Happy Birthday Carol!

Topic 173: Dangers of Narrow-mindedness

Carol:

June Star-Gazers

In America, June is the traditional wedding month although I can’t think of a single person in my family who got married in June. Not that June isn’t a big celebration anyway—six family members have birthdays between June7-15, their ages ranging  from six to seventy-six. We are celebrating the 50th birthday of one family member next weekend in California, all those Geminis in one place.
 

I confess a certain fascination with Astrology, enough that I kept the newspapers with the astrological forecasts on the dates my children were born. And, I do take a quick peek at the daily horoscopes, which I only share with my husband if they back up a brilliant idea I have concocted or make dire predictions about my Libra spouse’s day.
 

We got behind in our schedule today (as always happens when the cleaning people come), so I promised another Libra in the family that I wouldn’t spend too much time lingering over the dangers of narrow-mindedness, keeping my research to a minimum. So, I thought I was on pretty safe ground choosing astrology because I do know my Sign. So, what do I find out? That I really needed to have my birth chart cast to examine the alignments between the planets for a more accurate analysis of my “predispositions” and that I not only have a Sun sign but a Moon sign and an element and a ruler. Too much for my brain to handle this afternoon.
 

I did find a site I like, which means the description of Geminis is to my liking.

A pure Geminean is a person with whom it is almost impossible to argue for any length of time. His/her mind is so subtle, moving ahead like quicksilver, that one can never be quite sure what one is arguing about. Gemineans have golden tongues as well as quicksilver minds; like the monkeys of Chinese Astrology, they can charm the birds off the trees, induce others to follow courses of action which they don't really think advisable, and fascinate almost anyone they wish.   (source: Futurescopes.com)

Well, I can tell you that we June borns’s DO like our debates and WILL argue for any length of time on any subject. My mother, who was not a Gemini, used to start every family gathering with the admonition “No arguing, no politics, please.” Yeah, right! And since the Geminis in my family not only represent a variety of ages but a variety of political and religious viewpoints, we have lots to argue about. And, we do it loudly. Just ask the family members who don’t have June birthdays.
 

Apparently, astrology wasn’t all that popular in American until after World War I when a British astrologer named Nayor started putting horoscopes in the daily newspaper. An interesting website called “North Texas Skeptics” notes that 90% of Americans under 30 know their astrological sign and that there are 10,000 astrologers in the United States and only 3,000 astronomers. And, according to the same website, Americans spend over 200 million dollars a year consulting those 10,000 astrologers while only about 100 million dollars is spent on non-space related basic research in astronomy. Now, that’s scary!
  

 

Sources:
Astrology Fact Sheet. North Texas Skeptics.       
“Gemini—characteristics and profile of the Gemini man, woman, child and baby.”   

Megan:

This is one of those topics where I think it’s gonna be a good one until I actually sit down to write about it and everything I want to say is obvious and cliché. Being narrow-minded limits a person, makes informed decisions impossible, and contributes to discriminatory practices. Broadening a mind can be done through reading and research, but is probably best achieved through action. For example, one can read about other countries and cultures, but travelling and meeting new people in real life is much better.

So, there. Essay done.

 *   *   *

What’s that? Ninety-two words isn’t sufficient?

Ok. I’ll tell you why today’s essay is so late (it’s almost related).  Now that I’ve been unemployed for a year, I’ve decided it’s time to take some classes and acquire some new skills.  I’m starting slow though. I’m starting with PE.

A few weeks ago, my father emailed me a brochure for a weight loss and nutrition class. He never emails me, and I took this as a hint, so I deleted said email and cursed him loudly in my mind. This was not a complete overreaction on my part as he has a history of encouraging me to lose weight (or as he puts it, “eat healthier”).  There was also the time when I asked him how much it would cost to go to Hawaii, and he said “It ‘s free but you should put a dollar in the basket when it passes.“
I paused and then said, “What is it you think I just asked you?”
“How much does it cost to go to OA?”

See what I mean?

Anyway, after the anger subsided, I whined about the email to my mother who told me that my father had been hoping we could take the class together and that softened my heart towards him a little bit.  So I went ahead and registered, had a look at what else was on offer and signed up for Pilates too.

The first Pilates class was this morning, which is sort of the reason the essays are late (other reasons include but are not limited to the early arrival of the cleaning service, an emergency load of laundry, and a sudden desire to rearrange the furniture in my bedroom).The last time I took a Pilates class was about ten years ago, and I weighed at least 60 pounds less. Pilates is so much harder than it used to be. I almost died.

It will be interesting to see how the next 8-10 weeks go with the two classes. If I  am able to apply what I learn in the nutrition class, then Pilates will get easier. And I might end up with a narrower waist and a broader mind (I told you I could make it relate).

Topic 172: Female Orators

Carol:

“From Many, One”

When I hear the word “orator” I think of the old-time speechifiers who used  rich language, powerful intonations, and carefully orchestrated pauses to persuade and captivate. The first one I remember as a child was Illinois Republican Senator Everett Dirksen in the 1950. I didn’t agree with his politics generally, but I loved to hear him speak.
 

Oratorical skill is more than the use of voice; it is a command of language, and that I can appreciate whether demonstrated in a bass or soprano voice. Of course, a captivating voice and a good vocabulary don’t make up for lack of substance. Firstly, a great orator must have a strong message and a commitment to that message.
 

The first time I heard Texas Democratic Congresswoman Barbara Jordan speak was in 1976 when she gave a keynote address at the Democratic National Convention.  I didn’t know who she was at the time, but as she began her speech, I know I stopped my multi-tasking and drew closer to the television. I thought to myself, so this is what is meant by “a commanding voice.” I also remember thinking at the end of her speech that this was a woman whom I would support for the Presidency.  She invoked Thomas Jefferson at the beginning of the speech and ended with Abraham Lincoln, pretty powerful orators themselves, but this essay is about female orators, so I will quote her words from that speech:

a spirit of harmony will survive in America only if each of us remembers that we share a common destiny; if each of us remembers, when self-interest and bitterness seem to prevail, that we share a common destiny. (source: American Rhetoric. Top 100 Speeches)
 

I guess I wasn’t the only person awe-struck by Barbara Jordan’s power as an orator. University researchers who polled leading American scholars to compile the Top 100 American Speeches of the 20th century list Jordan’s 1976 speech at #5 and her 1974 statement on the articles of impeachment for Richard Nixon as #13. That list, by the way, includes a significant number of speeches by women of varying politics and eras: Eleanor Roosevelt, Ann Richards, Hillary Rodham Clinton, Margaret Sanger, Margaret Chase Smith.

What I didn’t know when I heard Barbara Jordan speak at that 1976 convention was that she had already been diagnosed 3 years earlier with multiple sclerosis. She hid it well, but in 1979 she retired from politics and became an academic who taught ethics at the University of Texas Austin.  I saw her speak again, 4 years before her death, at the 1992 Democratic Convention where she touched on many of the themes from 1976 that had made her a significant force in the Civil Rights movement,  equal rights for all Americans and a firm belief in national community and civility:
 

Our strength in this country is rooted in our diversity. Our history bears witness to that fact. "E Pluribus Unum" -- "from many, one". It was a good idea when it was founded, and it's a good idea today. From many, one. That still identifies us still identifies us. (Source: American Rhetoric.com)

A fundamental principle of good writing is the notion of “show not tell.” What better way to end this essay than to let Barbara Jordan speak for herself. (We aren't able to embed the video. Not sure why.)


Sources:
Barbara Charline Jordan.  Democratic National Convention Keynote Addresses American Rhetoric. Online Speech bank.
    1976 Speech 
    1992 Speech
Top 100 American Speeches of the 20th Century.

Megan:

In the prison library, I once got a written request for a "bok that teeches you how too do oritory." For this prisoner, speaking clearly and well was a skill he wanted to develop as he was appealing his conviction and representing himself. I found him a book on making speeches and reminded myself that intelligence is not always dependent on literacy although I did not have high hopes for the success of his case. This same prisoner also asked me for a list of every law book ever published, because he wanted to buy them all.

Anyway, I grew up performing in Christmas pageants and participating in the Liturgy of the Word at church, so public speaking was never really a problem for me.  I did it without thinking. As part of my final thesis requirement in college, I had to read some original writing in front of a large group of my peers and I got nervous for the first time I can remember.  The writing was personal and I thought I might start crying. It always annoyed me when other people got emotional while reading out loud and I was mortified. My voice shook and no one could hear me. 

In library school I had to do several group presentations, and in the Management class I was part of a group that imploded mid-semester due to personal conflicts, bad tempers and mental illness. Standing unprepared in front of the class with no one in the group willing to look at or speak to each other was probably the most awkward and embarrassing moment I’d ever experienced. I’d known it was going to happen though and warned the professor (and also checked that failing the presentation didn’t equal failing the class).

So, I suppose those experiences were in the back of my mind when, after I’d become a professional librarian, I was asked to introduce a speaker at a national conference. I wasn’t the speaker, mind you, I was only supposed to introduce him. I went to the chair of the committee and asked if I could switch tasks with someone else. The Chair interpreted my request as an admission of a full-fledged phobia, and not as the lazy-don’t-really-feel-like-it mumble that it was. His concern was so great that for the rest of the conference he kept passing me information about public-speaking courses and practical exercises in overcoming fears. I couldn’t correct him because I knew how unprofessional it was to back out of an assignment for any reason other than extreme terror.

He left the committee after that conference and by the time the next one rolled around no one remembered my “phobia” of public speaking. By that point I was more confident professionally anyway. I gave a series of lectures around the county on prison librarianship and, as long as the subject is libraries, I’m fine speaking in groups of any size. But put me in a social setting with people I don’t know, and I’m lucky if I can remember my own name.

Topic 171: Judging by Appearances

Carol:

The “Judging By Appearances Pink ‘N Blues”

In the late 1960’s, Virginia Slims used a logo to capture a new niche, young and hip women smokers. I’d like to think the slogan “You’ve come a long way, baby” was more than a catchy marketing gimmick, that women—people—had come a long way toward breaking stereotypes and moving beyond superficial appearances, but recent news  show that we still make judgments  based on gender stereotypes.
 

Take the story of Storm Witterick, the Canadian baby whose parents decided not to reveal the gender of their third child, delivered at home last January. Their decision twittered and Facebooked into an international controversy, a heated and polarizing debate about gender bias and child-rearing. Some people argue that “social experimentation” on children is tantamount to child abuse; others praise the family for defying stereotypes  that go beyond pink and blue wardrobe choices.  Not that it matters to Storm with his/her beautifully, chubby cheeked smile in photos. Not that it matters to Storm’s older brothers who also look happy and content even though, omigod, they  express their individuality with gender-bending clothing, colors and hairstyles. The Witterick children certainly looked happier than my friend’s son who came home crying from kindergarten in 1986 because the teacher wouldn’t let him cook in the play kitchen with the girls.
 

Or, what about the “SlutWalk Protests,” a global reaction to an April 2011 comment by a Canadian policeman who suggested to a group of Toronto law students that women could avoid being “victimized” if they stopped dressing like sluts. The idea that women are “asking for it” if they dress a certain way is not a new one, but  this particular remark set off a wave of protests around the world after it found its way onto Facebook.  SlutWalk marches have been held in Canada, the United States, Australia and Great Britain. Rallies have attracted all manner of folks in all manner of attire.The “in your face” reactive tone of the SlutWalk movement now includes rallies with workshops on stopping sexual violence and educating law enforcement and public agencies about sexual assaults. Five thousand people were expected to show up at a rally planned for London.
 

I’ll end with a favorite recollection from teaching at a community college where the rich mix of students simply defies stereotyping. I overheard an early morning conversation between two women and a man in my composition class. One of the women was probably in her late 30’s and wore the typical “uniform” of generic blue jeans, tank top and sweater, no flash or boobage . The other was younger and much edgier, with vivid maroon hair, the generic blue jeans, tank top but no coverage so that the head and wings of the large, intricate and quite beautiful dragon tattoo on her back spread out from underneath the straps of the shirt. The man was a bit older, a Vietnam Vet with a scruffy beard and generic blue jeans, a Harley Davidson tee-shirt covering the beginnings of a beer belly. The Vet was doing most of the talking. The women punctuated the conversation with clucks of agreement and nods of understanding, full of compassion for a fellow single parent’s frustrating efforts to get his three little girls to sit still long enough to brush the tangles out and braid their hair.
Gotta run, She Who Must Be Obeyed wants to see Kung Fu Panda 2, and we know who is top dog in this household.

Sources: “SlutWalk’ Marches Sparked by Toronto Officer’s Remarks.” BBC News US & Canada. 8 May 2011.

Stampler, Laura. “ 'Genderless' Baby Raises a Storm of Controversy.” Parentdish.com 26 May 2011
  

Megan:

The Appearance of Being Judged

You might have noticed yesterday that I’ve changed my avatar in the cartoons to reflect my haircut. A few weeks ago, in an impulsive and emotional mood, I went into a local discount hair salon and cut off nearly 24 inches of hair. I guess I was thinking, “Change my hair, change my life.” I have a friend who, after he split up with his long-term girlfriend, cut his hair and shaved his incredibly bushy beard. It’s a common enough ritual. Thing is, I thought having shorter hair would mean less time spent on styling it, but it actually requires more work. This is a lesson I have forgotten and  learned again and again.

The amount of time and effort I put into my appearance varies depending on my mood, where I’m going and whether I expect to meet someone I would like to impress. I get dressed up to go to lunch by myself, but not to go to the grocery store. I put more effort into my appearance before a softball game than I would if I was going to a movie. I’ll still be wearing yesterday’s makeup when I meet a friend for coffee and then die a little inside when we run into a friend of her husband.

In the prison, appearance was very important to the inmates. Most of them spent hours in the gym cultivating body-builder-type physiques. They saved their small salaries for months to purchase the newest and flashiest looking trainers (or tennis shoes). They put enough pressure on themselves and each other that it was fairly obvious that they ones who didn’t take care with their appearances were either bullied, mentally ill, or incapable of dealing with prison life. The habitual self-harmers, and the ones who didn’t wash or clean their cells were generally shunned by their peers because, frankly, they were awful to be around. For some, maintaining an aura of filth (ala Pigpen, but not cute) widened their circumference of personal space in an institution where privacy of any kind is nearly impossible.

It always seems to me that the importance one places on others’ appearances corresponds to the effort one puts into one’s own. My grandmother never steps foot outside her house without being fully dressed up. In fact, it wasn’t until a couple weeks ago, when I went to her house without calling first that I had ever seen her without makeup on (that includes the time she was in the hospital recovering from a hip replacement). She makes comments to me about what other people are wearing, and I know that being well-dressed is important to her – that she considers it a measure of success.

And of course, the reverse is also true. I had a college friend in England who saved money on food by dressing in her worst clothes and going to the farmer’s market at the end of the day. By giving the appearance of poverty and homelessness, she got free food from the stalls. Judging (and being judged) by appearances is part of life. You get better service if you look nice. People take you seriously. I both resent and appreciate this fact, depending on my mood. Sometimes I enjoy the boost in confidence I get when I know that I look good. Other times I resent the fact that I know I am more interesting than I appear, and that’s really hard to convey without being superficial.

Topic 170: On Living in the Present (Future)

Carol:

Traveling in the Now

Vacations are supposed to be opportunities to live in the present, especially if you have been planning that vacation for months and counting down the days until that future became The Now.
 

A year ago today my husband and I were debarking from a transcontinental flight with two lay-overs (cheaper than non-stop) and headed to a ubiquitous Travel Lodge somewhere in the center of historic Edinburgh, Scotland.  We were exhausted and couldn’t get into our rooms, so we sat in the lobby waiting for the arrival of daughter Megan, who had flown in from England with belongings from four years of living abroad. So ubiquitous are the Travel Lodge hotels in Edinburgh that Megan spent the afternoon of June 1 searching for us at the wrong hotels. When she arrived several hours later at the right Travel Lodge, she was cranky, really cranky. We were glad to see her anyway.   

The Scotland trip was meant to be a transition for her, a chance for one last vacation experience in another culture before returning to Arizona and the uncertainty of her future. For us, it was one last time to experience another culture in the capable hands of someone familiar with driving “on the wrong side,” round-abouts, lay-bys and quaint road impediments such as herds of sheep. A time also to make special memories with our daughter.
It was also a great time to practice being “in the moment” as we headed out each morning to explore the Scottish countryside and look for the perfect spot with a view to picnic or lunch at a tiny restaurant. Counting down the days until that future date when  the trip was over would have spoiled the experience although I’m sure Megan and Marc allowed their thoughts to stray into the future—work and looking for work—more than did mine. I have always been good at compartmentalizing.  

Ullapool, Scotland

So, now just about a year later Marc and I have returned from a shorter, closer jaunt to the Northwest where we spent four days with friends of 40 years in Seattle and four days with our son in Portland.  Familiar places and people, but we were able to fill each day with some little spontaneous adventure that kept us excited to be living in the moment. The bay view from The Oyster Bar on Chuckanut Drive south of Bellingham, Washington was spectacular as we ate fresh fish over a leisurely two-hour lunch that allowed us to reminisce about the view from another seaside restaurant in Ullapool, Scotland the year before. An hour spent with Marshall waiting for seats at the popular Toro Bravo restaurant in Portland provided a surprise opportunity to sit together and listen to Brazilian music played on mandolin and guitar.

Chuckanut Drive, Washington

As the days ticked by, it would have been easy to slip out of the pleasures of living in the present to fret about the future— court appearances, car maintenance, getting the deck re-stained, cleaning out the basement—and a return to routines such as cooking and cleaning and  the daily theme. I think I did a pretty good job of staying in the present, of allowing each day to create its own story.
 

But, vacations are retreats from, not abandonment of, routine. So, here I am back at my desk straining to come up with an ending for today’s theme, glad to be back home listening to the wrestling dogs and familiar cranky  voice: “Are you done with that essay yet? You said it would just be a few more minutes.”

Megan:

 On This Day

On this day last year, my Irish friend Sean gave me a ride to Stansted airport and I left my home in England for the last time. I only flew to Scotland where I met my parents and we traveled around for a couple of weeks, so on the 15th of this month you can probably expect “On this day last year, I moved back to the USA” or something similarly whiny and emotional.

It’s funny how little one can accomplish in a year. If I’d known that I’d still be unemployed and living with my parents a year later, I probably would have stayed in England. And in another month, I’d have been eligible for permanent residency. In my lower moments, that’s a regret I have. But I also would never have believed that I’d be happy here without a job or a place of my own.

Sometimes I miss living alone, but I spent all last week by myself and every night was an exercise in trying not to freak out at strange sounds, patrolling the house with a knife in one hand and my cell phone dialed to 911, my finger posed to hit the send button.  I thought about breaking a couple of glasses and leaving the shards in the entry ways, but then realized that no burglar’s gonna come into the house barefoot, so I’d probably just wind up hurting myself or one of the dogs. Bella exposed another chink in the armor when, annoyed at being separated from Milo, she jumped straight through an open (but screened) window to reunite with her one true love. The screen wasn’t damaged -- it just popped right out. All of the windows, which before seemed beneficial – letting so much light and air into the house –suddenly became additional weak points that must be defended.

It wasn’t all bad. The dogs and I had dance parties. Our previous dog Trixie, used to dance along at moments like those, or rather, she would get excited and hump a leg. Milo and Bella just sit and observe, tails wagging and no judgment on their faces. I got the impression that they would like to join in, but were shy because they didn’t know the moves. I turned up the stereo all the way  and danced and sang at the top of my lungs,  which is something I couldn’t do when I lived in an apartment, and also is not something I can do when my mother is home. It’s not fair to make her cry and wet her pants with laughter more than once a day. Too much laundry is bad for the environment.

I seem to have strayed off topic. I’ve written recently about my plans for the future. I head to New Orleans at the end of this month, the GRE is fast approaching and so are the application deadlines. I intended to spend time last week preparing for those upcoming events, but between the daily dance parties and the evening night terrors, I also babysat, hung out with my friends and spent one entire day cleaning the fridge. I’ll get everything done eventually, but there is enough to keep me occupied in the present, I'm not going to waste all my time worrying about the future.

Topic 169: Imitation

Carol:

Knock, Knock:

When Charles Caleb Colton penned the familiar phrase “imitation is the sincerest [form] of flattery (Lacon, V 1, no. 183),  he wasn’t thinking about copyrights, patents, intellectual property rights and consumer piracy.
 

Knockoffs are mass-produced imitations of popular or high-end products such as clothing, perfume, jewelry and suitcases.  Sometimes knockoffs are sold as “the real thing” to customers who think they are getting a great deal on a Luis Vuitton designer handbag or a Nordic Track.  Sometimes, the name or logo is changed slightly on the product to fool someone who isn’t paying attention. The product doesn’t even have to be expensive; it can be a lowly marking pen:

              

One of the most commonly  counterfeited goods in the United States is cigarettes, which can be sold more cheaply because the dealers and buyers are circumventing the tax revenues that hike the cost of brand-name cigarettes.
 

I suspect that most people who buy a product from an unconventional source at an unconventional price know they are “cheating the system” but may consider it a victimless crime. In actuality, the victims are not faceless government or corporate agencies but people who lose their jobs, their creative idea, and the benefits from tax revenues.  It is estimated that 750,000 jobs have been lost in the United States from counterfeiting, which has seen a huge spike in imitation drugs and computer parts over the last several years. Much of the commerce related to counterfeit goods now takes place over the Internet (source: “Counterfeit Consumer Goods”). And most of the seized products come from Asia. According to a study by the European Union, in 2005,  86% of seized knockoffs came from China (source: “Pirated Products”).
 

Another revenue loss besides the traffic in fake products is the traffic in pirated products. Despite the efforts of Hollywood and Silicon Valley to protect their latest film or cell phone technology, pirated movies, music and electronic devices show up on the Internet or are sold in international markets before they are officially released in the United States.
 

Generic products are legitimate “knock-offs” which are usually cheaper because they are often sold by lesser known companies without the marketing or advertising costs that inflate the price of products bearing the brands of famous companies or supermarkets. Generic medicines are cheaper than their brand-name counterparts because they are using drugs whose expensive patents have expired. Although studies have shown that quality is usually very similar between the “off brand” and the “popular brand,” many people will argue that they can tell the difference and are willing to pay the extra cost for a Cola, a pill or a bottle of Scotch.
 

Well, I’m going to knock off this essay even though it’s a little shorter than my usual essays. I Have a suitcase sitting on my bed waiting to be packed for a trip to the Northwest. I really like my suitcase, which I got a great deal on at an outlet mall near Sedona.  Quite chic really, a Lois Voitan original.
  

Sources:
Counterfeit Consumer Goods. Wikipedia.
Image of marking pens.  Author: DangApricot. 22 Nov 2008 No higher resolution available.
SharpieVsShoupie.JPG‎ (800 × 600 pixels, file size: 153 KB, MIME type: image/jpeg)
Image of cola can. Author: RelyAble at en. WikipediaGeneric_Cola_Can_Jewel.jpg‎ (158 × 317 pixels, file size: 19 KB, MIME type: image/jpeg)
“Pirated Products worth More Than $200 billion in 2005.” Agence France-Presse. 6 June 2007. Industry Week. 
 

Megan:

This essay has nothing to do with the topic.

These are the only essays we’ll be posting this week, because the senior member of this team has skipped town. This is a trip I might have been invited on if I had not gotten a puppy, so I’m harboring a little resentment at Bella for the moment for keeping me home.

That being said, I was also really looking forward to this week by myself. I had plans to clean and repair things, to train Bella to be the Best Dog Ever, and to eat healthy and lose 50 pounds. All in a single week! It was going to be amazing. Maybe it still will be. But it’s not gotten off to a very good start.

Last night I read a murder mystery about a serial killer who preyed upon single women home alone. I finished the book satisfied that the killer had been caught, but then realized it had gotten dark as I read away the afternoon and evening and there wasn’t a light on in the house. To say this freaked me out would be an understatement, so I did what any normal person would do. I turned on every light, locked all the doors and posted my predicament on Facebook. Then I had a glass of wine and two bowls of ice cream to calm the nerves.

I woke abruptly this morning after Bella kicked me in the face. I was relieved to be unmurdered, but not pleased that it was 5:15 AM. But I had stuff to do, so I got up. Our bi-monthly cleaning service is coming this morning and the senior member of this team failed to tidy up before leaving yesterday. Mostly this just involves clearing surfaces, and I finished with plenty of time to take the dogs on their morning walk with the neighbors.

My initial plan was to walk Milo on the leash, and let Bella walk free, which is how we’ve been doing it for the past week. This morning she decided to regress, and take a piggy back ride on the eldest and most arthritic dog in the back, which was not appreciated by either the dog or her owner. To Milo's disappointment, I cut the walk short, and skipped  coffee because I don’t like coffee and we headed home.

I let both the dogs out of the car to go into the house without leashes because, again, that is how we always do it. Within seconds, Milo was two blocks down the street. I thought he was chasing a woman who was walking by, but he just flashed past her. Bella followed for about 20 yards and then just stopped and watched him, obviously in awe of his speed and power. He turned  around, ran back past the house and disappeared into the bushes. Bella tried to follow him, but came running back to me after a minute, like she was being chased.

I wandered through the yard calling his name and shaking a bag of treats, but there was no sign of him. After 45 minutes, I got in the car to drive around the block. At the bottom of the hill, standing right in the middle of the road was the biggest coyote I’ve ever seen. I had to hit the horn to get him out of the way, and immediately I had visions of Milo lying in a ditch with his throat ripped out and his stomach torn open, and I’d left my phone at home so I couldn’t call the vet when I found him, and would I have the strength of will to pick up his body and put it in the car?

I continued driving slowly, calling his name, and swearing and praying in a weird mantra. “Dear God, shitshitshit, don’t let him be dead please, MILO,  shitshit, please God.” I pulled back in the drive way and Milo appeared running behind the car, with a very big stick (or the leg of a deer) clenched in his teeth, perfectly healthy and happy. I think Bella was even more relieved to see him than I was. She greeted him with a bark, and attempted a piggy back ride.

It's going to be a very long week.

Milo taking refuge from Bella.

       

Topic 168: Gigglers and Growlers

Carol:

  The Mood Scale

Every household has its gigglers and growlers, family members whose default temperament falls toward the outer poles of the “grin to grimace”  Mood Scale.  My mother was usually as close as it gets to the happy face side of the scale; as a teen-ager, if  I heard her hand on the  knob of my bedroom door in the morning, I would spring up to avoid hearing her chirpy voice call out “Goooood morning. Rise and shine.”  Most teen-agers tend toward the scowling face side of the scale, so I often considered responding (but didn’t dare) with my favorite line from The Glass Menagerie, “I’ll rise, but I’ll be damned if I shine.”
 

When I went away to a women’s college, It didn’t take long to figure out who the morning people were by looking in the dining hall. Some of the tables would be full, with 8 or 9 girls already chatting full speed and giggling from time to time.  As far away as they could possibly get were the growlers, two or three to a table at the most and spread as far away from each other as possible. They didn’t make a sound as they sipped and stewed over their morning coffee.
 

Somewhere in there, I became my mother. I morphed into the happy, chirpy morning person and it didn’t take much to move me over to the silly end of the Mood Scale. One night at dinner in the dorm, I started laughing so hard that I inhaled wrong and a noodle came out my nose.  When I transferred to the California university where I met my husband, I got a little more sophisticated.  One night at the local bar, I started laughing so hard that I inhaled wrong and beer came out my nose. 
 

I guess my happy face temperament was pretty obvious because one of my literature professors wrote a job reference for me that described my personality as “ebullient,” which the Free Online Dictionary defines as “zestfully enthusiastic.”  The first school job I applied for required a photograph (it was legal then), and when I got the job, my principal said she could tell from my smile in the picture that I would be perfect to work with her students.
 

I learned the meaning of “laugh till you cry” when I got pregnant with the co-author of the daily theme essays. A group of friends went out to dinner 2 or 3 nights a week after work. I would get the giggles over the slightest remark (it didn’t have to be funny) and begin to laugh uncontrollably. Suddenly, the mood switch would go haywire and I would begin crying hysterically.  My friends were just a little concerned, but I would eventually settle back down and then fall asleep at the table while they were still eating. Ah, hormones. 
 

Sometimes I laugh at inappropriate moments, like when Marc dropped a scuba tank on his foot. I figured the tank had to be light since it was full of air (okay, my physics background isn’t so solid) and the expression on his face was odd enough to set me off. However, his mood shifted pretty quickly to the growling side of the scale. I guess broken toes are nothing to laugh at.
 

I still sometimes laugh so hard that I start crying. Megan watches my expression when I read her essays for the daily theme. She knows she has hit a rhetorical home run if I start weeping when I laugh.  Although she has a tendency to exaggerate for comic effect, you can tell from her cartoons that she can be a growler, especially when she is waiting for me to finish my essay. Okay, okay, don’t get so grumpy!

Megan:

Sweet and Sour

When we pulled this topic, I immediately thought of Bella – as she is a source of both amusement and extreme frustration.  She turned 4 months old this week, and right on schedule she started losing and re-growing her teeth. First it was the little teeth right at the front of the mouth, and those grew back overnight. Now she is missing her canine fangs, which have been replaced by the tiny little nubs. I know it’s uncomfortable for her and that is why she is chewing everything, but I can’t help but think she takes some delight in the destruction.

She enjoys making a mess.

Mom asked me the other day if I thought Bella had a sense of humor. She likes to play, but I’m not sure she interprets anything as funny. She definitely has a temper and occasionally urinates out of frustration. We watched her dig frantically  in Milo’s bed, growling and whining, and then she just squatted and peed right in the middle of it. She also seems to have some sense of embarassment. This morning she rolled over and fell off the bed, and immediately began jumping up and down and sprinting around the room, as if the fall from the bed had been the beginning of an acrobatic show she’d been planning all along. After she wears herself out, she is usually quite sweet.

Mom thinks this picture makes her look bald.

We cleaned the house yesterday, and I found 6 toys under the couch. Keeping Bella under control is a lot easier when there are no distractions and things she can get into, like food on the counter, tissues on the floor or dresses hung up in the closet.

The strap is probably repairable. What you can't see is the blood all over the dress.

As requested, here is a picture of the new one.

Maybe this will be an incentive to keep things tidier, because there is still plenty to keep her occupied. Milo, for example.

                     

Topic 167: On Being Misunderstood

Carol:

            Let Me Make One Thing Perfectly Clear

I wouldn’t want anyone to misunderstand daily theme essays 163 and 166 about getting a speeding ticket, ignoring the paperwork, and putting off taking the driver’s ed course. After the process server showed up Tuesday night, I cleared yesterday’s busy retirement calendar completed the online course. I am now a success graduate of the A_________Driver’s University. I have a degree in online driver’s training.
 

I felt pretty good about it too. I think my retention rate is pretty high after plowing through the material in 4 hours without taking a break (mental retention, not bladder retention—please!).  For instance, I can remember almost every single embedded factoid used as a “verification check” that I wasn’t just skimming the material or skipping sections. Did you know that the kid who designed the “swoosh” logo for Nike only got paid $35.00? Or that the New Year’s Eve falling ball from New York City is made of Waterford crystal?
 

Not, that I didn’t learn some driving facts, too.  As we were driving into town for dinner last night-- because I was too tired to cook from the mental/physical overload of finishing the online class and Megan was too tired from her shopping trip to replace the dresses Bell had shredded with her tiny little teeth-- I pointed out to Marc that the wet road we were on is most dangerous just after it starts raining because the rain mixes with the road oil. And,  when he did what is known as a “California stop” at the corner of our road, I pointed out that he had not followed Arizona statutes for length of stop and distance from corner. He must have misunderstood my intention because he was grumpy about that. “We don’t need no stinkin’ backseat drivers!”
 

Thursday mornings are always tough for essay writing  because the neighbors come for coffee, which means my usual  5-7 a.m. writing time is taken up cleaning several days’ worth of accumulation of newspapers, unwashed dishes,  counter stains, etc. Although Marc usually takes care of making the coffee and washing the big stuff that won’t fit in the dishwasher, I asked him to vacuum the living-room instead. And a good thing he did. When he moved the washstand cum mail center in our front hall, he found an envelope wedged underneath. He brought me the envelope because he didn’t have his reading glasses although he could make out that it was from the Prescott Valley Magistrate Court.
 

It turned out to be addressed to Marc, not me. He pulled several sheets of paper out of the envelope and handed them to me. And, there it was, another photo from the exact same intersection where I and our other two dog-walking friends had received their photo-radar generated speeding tickets. He grabbed the paper. “Does it look like me?” Not only was Marc’ his photo was just as crystal clear as mine had been, but he was even driving the same vehicle. 

Please don’t misunderstand me. I’m not complaining here that the town to our east with all the speed cameras has a racket going just because 4 out of 5 of us dog-walkers got a ticket in the last two months at the same intersection (where the speed drops from 45 mph to 35 mph). After all, my online driver’s education class taught me that being a good driver means being a careful driver, remaining ever vigilant for hazardous road conditions, traffic obstacles, changing speed zones and…. the camera’s evil eye!

Megan:

 (but not too sore for cartoons)

Topic 166: On Hugging a Conclusion

Carol:

So Long, Farewell,  Auf Wiedersehen, Good-bye

I was very disappointed when Megan and I were watching the Masterpiece Theater mini-series South Riding. I suddenly realized it was the final episode,  which  took me by surprise.  I would have paid closer attention to how the various characters marched, tripped, or leaped to their respective conclusions. We did agree that the final minutes of the show provided satisfactory closure for all but poor Midge Carne who left a public school  education in a working class English town to live with her rich grandfather and go to a Swiss finishing school. Poor, poor Midge.   I love a satisfying conclusion, whether to a movie, a book, or real  life.
 

My favorite film ending  was  a surprise that would  have been a literal seat-grabber if I had anticipated the final scene. Instead, I settled back into my seat to wait for the credits, so when Carrie’s bloody hand reached up from her fresh grave and grabbed hold of what’s-her-name’s  wrist,  I jumped a foot out of my seat.  Another movie ending I think I would like is A Letter to Three Wives (1949) where Addie Ross announces which of her three best friends’ husbands she has run away with.  Next time I watch this movie—I think it will be the 4th time—I plan to record it in case I fall asleep AGAIN during the last 15 minutes.
 

I appreciate literary endings with a punch to them but also with internal consistency. For example, a good mystery does not resort to red herrings  or last-minute clues  thrown in to account for a completely implausible solution to a crime. The clues need to be doled out along the way --with  subtlety because if the solution is too obvious, the reader doesn’t have the opportunity to feel smart  My very favorite ending  is John Collier’s  story  “Thus I Refute Beelzy,”   a little slice of dark, shocking fantasy in a 9th grade literature anthology I taught. The story is quite short and the text happened to fit exactly on two pages.  But, it ends abruptly without any resolution (denouement).  I loved to watch my students react when they invariably turned the page to read the rest of the story—which, of course, wasn’t there.  We always had fun talking about why they expected more, why the author stopped when he did, what makes a great ending, etc.
 

One end  I’m really looking forward to  is my online driving school, which I wrote about last Thursday for Topic 166 “Mental Detours.”  Just as I was really getting into writing this essay, the dogs began to bark and I saw a car stopped in front of our house. The subject of the doggish uproar was a process server—omigod—who was luckily intercepted by my husband (thank you thank you thank you) who promised that I would contact the Court tomorrow to verify that I am doing traffic school.  It seems that I never sent  notice to the Prescott Valley Magistrate that I signed up for traffic school . In fact, there it is next to my computer, the form all filled out and ready to mail.
 

I told Megan she has to stay home tomorrow and watch me like a cop (how apropos) so that I actually DO finish the online course and send in my paperwork.  A John Collier ending with Surprise and Shock is okay in fiction, but in the real world, my idea of  a conclusion worth hugging is Safe and Dull.

 

Source:
Collier, John. “Thus I Refute Beelzy.”

Megan:

I cheated again and read mom’s essay first. She finished it yesterday, which almost NEVER happens and now for once, she’s waiting around for me. I like her idea of talking about endings to books or movies that she really likes. I wish I had thought of it. All I can relate this topic to is the feeling I keep having that “When this is over, I’m going to be so happy.”

I’m really sort of frustrated today. Everything is a mess. I have a sneaking suspicion that this is a ploy by my parents to get me to move out of the house. My mother denies it, and makes the novel suggestion that if I don’t like the way the house is, then maybe I should help out more. I do help out. I still do most of the cooking. But I can’t cook if the kitchen is dirty, and I can’t wash my clothes if your clothes are in the washer and no, I’m not going to do your laundry because I would never ask you to do my laundry cuz it’s gross.

And then the puppy ruined not only my new favorite dress (which replaced my old favorite dress that she ruined last week), but ALL of my dresses because I left them hanging next to her crate. One by one she tore them off the hangers and pulled them into her lair, shredding them methodically, not along the seams because that would be too easy to mend, and then nesting in the pieces. This  was my fault obviously, but it’s not hard sometimes to see why people return dogs to the shelter. But it’s not really the dog I’m frustrated with, it’s myself.

Whenever I make up my mind to change something, to get started in a new direction, I’d rather skip to the end than wade through all the crap on the way. I’ve always been less of a goal-oriented person and more of an instant gratification type person. In my mind, I know how the world works, how grownups are supposed to act. But I’m impatient. I want results now. I want the house clean and the puppy trained.  I’ve decided to apply for grad school, so now I want to fast forward to being accepted – skip over the GRE,  and the application process.

Actually, I’m looking forward to some of that process. I like working on the stories, figuring out which samples would be appropriate for which program. I like researching the programs and figuring out which ones would be appropriate for me. I have an idea again of where I want to be and what I want to do, and I’m willing to do the work to get there. I just wish I was there already. 

Topic 165: On taking thought for the world

Carol:

Throw the Porcupine a Blanket

The film version of Ayn Rand’s 1957 Atlas Shrugged came through town a few weeks
ago. My husband went to see it on a dull day, and apparently the movie was dull, too. I
read the novel when I was in college, so I don’t remember much about its philosophy
other than the concepts of “rational self-interest”and individualism.

The title refers to the mythical Atlas, a powerful titan condemned by Zeus to carry
the heavenly sphere upon his shoulders. Over time, the celestial globe in the myth was
mistaken for the earth, which is why maps are named for Atlas. Rand uses Atlas to
symbolize the heavy “burden” placed on the shoulders of highly creative and productive
individuals by the weaker, parasitic majority. Her earlier work Anthem depicts a future
world in which individuality has been squelched and the pronoun “I” has disappeared
from the vocabulary. The main characters discover a “sacred” word: EGO.

I’m not interested in an “I” versus “we” debate in black and white, that people are
either self-centered egoists looking out for our own interests or service-valued altruists
who place higher value on others than ourselves. I prefer a “yes, but” or a “both/and”
approach.  One of the most frustrating conversations I ever had was with a college
friend who argued that human beings always act out of self-gratification at the most
primal level out of love, hate and fear, indulging in whatever makes them feel good.
What about someone who is self-destructive, I asked, like drug addicts? She replied
that they act out of instant reward to alleviate pain and didn’t know how to delay
gratification. What about people who sacrifice themselves for others, like soldiers
or religious martyrs? She said they act out of values that reward loyalty and self-
sacrifice, outweighing fear of war or death. Not one example I gave could move her
from the position that all people are innately selfish and will act out of ego even though
the action may appear selfless. She was smart, rational, eloquent, and for some reason
I felt sorry for her underneath my frustration.

Years later, I came across Lawrence Kohlberg, who examined moral behavior much
as Piaget looked at cognitive behavior . After analyzing responses of young boys
presented with moral dilemmas, Kohlberg proposed a model beginning with early
stages of action out of obedience to authority or self-interest and evolving to higher
levels of action out of a sense of universal justice greater than the “I.” Harvard
professor Carol Gilligan conducted her own studies, asserting that Kohlberg skewed
his system against values traditionally attributed to women that viewed relationships in
more complex ways than just rights and rules.

An example that sticks in my mind was a dilemma about a porcupine who asked some moles if he could share their cave in winter. He was so prickly that the moles asked him to leave, but he told them they could leave if they weren’t happy. How to resolve it?
A “justice” approach would say the porcupine should leave because the cave belonged
to the moles (some young boys proposing killing the porcupine). A “relationship
approach" would seek compromise rather than justice, wrap the porcupine in a blanket.

What about Atlas? Does his condition constitute a moral dilemma? He has been
sentenced to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders for eternity. Ayn Rand
suggests that with a shrug, he can relieve himself of that burden through “enlightened
self- interest.” Either Atlas continues to carry the load of the world, or he gives it up.
But, there is another option—hey, guys, give Atlas a little help. Maybe we could take
shifts, or a bunch of us hold the world up together.

That’s my thought for the world today.
 

Sources:
“Carol Gilligan.”  

Crain, W.C. “Kohlberg’s Stages of Moral Development.” Theories of Development. 118-136

Megan:

Thoughts on (the end of) the world

This topic could probably go a few ways: political, environmental, philosophical, apocalyptic… Hey did you hear the Rapture is coming up this weekend? According to the Internet (www.wecanknow.com), this Saturday, God will call His followers bodily into heaven, and then sometime in October the world is going to end completely.

 In high school, I saw a bumper sticker that said “WARNING: In case of Rapture this car will be unmanned.” The hubris of that driver made me furious. I wanted to ram her with my car. More recently,  I was checking a church website for directions so I could attend a wedding and noticed a note at the bottom of the page.  It said that visitors should not be alarmed if they find that the church empty because that just means that God has returned for his people. Maybe it was because I was older, but that didn’t bother me the same way the bumper sticker had. I respected the couple who were getting married enough to pause for a moment and wonder if they knew something I didn’t.

A few years ago, I spent an entire summer reading the Left Behind books by Tim LaHaye and Jerry Jenkins– a 16 book religious fiction series about the End of Days. It was a compelling if not particularly well-written story following the post-Rapture events and conversion of a group of people who had been Left Behind. I checked in with the website to confirm the spelling of the authors’ names, and there is a notice advising readers that May 21st is not the correct date of the Rapture, citing the book of Matthew that no one will know the actual time.

I know people who believe that the world will end in 2012. I also know people who think it will just mark a change or leap in our evolution – that there will be some sort of paradigm shift. That’s pretty vague, but I can wrap my head around it. Sometimes I have day dreams about how the world will end or change, about technology failing or rebelling, about having to live off the land. Or maybe it will be contact with aliens, or a supernova. Or zombies. There are just too many possibilities to be scared all the time.

I have a friend who worries about the apocalypse. She worries about her daughter, and hopes it doesn’t happen until the baby is old enough to run and hide and keep quiet. My friend’s fear is too genuine to laugh at – no one wants children to be hurt.  I went and saw An Inconvenient Truth with my cousin, when her son was only a few months old. I told her that movie made me not want to have children and I could tell it had shaken her as well. 

Every time I don’t get a job, I console myself that this just means I’ll have more time to spend with my family before the world ends. My passport expires next summer, and maybe that’s another reason I moved back from England. If it hits the fan, I didn’t want to be 6,000 miles away.  Now I worry about Bella. I wonder if she will survive a natural or manmade disaster, if she will be my loyal companion or a desperate last meal.

Topic 164: On Outgrowing One's Family

Carol:

The Lure of the Golden West

The 1930 census lists two transplants in Maywood, California, a tiny Los Angeles suburb  that had grown from a population of 1000 in 1924 to 6000 by 1930.  Winifred Fike from New Jersey lived at 4637 58th Street.  Texas-born Ed Scott lived a few blocks away at 5645 59th Street. What brought them to California?  Why did their parents uproot themselves from large, close-knit families?
 

In 1880, the population of Los Angeles was just above 33,000. Easterners had already been reading about California in Overland Monthly and Out West magazine   By 1876 the Transcontinental Railroad was completed and by 1887 the trickle of immigrants became a flood when 120,000 people came to Los Angeles in a single year, “drawn by the promise of pure air, warm sunshine and prosperity” (source: The West). By the time the Fike and Scott families arrived, the population of LA County had climbed to almost one million, and it would increase by another 135% to over 2 million by that 1930 federal census (source: Los Angeles).
 

Thousands of families headed West, pulled by a desire for a fresh start, the universal story of immigrants  seeking  a Promised Land of opportunity. To overcome the inertia  of habits and family connections, there must have been two forces at work, both a push and a pull.   The  private circumstances that pushed them out of the family nest are not told in the statistics of a federal census or a city’s population tables. But looking back to 1920 Fike and Scott census reports gives  a hint as to what catalysts set them on their journeys to California.   

There is no 1920 census report for Winnie Fike’s family. But  January 1920 death records show that her maternal  grandmother died after living with the family in Plainfield, New Jersey for almost 5 years. Did Grandma’ death release the family to pursue a secret dream? What conversations took place that led three neighborhood families to pack up their Model T’s and caravan to California that spring of 1920, a six-week trip that left them out of both the New Jersey and the California census reports?

Winne with Grandma, New Jersey

 Ed Scott’s 1920 census report shows him, his younger brother, Texan mother and step-father in New Mexico, the childhood home of Ed’s father, who had died in 1915.  What dream was Ed’s step-father following that took them to California? Or were they just trying to distance themselves from the ghost of a dead husband and the influence of his extended family? 

Ed with Grandpa, New Mexico

 

Did my father Ed miss his grandparents in New Mexico, did my mother Winnie feel homesick for her cousins in New Jersey and Pennsylvania? What about their relatives that stayed behind, who watched  loved ones ride off to pursue the lure of the West? Did they envy their intrepid son or daughter? Perhaps, they felt resentment that their brother or sister had let  wanderlust outgrow the families left behind?
 

Home is so Sad   (Philip Larkin)

Home is so sad. It stays as it was left,
Shaped to the comfort of the last to go
As if to win them back. Instead, bereft
Of anyone to please, it withers so,
Having no heart to put aside the theft

And turn again to what it started as,
A joyous shot at how things ought to be,
Long fallen wide. You can see how it was:
Look at the pictures and the cutlery.
The music in the piano stool. That vase.

Sources:
“Los Angeles.”  Wikipedia.
Larkin, Philip. “Home is So Sad.” Poets.org 

Burns, Ken. The West. PBS.org 
 

Megan:

My brother and I were the only kids in our neighborhood when we were growing up. We lived too far from town to spend much time with other children (aside from at school and at the sitter’s house), so we explored every inch of our wild back yard. We used to dig through the bushes, playing and screaming and running and fighting. Our 1.5 acres has never been tamed, despite occasional attempts. A collapsing fence still outlines the area where we kept the goat that came with the house. A sandbox stands empty in cactus and catclaw. There is half a tetherball pole, cemented into the dirt – the consolation prize after the guy who replaced our deck failed to complete the promised basketball court, itself a consolation for the pool I’d always begged for. My mother is the only person on her side of the family not to have a pool or a hot tub, and I think she should be ashamed.

But now, 20 years later, our neighborhood has changed. The number of houses has tripled at least. The elderly neighbors have been replaced with loud and active families, with trampolines and forts and 4-wheelers. Our middle-aged neighbors are now elderly. 

For as long as I can remember, I wanted to escape from here – from what I considered a dry and dull backward place. I loved my family, but I was eager to move far away from them, start out a new life, like my parents had when they were in college.  Until my grandparents moved to Prescott in the late 80’s, we had always lived hundreds of miles from anyone else in the family.  When I was in high school, a cousin moved to the area to go to college. Then came an aunt and uncle,  and then another cousin. The cousins married (not each other), had kids, and I moved back to Arizona last summer to find myself surrounded by family – with some still  far enough away to take vacations to visit.

I was so afraid that I would hate being back here that I didn’t even notice when I started to love it. If my MFA plan works out (or I find a job), I’ll likely be moving hundreds of miles away again, but this time I won’t be telling myself it’s forever.  There’s a lot of value in living close to family.  You learn a lot about yourself observing how people with the same blood can turn out so many different ways, have different values, take advantage of different opportunities. 

I’m still waiting to see how I turn out.