our Dickerson grandson: Where was Moses when the lights went out? It took him a minute or two, but he gave the answer. A week later when he and his sister were in the back room bouncing on the bed while Paw Paw watched, the boy asked his little sister: Where was Moses when the lights went out? Paw Paw pointed out that she might not KNOW who Moses was. Looking at Paw Paw with one of those subtle but pointed smiles the grand said: She knows who Moses is.

That started a discussion between Fang and me about how many kids actually know who Moses is, but it was time to go to sleep, so we left that discussion for another day and just chuckled over the kids and some of the things that they have said that tickle us. For instance, about this time last year the little girl had finished her first day of kindergarten. Her mother told her that she needed to go into her room and choose the clothes she would be wearing the next day. The child's astonished question was: You mean I have to go back?

Having read some of the news today, I was encouraged to know that the trapped miners in Chile can see some hope of leaving that mine alive. These men need all the help that the nation and world can provide to free them from a certain and slow death in the depths of blackness. One of the first things they asked for was toothbrushes. One can only imagine what weeks without a toothbrush could do. But one thing sent down to them other than food was 33 extra strong mag lights so that each man could see what was around him. Being without sufficient food is one thing, but being deep in darkness could certainly send a person over the bend in a hurry.

Now, I have a point to mentioning those miners. They were making their living down in the bowels of the earth, and that was probably the only employment available to them or they would not have been in such an unsafe place. Still, they had a choice about leaving the sunlight and becoming restricted to a dark place. Some women in this world do not have the luxury of that choice. They are no more than slaves or chattel of little value, and their darkness is the burka or burqa, that all encompassing garment that becomes a walking tent when a woman must wear it.

In some countries--Israel and France--wearing the burka has been totally discouraged or outlawed. The French refuse to allow anyone to use public transportation who is wearing a burka--probably because either a man or woman would be unrecognizable and could easily conceal explosives or firearms under the garment. Only the ultra orthodox in the Jewish community would have their women wear the burka, and the rabbis in Israel discourage such a restriction on women and consider its use a type of sexual deviancy.

Other countries refuse to allow the garments to be worn in any school or university, but some countries have just slowly begun the elimination of the garments, including parts of Afghanistan and Pakistan.

The problem with a burka is as symbolic as it is a reality. If a woman has no identity, she has no meaning as a person. This same attitude prevailed in America for centuries concerning the black people and the American Indians. Unseen as individuals, these people had no rights or value to those who "conquered" this land. What was stolen from them included more than land or liberty, but their very identities. How can one have hope in life if one has no name, no place, no value?

Women have not always been appreciated in America--lacking the right to vote or even own property for many years. But men in the United States had something to guide them that had nothing to do with hiding their women in tents or behind veils. Just as our grandson said, they knew who Moses was.

She Knows   -    Part 2

She Knows

(Part 2 of 3)

Ninety years ago, the 19th Amendment was formally incorporated into the U.S. Constitution.  This amendment gave women the right to vote, but it did not yet remove the problems that faced women in our part of the world.  In July of 1848, Elizabeth Cady Stanton had looked at the Declaration of Independence and used the same format in her Declaration of Sentiments for the problems facing women:

A Declaration of Sentiments

• Married women were legally dead in the eyes of the law
• Women were not allowed to vote
• Women had to submit to laws when they had no voice in their formation
• Married women had no property rights
• Husbands had legal power over and responsibility for their wives to the extent that they could imprison or beat them with impunity
• Divorce and child custody laws favored men, giving no rights to women
• Women had to pay property taxes although they had no representation in the levying of these taxes
• Most occupations were closed to women and when women did work they were paid only a fraction of what men earned
• Women were not allowed to enter professions such as medicine or law
• Women had no means to gain an education since no college or university would accept women students
• With only a few exceptions, women were not allowed to participate in the affairs of the church
• Women were robbed of their self-confidence and self-respect, and were made totally dependent on men

It was a Margaret Sanger, a public health nurse, who stated that women would not be truly emancipated until they could control their own reproductive organs. Most women in the 1800s did not even KNOW about birth control methods. A woman who was pregnant was not usually seen in public, and being in a family way was the only explanation necessary to explain her absence from social duties.  Birth details and any conversation dealing with sex simply were not considered proper for polite circles of women.

In 1936, a Supreme Court decision declassified birth control information as obscene. Still, it was not until 1965 that married couples in all states could obtain contraceptives legally.

Since women could now have some measure of control over their reproductive organs, it seemed reasonable that they should also have some measure of choice about whether or not to remain married.  In 1969, California adopted the nation’s first “no fault” divorce law, allowing divorce by mutual consent.  Neither men nor women began to rush out and free themselves from the bonds of matrimony, but for those who did seek a divorce, the reasons did not need to be divulged.
1972 Title IX (Public Law 92-318) of the Education Amendments prohibits sex discrimination in all aspects of education programs that receive federal support.  Women had a right to an education and could receive financial aid in the same manner as men.  An education has come a long way from the days of teaching a woman household skills because employment was opened up to those with an education. 

Employment for women has always been a two-edged sword.  IF she could get a job outside the home, the woman did not receive the same wages as were given to a man doing the same work.  When she brought home her paycheck, she did not have control of those funds if she was married because her husband basically owned everything she had.  In 1981, Kirchberg v. Feenstra, 450 U.S. 455, 459-60 (1981), overturned state laws designating a husband “head and master” with unilateral control of property owned jointly with his wife.  Just because a law says that a woman has a RIGHT to her own money, however, does not mean that she will be able to purchase the things she wants without her husband’s approval.

In 1985 a woman could not have a credit card in her own name or borrow money from a bank without the signature of her husband on the loan. 

All of these little tidbits of history might not matter in the greater scheme of life if the tidbits were just numbers or statistics.  People, however, are not numbers.  Whether a person is a woman or a man, emotional and physical well-being is determined not only by the life sustaining elements of basic food, clothing, and shelter, but by the very attitude of those with whom one lives.  For many American women, life has always been one of choices.  That it has not always been so reminds the thinking person that those choices may be taken away much too easily.

A foreseeable future can be very frightening if our dependence on science, medical developments, and governments are the basis of that future without consideration for the philosophical and individual development of mankind.  Margaret Atwood wrote The Handmaid’s Tale several years ago and reminds the reader that life can become disrupted suddenly and irreparably beyond the recognition of standards currently accepted as fair.  Expedience in meeting any given number of crises can remove any semblance of personal rights.  Looking at the Patriot Act as the beginning of a “necessary evil” for national protection, The Handmaid’s Tale is not the least bit far-fetched.  How Margaret Atwood could guess at such a future might be a subject of debate, but she knows.

"She Knows" Part 3

She Knows

(Part 3 of 3)

Because The Handmaid’s Tale is so similar in some ways to 1984 and its forecast of possibilities, the following outline might be sufficient to help readers decide whether or not to read the book for themselves and see if they, too, believe that the loss of freedoms is possible.  At least one woman has told me that women today are too strong to accept the loss of freedoms.  I wonder.

The catalyst for major changes in society for people—especially for women—in The Handmaid’s Tale was the slaughter of the President and all members of Congress in an attack by terrorists armed with automatic weapons.  The entire nation was declared in a state of emergency and martial law was declared.  That was the beginning of several laws that prevented the dissolution of the nation and the disruption of commerce.  One law did away with paper money or other forms of exchange in favor of a computer server which accounted for everyone’s financial status.  A card swiped across the computer allowed one access to one’s money—similar to the debit cards we use today—a card which was introduced along about 1987, two years after the publication date of The Handmaid’s Tale. 

When economic and moral ‘necessity’ required all women to cease working, no woman could have a job or have an account without a husband or male member of the family in charge of the financial affairs.  Eventually ‘church’ and state became the same entity and God became a national resource. 

Because nuclear wastelands existed and had to be cleaned up, women had a few options eventually.  The main character, OfFred, chose to be a ‘handmaid’ to serve as the bearer of a child rather than become an Unwoman who would serve in the wastes to clean the lands that had been destroyed.  She was not old enough to be a Martha—a cook and keeper of the house, nor could she be a servant to take care of another woman’s child.  So her choices were really about life and death. 

Her husband Luke may have been killed and her daughter was taken from her and raised by one of the ‘moral’ families to be given in marriage to ‘Guardian.’ Her mother had been sent to the wasteland to die and her friend from college days, Moira, had been captured and forced to become a prostitute for the elite officers of the moral majority. 

Offred’s main purpose in life was to conceive a baby for the officer and his wife.  Since no written words were allowed to be seen in all the land, the officer bribed Offred in a sense by allowing her to read forbidden magazines and assorted materials in his office without anyone knowing that she had access to them.  His desire was to have someone with whom to play Scrabble and with whom to talk because he and his wife shared nothing in common.  Eventually the officer’s wife arranged a meeting with the chauffeur so that Offred could become pregnant since the wife knew that the old man was not going to get the job done.

In this story, various denominations were mentioned as being killed in one way or another.  For instance, boatloads of Jewish people were ‘allowed’ to leave to return to another land—and were simply dumped in the Atlantic Ocean.  One mention of the Baptists found them in strongholds in the hills and being ‘smoked out.’  Whatever denominations were mentioned were found guilty of being wrong in whatever sense and punished with death if they did not recant and become part of the moral state.

The book encompassed three main points:  the written word was forbidden; women lost their identity or their ability to choose their roles in life; and the entire government was ruled on the basis of someone’s idea of morality.  Fear and social restriction totally pervaded life in every aspect. 

Parallels already exist to one extent or another in this world.  While it seems inconceivable that the situation as outlined could ever come to pass in North America, one might wonder just how quickly freedoms and rights can be dissolved when we consider the Patriot Act that came into being right after Nine Eleven. 

But the burqua/burka?  How could that possibly happen here?  My cousin’s husband works for a company in Saudi Arabia and the wives are allowed to live in compounds on the property of the company.  When she first went to Arabia in 1998, the company did not encourage the women to wear either the abiya or burka.  They were simply to be dressed modestly in loose fitting clothing. 

My cousin left for a few years and returned in 2006.  By that time the company encouraged all women to wear burkas into the small towns for their shopping trips.  Currently Saudi has a predominant force in the Wahhabi Islam which has its own ideas of how women should be dressed.  As a by-product of the ideas of Islam, the common matawa are the ‘religious police’ who are self-appointed social dictators.  Women who do not wear the burka into stores are hounded out by these men—or at least they were in Medina in 2006. 

Change can be expected in life.  No single man or woman is going to completely avoid or decide changes for others.  Even Hitler needed his ranks of self-righteous followers and a public who would willingly ignore the obvious injustices inflicted upon those they envied.  The question remains, however, if our younger generations can look at even the past history of our own country and see reflections of other countries within the changes occurring here. 

In some countries entire communities have sprung up that deny the validity of national laws within those countries.  In France and Britain, communities exist in which women have no rights whatsoever because of the teachings of some Islamic extremists.  Do national laws prevail over men’s interpretations of religion?  Can such communities develop in the United States?  Our nation has communities of Amish and Mormons, but these are law abiding people whose beliefs include respect for others and respect for themselves.  

Respect for women in this country was not won easily or quickly.  Women were finally allowed the vote in 1920.  But the American Indian was not allowed to vote until 1925.  No man or woman of color was guaranteed the right to vote until …when?  What happens when it turns around again?  Is one man or woman any less than another?  Can one man have the ‘right’ to medical care and another man be refused even basic medications?  Can the woman who is too old to conceive force another woman to carry the child of a rapist? 

An old Indian proverb tells us to walk in the other man’s shoes.  The wife, the sister, the mother, the daughter . . . she knows, but sometimes she needs to remember the leather of those shoes that other women wore years ago before she realizes that she does not walk alone.

No man is an island

No man is an island entire of itself; every man 
is a piece of the continent, a part of the main; 
if a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe 
is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as 
well as any manner of thy friends or of thine 
own were; any man's death diminishes me, 
because I am involved in mankind. 
And therefore never send to know for whom 
the bell tolls; it tolls for thee. 
-- John Donne

Playing Games: The New Education

Playing Games: The New Education:

Charlie’s mom thought that her child spent entirely too much time on the computer designing special effects for her Web site and for those of her friends; but when Charlie’s designs began to produce hundreds of dollars in income each week, her mother’s thinking changed.  Now Charlie is destined to go to a game design college in Dallas or perhaps Los Angeles.  Charlie will have her choice of schools and destinations—now and later in life—simply because she loves to play games and to challenge her design skills.

Walt Disney hardly knew what he began when he hired men to animate and provide music for cartoons.  Now teenagers look forward to attending classes in game design colleges to learn more than just the basics of storytelling, audio production, and entertainment concepts.  From just one studio that produced Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, hundreds of game design colleges evolved that today produce graduates who design simulation programming for medical schools, for educators, for the military—and for entertainment.

Video games and virtual reality simulations now have a global impact and have provided the basis for the exponential growth of artificial intelligence technology.   The Star Wars technology has come to represent more than just entertainment; it is a ten billion dollar reality in today’s economy.  And the graduates of many of the game design colleges have given that reality endless possibility.  Some of the designers grew up watching Toy Story, the first fully computerized animated movie.  But with a broad education, they will be designing more than inspiring movies like Up.  They will design the educational software and stories that will provide interesting classes in history, math concepts, and science; they may even design new communities.  It will be computer graphics, intelligent storytelling expertise, and marketing that will teach students of the future how Rome fell and how Euclid developed his theories.

The military currently plans to spend $100 million on training games.  Game designers may never shoot a gun, but they can certainly simulate the actions and sound effects to be expected by those operating the equipment designed for those purposes.  Medical schools seek programs designed to train young medical students in surgical procedures.  From NASCAR to the NFL, computer programs have changed performance and concepts—from ideas developed by students.

One company, Electronic Arts, has at least 250 interns and 80 graduates of game design courses employed to develop their products.  But these young people did not get to EA simply by playing video games or making up Web games.  Most of them chose one of the hundreds of colleges specializing in game design concepts and found one that satisfied their particular needs or desires.  They learned the concepts behind what they enjoyed so that they could further engineer a more realistic atmosphere, a more pleasing audio package, or a more satisfying experience in a virtual world. 

Charlie and her friends have been playing games since childhood.  Now they may soon be creating their own games; and these are games that will change the world.

Driling Oil Wells

Drilling Oil Wells

Today it is called obsessive-compulsive disorder [OCD] or some such, but when I was younger, my dad swore that my grandfather (maternal side, of course) drilled every oil well at least sixteen times—fifteen of the times in the living room! The man was not that old when he began drilling oil wells in the living rooms of every family member or in the hearing of anyone who would listen to his diatribes. Whether the wrongs done to him were real or imagined, he simply could not let go of anything in his past that had bothered him at the time.

Perhaps everyone lives with a certain amount of regret or the ‘if onlys’ and ‘probably should haves.’ But obsessing over events after multiple decades is an exercise in futility—not to mention downright annoying to others. Sometimes it is better to just ‘get over it’ and move on in life.

George Santanyana said that “those who do not learn the lessons of history are doomed to repeat its mistakes.” Lessons learned are one thing; reliving the past is something else entirely. Many of the movies which have taught today’s youth about the past are war stories from various eras. One director has made a new movie called “Auschwitz” about the Holocaust. The book by Leon Uris, Exodus, is about as close as I could ever stand to “seeing” the inhuman treatment of the Jewish people during the Holocaust; yet we need to remember that the most gruesome treatment of others of our species has never been restricted to any one time period or to any one race, gender, or group of people.

Sometimes it may be better to examine the why of history as much as the what. When the ‘whats’ are examined, somehow folks manage to assign blame—from the injured oil field workers buried out in the sands of Arabia to the callous disregard of trainloads of people destined for the ovens. No, working on the whys of human nature somehow seems a little more sensible than rehashing what has already happened in the past. And looking closely at the reasoning of humans pretty well demands changes in attitude—either our attitude or someone else’s attitude. And there is the rub: whose attitude must change?
Most of the conflict in life comes from power struggles or the ‘who’s in charge here’ notion. The foreman on an oil rig in the Saudi kingdom back in the 50s had no control over the Arab men who protected their income and bonuses by surreptitiously removing injured workers. The company that hired the foreman was concerned with getting the well dug with the least amount of work interruption. The rulers of the country were concerned with the income produced by the wells. Human life was hardly in the equation when the bottom line was covered with dollar signs.

No matter which war comes to mind or can be researched, power struggles came first before a stone was thrown or a bomber flew. Our friend Bob Cole could facetiously refer to horses as the cause of war, but man’s constant determination to control some piece of land or some point of view has created the ‘sides’ in every conflict. Where some line is drawn on a piece of paper, whose decision it is to manage resources, or how one considers a higher power all amount to the basis of conflicts of power.

No one would suggest a national lobotomy or a total disregard for even personal considerations, but eventually the minds of men will have to be healed of this constant type of mentality that obsesses over one point of view to the exclusion of all others. Only so many wells can be drilled; only so many wars can be fought. Sooner or later mankind will have to examine the mental capacity of humans and become charged with the conviction that what happens to one person is as important as what happens to a people.

The Hard Wait

The Hard Wait

Dad is dying.  He is 84 and has told us he is ready to go.  Yet the basic human instinct for survival is alive and well within him.  It’s not that he is afraid of death; it is more that he fears the dying part—the passing from this life in a struggle of gasping for air.  Yes, his right lung is completely white on the x-rays.  We refused to let the doctors do any more probing to discover the nature of the problem in that area.  At his age, he does not need more pain and discomfort just to satisfy the curiosity of someone who is not involved in his life and living.  It is not that the doctors in our local hospital were without compassion, but they had already tried to attack whatever is in his lung with their most powerful antibiotics without any discernable changes in his condition.

The occasion of this hospital stay was an emergency hernia repair.  Poor Dad weighs in at a whopping 120 pounds and had no extra tissue for the surgeon to use in the repair, so Dad now carries around another type of mesh-like material that one would expect to use on window screen repair.  He already had some kind of mesh put into this same area back some years ago—same problem.  He is about 5’9” and has always been a wiry person who tried to carry his own weight and a little bit more.  But he promises us that he did not even pick up a sack of potatoes this time.  He thinks his old body is just falling apart.

My brother got a call at 4:30 in the morning this Saturday because one person is not quite enough to take care of two parents when one is in the hospital and the other has dementia.  His trip from Arkansas might not exactly have been in his best interest, but now there are two of us to go nuts trying to figure out how to handle Mother and take care of the issues of life and living—much less the issues that will result when Dad finally leaves us.  We really have two times as much to think about with our parents: dealing with the details that Dad always handled at home and dealing with Dad in case he should live through this episode the way he did the last time.  Last time the doctor told him that he should not have survived the double pneumonia.  It was the worst case of pneumonia that the doctor Dad calls “Cowboy” had ever seen.  When Dad sat there thinking about why he was still alive, he looked at me and told me he guessed that he was still here just to give me a hard time.  And he smiled only briefly.

We have tried to do our best to not interfere with our parents and their way of life.  As long as they are happy, it is not our job to tell them that they should have their bills done with automatic bank drafts.  We would undoubtedly be reminded of the $600 electric bill mistake made two summers ago when the electric company got a little carried away with their billing process.  Still, certain conveniences can make paying bills much easier and surer on a monthly basis.  Compared to the two or three checks we write each month, our parents’ checkbook looks like a local business directory.  They would not need to keep too much cash on hand in order to pay for what few things they might purchase locally in their little community store.  And they have begun to ask for larger purchases to be brought to them from Wichita Falls now.  If Dad lives this time, we can only hope that he will be willing to restrict his travel in old “Hope So” to Clay County.

Dad is comfortable now.  He wears his oxygen mask when he needs “a little whiff” of air, and then he takes off the mask.  But he is not sleeping in that bed.  He got two blankets and a pillow and moved to the couch in his room.  That is one nice thing about the nursing staff and doctors of Clay County Memorial Hospital: they are used to dealing with these old cowboys and farmers.  They are just happy to see their patients improved. 

Before we had Dad transferred to his home county hospital, we did not know any of the nurses and only one of the surgeons.  The new advances in the medical community mean that one’s doctors are called hospitalists; and those doctors work strictly in the hospitals that need doctors on call in different specialties.  United Regional even has night-time only hospitalists who come to check on patients as they are needed in the night. This is a wonderful improvement in the lives of the doctors and surgeons, to be sure. 

But knowing the families of the nurses and your doctor’s first name is such a relief compared to having Doctor Harishna’s name written on a white board in your room for each 12 hour shift.  Not that Dad griped too much about what was going on with his care.  But being almost blind and almost totally deaf just puts a guy at a disadvantage when it comes to understanding what folks want from a person.  Dad needed slow talkers and a little bit of sign language to even understand what was going on.  The rest of time we had to smile and look him in the face to get him to settle down to just breathing.

This time we may get to keep him a little longer—or not.  Tomorrow is another day, and who knows what will be next in our lives and in his.  For now, we will go down to visit him and enjoy him while we can.  All we can ever really give him is our love.

Worry Wart Weather

Worry Wart Weather

Well, worrying about things has to be a genetic tendency in our family, and now it is time to worry about the weather again. In the summer time we know to take a bottle of water and a spread or rug of some type in case we have to get down on the searing pavement to change a tire. Heat in Texas is just as dangerous as any rattlesnake ever hoped to be. Little old folks, critters, and babies can get hot so quickly that we never leave anyone or any animal in a car in the heat for more than a few seconds unless all the windows are down. But the heat is not our worry at the moment. Winter is about to slap us around as if we were the proverbial red-headed step child. Fall fell one night while we watched the stars sliding out of the sky in streamers, and now we can expect any number of blue northers and ice storms.

Years ago when school let out for Christmas break, we could just about plan on enjoying several more days of semi-decent weather until it was time for classes to begin again in January. And we were always thankful that February was a short month because it never failed to be miserably cold and nasty—as if the weather depended on the silly calendar!

Other parts of the country have winter weather every year from early on to late in what we consider spring time. Folks in Alaska send their kids to school on snowmobiles and go on about their business as usual. North and South Dakota aren’t much different with their weather and their attitude—life goes on despite the weather. Last year some folks in New York got the snow, wind, ice and assorted problems that come as standard equipment for the northern plains. But their situation made the national news because it was NOT North Dakota; it was New York State. What we consider as customary just should not shift around on the weather map.

Last year one of the New York police departments got a call from a silly woman in Texas who was concerned about some of her friends and their lack of water and heat. When she explained that this was an older couple and that one was somewhat disabled, the officer said, “Lady, that description covers several thousand folks in this area right now.” But the police department DID check on those folks out there in the neighborhood with the fallen electric lines and broken trees.

And then last year the Wichita Falls area got one bodacious blizzard that stranded folks on the interstate from north of Lawton, Oklahoma, to south of Henrietta, Texas. As usual, folks in this area did their best to rescue the drivers and passengers and give them a warm place to stay and something to eat. One lady took in a family with a tiny baby who had just left the hospital. She said she could feed the momma and daddy, but she wasn’t sure she had enough cup towels small enough for that little bottom. And no, the stores were closed due to the ice, so there were no throwaway diapers to be bought.

In this area the snow hardly ever gets very deep, but last year we measured six feet in the drifts. But the snow was not the real problem. Ice is just like iron when it encases doors, gates, and windows. For days after the storm last year, many older folks could not even get the doors open on their houses. My parents could not get their gates open to even GET to the garage after they were able to get out of the house. But the roads were still too slick for most folks to drive anyway. Folks up north have chains on their tires early in the year and think nothing of driving on ice, but down here, we hardly know how to drive when it rains!

This year my parents won’t be in their own home, and the ice and winter weather can blow a blizzard around that little old house that they built years ago. The heater will be on low to keep the pipes from freezing, but the windows can frost up and the doors freeze shut if it comes down to it. The parents won’t have to worry about getting groceries in or dog food out to the black labs or seed out to the birds. They may have to learn to get along with some of the other folks in the care center, but they won’t have to worry about the weather this year. Hospice will be in to see about Dad during the week—weather permitting. And the family doctor is right there in town if either of them needs anything else. It is time for them to stop worrying about the weather.

But knowing Dad, he will find something to worry wart about. When mother-in-law was there last year, the social director wanted her to play a game with the other residents. Finally, Joy said, “Oh, you want me to play the ‘Oh, sh*t’ game.”

The director asked her why she called it that. Joy told her that when someone yelled Bingo, everyone else said, ‘Oh, sh*t.’

I can just see my dad saying, ‘Well, sh*t’ if he tries to play games. He can’t see, can’t hear, and can barely get around, but he still has his driver’s license and is a crack shot. If they have a duck shooting game, Dad is a sure winner! No worries!

Starting 2011, Nancy's entries are on another Web Page.
Use the index below to go directly to any of her articles.

Complete Index

December, 2008:  Chicken Soup and Biscuits

2009
January,:      Just For Today                         Horses Cause Wars
February:     Stone Soup                               At Loose Ends - The Great Scam
March: Algebra, New Shoes, & the Bible     A Good Book or "The Good Book"?
April: Snake in the Grass Scams
May: Changing Expectations                        From the Storehouse
June: The New Neighbors                             Things Remembered
July: Unto the Least of These                       So How Does THAT Concern Me?
August: There Came a Woman of Samaria         Trash Trends
September: They Grow Up                           Grandparenting
October: Heart Healthy                                 Racism
November: Seasonal Affective Disorder      Non-Political Government
December: Gifts and Gambles                      The Safety Catch

2010
January: Not Your Mother's Washtub           Generations
February: Do You Want to Know?                You Don’t Have to Be Crazy to Work Here
March:   Pet Peeves                                       The Smell of Sunshine
April: Retirement?                                          Shared Spaces
May:  Reuniona and Farewells                       Just How Funny Is It?
June: Slings and Arrows                                 Throw the Horses over the Fence
July:The Inevitable                                         With All Due Respect
August:Calling Doctor Schaffner                    All in a Name
September: Justice by Claim                          She Knows (part 1)
October:  She Knows (part 2)                        She Knows (part 3)
November: Playing Game: The New Education        Drilling Oil Wells
December: The Hard Wait                              Worry Wart Weather

2011

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