An Experiment in Karma

The invitation came from a Facebook friend.
"You have been invited to participate in a karma experiment. As you are aware, many people are going through tough times and we wanted to see if it is possible to change a person's karma."
Hmmm. Karma. Intriguing.

Yes, we have been waiting for news about the next big work cutback. We've been struggling, like everyone else, to get through each pay period.
But karma. I hadn't considered karma.
Karma, and I paraphrase Wikipedia, is the belief that everything you do will be visited back upon you. Do good deeds, and good will come to you. Bad deeds, and bad will follow. That's basically it, though there are disagreements on the role of a god or actions in past lives.
According to this guy, it could be the answer to everything:

Karma has a lot of believers, even including some high-profile Christians. When Jerry Falwell blamed the World Trade Center attack on abortionists, feminists, gays and, of course, the ACLU, he was basically talking about karma. Fred Phelps and his family claim the loss of life in Iraq is the fault of American acceptance of gays. This is karma, too, although I doubt you'd ever hear them call it that.
Greed blinded the bankers and hedge fund managers and the government officials that were supposed to regulate them. In return, we have financial collapse. You could call that karma. Or you could just call it the natural chain of events.
I hadn't really ever blamed my own personal karma, though. Perhaps it's time. Perhaps I should take a more Republican approach and "take responsibility" for my own karma.
Usually, when I think of karma, it's to take a little surly comfort in the thought that someone who has been bad to me will be punished. That person who left his car alarm going for three hours in the parking lot by my house. That person will be up all night with a neighbor's barking dog.
That sort of thing.
But maybe the car alarm was my punishment for something. As is the car in endless need of repair ($320 more this week), and the faucet that pauses three seconds after you turn the tap. And the elderly cat in need of expensive attention for a sore on her lip. And the threat of pay cuts. The list goes on and on.
What could have I done to bring on such a load of bad karma? I always thought of myself as a nice enough person. But today I looked back through the years for bad things I've done and--whoa! Looks like I'm screwed. Totally screwed.

So I signed up for the Facebook karma experiment.
First step, join the group. Second step, invite others. Check and check.
Next: Do a random act of kindness.
Here's where I got stuck. What sort of kindness should I do? There goes a grocery employee pushing a line of carts across the lot. Should I leap out and help him, or would I seem too much like a creepy cougar lady? We don't have parking meters here, so I can't prepay any one's time. What else...Holding the door seems just like ordinary politeness, so that shouldn't count.
This is a big deal because, you know, this could backfire. I did a random act of kindness one Fourth of July a few years back. I was taking a walk with my daughter (then a kindergartner) and the dog when we happened on an old lady I'd seen in the neighborhood. She was very frail, but she was walking, slowly up a hill in the afternoon heat. Her slow, teetering progress was alarming, and when we passed, she asked if there would be a food tent a block away.
I told her there hadn't been a July 4th food tent there for a few years, but then offered to walk her to our house for some leftover KFC. So we walked the last two blocks, with me trying to hold on to both plus the frisky dog.
I fed her chicken, plus some potatoes and applesauce. She was quiet and unpleasant about it the whole time and didn't thank us when we gave her a ride back home.
But no matter. I was happy because I knew it would be good for my karma, or whatever. The Bible is full of this kind of thing. The person you help turns out to be an angel and you can look forward to a big reward.
But...nothing. My random act had seemingly no impact. Then one day I saw the for sale sign on her house. She died, I supposed. And just for a moment--it was just a passing thought, mind you--I wondered, "What if she left us a pile of money in her will?"
That thought, I am convinced, was enough bad karma to put us in financial turmoil for years to come. Only now I learn from Facebook, it may be possible to change my karma back.

So what shall the random act(s) be?
I'm sure I'll come up with something eventually. Until then:

Filets, $7.99 a pound; Applesauce, $0; Bragging rights--Priceless.

He who does not economize will have to agonize. --Confucius

I've been thinking a lot about thrift lately. Is it good or is it bad?

Like a lot of people, I was brought up to believe thrift is good. When we were in third grade, the school and the local bank got together and issued us all little envelopes for junior savings accounts. There was a lot of talk about Benjamin Franklin and perseverance and hard work. We were supposed to bring in our pittance to show we understood.
Back then, as I pictured myself shoveling bales of money out of the bank vault in my dotage, I thought of thrift and savings as the best thing ever. As I grew up, I came to think of being frugal as a way of imposing discipline on the vendors. Demand value and they'll give it, was my thinking.
Then, as global warming got to be a bigger deal, reusing plastic bags and old clothes became yet one more reason to be a cheapie.
Now come the economic experts to tell me that frugality is, in fact, bad. "Disastrous," as a story in the New York Times puts it.
Worried people have suddenly shut off the spending spigot, we are experiencing the "paradox of thrift." Goods and services are not purchased. Stores and factories go broke. They lay off more people who can no longer afford to buy goods and services. Ad infinitum.
CNBC, where I go for my daily "stories," was moaning just yesterday about the fact that the Chinese save too much. How can the world economic crisis be averted unless the frugal Chinese stop saving and start throwing money around like Americans used to do? the host wondered.

Let me just insert here that THIS AIN'T FAIR. It ain't fair, it ain't fair. Let me say it again: It ain't fair!
When you live mostly off one income, being cheap is one of the few ways you can feel smugly superior to your neighbors. I've been known to make special trips out of my way in the grocery store so I can see what those fools are paying nowadays for store bought bread.
I enjoy the astronomical price at the meat counter for fillet mignon. $17.99 a pound? Ha! We have a bag full of fillets in the freezer from a whole tenderloin we bought for $7.99 a pound.
What's that you say? You like Gain detergent. Well I suppose I would try it, except I make my own liquid laundry soap a gallon and a half at a time.
I'm so glad you like my spaghetti sauce. I have this garden, so I haven't bought tomato sauce for a decade.
So yes, even though Publilius Syrus says "Frugality is misery in disguise," I get a certain enjoyment from pinching pennies. I look at my little savings and it makes me happy, even optimistic.
Ever since I reached adulthood, all I remember hearing from financial experts is how our generation is horrible with money. We didn't save enough for our kids' college. We didn't save enough for our own retirement. We used credit cards. We splurged on pricey things we liked. We wouldn't be sensible. We should be more like our parents and grandparents, or even the Chinese, who save some incredible amount of their income.
So now--now that we are all learning how to darn socks and bake bread--where's the love?
We should be getting accolades from all those financial experts. Instead, we're getting the blame.
The economy won't turn around, it seems, unless we abandon responsibility and resume spending money we don't have as fast as we can. Once again, baby boomers can be blamed both for getting us into the recession/depression and for not getting us out of it.

Well, I'm sorry. But it's too late to change. All those little savings, and the thought of how I've beaten The Man make me too happy. Besides, if everybody became frugal, maybe the pricing of goods and wages would be more realistic. If everyone is a penny pincher, it really would impose a discipline on the marketplace. Or maybe I'm just being too optimistic.

Look here for some good thoughts on this subject.

Yo-ho-ho-ga

Ok, I'm a failure at the constant, forced smile. I know the research says your brain takes cues from your body. If you smile, then, you really should feel better. I totally believe in the psycho-physiological link, or whatever you call it. If you've ever sung in a chorus, you know the difference a good face can make in tone.
But it's just too hard to remember to smile. And if you have a teenager and you go around in public with a big goofy smile for no reason...well, there are consequences.
So this week I decided to kick it up a notch.
If I can't force a smile, why not force a laugh instead? Specifically, why not go to the laughter yoga class offered once a week for free?
"I think I'll go to laughing yoga this Friday. Who wants to go with me?"
To my surprise, my daughter agreed. To my stupefication, so did my husband and 22-year-old son.

I first heard of laughter yoga during chit chat at the end of my regular yoga class. One of my classmates had read about it somewhere, and explained that you just go into the room in your regular clothes. No downward-facing dog. No bound dancer pose. And you laugh. That's it.
When I heard this, I thought two things:
1. Here's another crystal-worshipping, space alien new age fad to make fun of. Why don't they call it ha-ha-hatha?
2. Sounds cool. Maybe I'll try it.

Actually, laughter yoga and laughter clubs are a growing national pastime. It was invented by Dr. Madan Katarian, who believes laughing is a great exercise and immune system restorer. For a better explanation than I possibly could give, click here.

The laughter club we'd heard about is offered at Plaza Wellspring and is 45 minutes free every Friday at 6. As Friday afternoon arrived, we were all getting a little nervous. My husband started to make noises about backing out. Maybe he wouldn't make his deadline in time. Maybe work would need to call. My son seemed less than enthusiastic but still game when I called him. And my daughter began texting her friends with the address in case one of them wanted to swing by during class and save her.

I was still committed, but a little scared that I might be greeted by this guy:




Or maybe this:

Our instructor, who had no trouble at all with the wide sincere smile, started us with a little explanation and some warm up exercises. There would be no talking or joke telling, she said. Then there were "introduction" type exercises. Walk up to someone else and give a silly handshake, shy giggles, laughing waves. The 15 or so of us could improvise how we liked. The only thing mandatory was the laugh, either real or faked.
Then came longer exercises--the winding up of giggles from a belly button key, bow and arrow, cocktail shaker, kiss throwing. We did laughing "drives" around the wood floor, bumper cars, a long set of silly dancing, during which there wasn't much breath left over for laughing.
Between laughter sets, we clapped with rhythm: HO, HO, ha-ha-ha. And then big yoga breaths for a rest.

I thought the laughter would be strained and unnatural and it was at first. But then, it was easy. The "exercises" are just so goofy looking that the laughter comes from self-awareness of how insane it all is. Turns out smiling is way harder.
As we laughed, I carefully checked my family to see how they were taking it. Here's the great thing about a laughter class: No one's face gives even the slightest hint that they want to kill you for bringing them because--smiling all that's allowed. They were all smiling, just like everybody else.
The best part came during a time when we were supposed to just lie on our backs and laugh at the funny images we pretended to see in the clouds. I looked over at my daughter and tried to come up with her old laugh--the hysterical one she used to do as she crashed into pedestrians in "Crazy Taxi" at age 5.
When I did that laugh, we both lost it. I had tears pouring toward my ears, and I could hardly stop when the instructor told us it was time to take some deep calming breaths.

I also didn't really believe the claims that laughing is a good workout. I'm a regular gym goer and can run 8 miles, for crying out loud. So I was a little surprised that at the end of 45 minutes I was spent. But in a really, really good way.
"That was the most fun ever," my daughter said as we left. "Next week I want to bring my friends." My son and husband also admitted to having fun, albeit a bit more guardedly.
"What's that on your face?" I asked my daughter.
It was big dark smudges where her considerable eye makeup had run.
Yeah. I'd go again.

Tell me how it turns out

I have developed a bad habit the past few months. Daytime television.
Let me explain.
When I first decided to stay home with my kids, I promised myself I would never get sucked into the soap operas that were the staple of great aunt Hazel (who loved General Hospital). I knew the risks. One particularly harsh Iowa winter, I was drawn into GH, along with Dark Shadows during extended Christmas/snow vacation.
Therefore, I know how easy it is go get obsessed. Daytime TV would be a huge time waster. Also, I didn't want to become the caricature of a stay-at-home mom.

So it is with regret that I admit to tuning in more and more to a daytime drama that has me completely enthralled.
At first, it was just out of curiosity. I caught something that held my interest, then let it go. But the impression never really left my mind. Soon, I would furtively turn on the set (on mute, lest my work-at-home husband hear). Just to check in, I promised myself.
Of course, the plot lines didn't make any sense. But gradually, a few key characters and their personalities began to emerge. The Libor, the S&P, Precious Metals.
And of course, that family's malicious matriarch. The DOW.
Every day now. I don't even bother to hide my addiction anymore. I brazenly march right over to the remote after lunch, my husband right in the room.
Today--and I hope I'm not spoiling this for anyone--the DOW was down around 170 points when I checked, and the talk was of a close at an 11-year low. People were worried about nationalization of the banks. And in one of the subplots, former Fed. Chairman Paul Volker said capitalism should survive "in most respects."
Yikes! "In most respects?"
Apparently we are to believe capitalism itself is in doubt if the government takes this step and the result will be cataclysm on the market. Part of me says, Watch out Washington. You are politicians. Best listen to the experts on this one.
And then the other part thinks, "I bet the residents of Dodge City were upset, too, when the new sheriff came to town. Don't be a sap."
Mental health experts say my obsession with the stock market is "rumination" and that is a bad thing if you're trying to be an optimist. But I also feel like I need to know this stuff to protect my family. I don't want to be a sap.
One thing I know. The smiling isn't working. And all those people smiling and clapping on their balcony at the NYSE at closing bell--what's that about?

One piece of good news: The Justice Department is going after Swiss company UBS to get names of thousands of rich Americans who may have evaded taxes by using off-shore accounts. Now that makes me smile.

Optimist or Sap?

I'm an eternal optimist. That doesn't mean I'm a sap.

The words above, from President Obama as quoted by Bob Herbert (NY Times) perfectly express my qualms about this whole optimism thing. So perfectly I'm thinking of setting them to music or putting the sentiment in cross stitch. Here's a crafting possibility:


Optimist. Sap. Optimist. Sap. For most of my life, those two words have meant the same thing. (Apologies to my husband, "Mr. Glass half-full." I don't mean you) An optimist gets credit for being forward-thinking, for seeing opportunity ahead and acting on it. A sap gets taken. By the way, you notice a pessimist never gets called "forward-thinking" even if the gloomy prediction turned out to be true.
So. Were we optimists for putting money in the market for college, retirement, etc? Were we optimists when we decided to buy a house? To spend our savings to put kids through college? To stay home with the kids?
Or were we saps?
I like to think we were realistically optimistic when we made all those decisions. The evidence and the news seemed to support us. They felt like the right decisions. If you look at how things were just a few years ago, we seemed overly pessimistic, if anything. We didn't go deep into credit card debt or refinance our house, even though every commercial and piece of junk mail urged us to not be saps by missing out.
(In one commercial that used to be on each weekday morning, an animated "granny" would shake her finger and roll her eyes impatiently at her hapless son, who just couldn't figure out how a new home loan could make his life better. The idea was that his family was suffering, I guess. In fact, most older people I know who've lived through the 30's Depression are horrified at the thought of all that debt.)
More and more, though, I'm feeling like a sap. And we don't have any of the terrible problems that have beset people on the coasts. We weren't ripped off by Madoff, for example. Our house isn't about to be foreclosed.
We avoided debt by scraping along, eating in, getting by with one car in the suburbs while XKE drivers partied it up with imaginary money. And we thought we'd be okay because the tassled-shoe set told us business could police itself. There's the sappy part.
But--whoa--I'm about to get off the optimism track here and venture into a tirade. We don't want that.
The enduring thing about all our troubles, I think, is that it may bring about new definitions of "optimist" and possibly even "sap." For example:
Buying a peanut butter product or a child's toy? You'll be an optimist if you take that risk after first thoroughly checking the company and country of origin. Otherwise, a sap.
Buying a lottery ticket? Optimist.
Buying stock? Sap.
Saving for retirement? Sap. You won't be able to retire.
Saving for a big trip to Europe? Optimist. Global recession has brought about some really cheap fares and weak currencies. If only you keep your job long enough to take advantage.
And...that makes me feel better. We must go to Europe! What a great idea! You think I'm being sarcastic but I'm completely serious. I think I can fit it in the budget after the car's front end, the cat's blood work, the stove, the refrigerator....

Before I close, I wanted to include this interesting poem on optimism by Stephen Dunn, with thanks to Jean Burke. And also, my daughter's rendition of "I Puke Rainbows."

Optimism
by Stephen Dunn

My friend the pessimist thinks I'm optimistic
because I seem to believe in the next good thing.
But I see rueful shadows almost everywhere.
When the sun rises I think of collisions and AK-47s.
It's my mother's fault, who praised and loved me,
sent me into the dreadful world as if
it would tell me a story I'd understand. The fact is
optimism is the enemy of happiness.
I've learned to live for the next good thing
because lifelong friends write good-bye lettres,
because regret follows every timidity.
I'm glad I konw that all great romances are fleshed
with failure. I'll take a day of bitterness and rain
to placate the gods, to get it over with.
My mother told me I could be a great pianist
because I had long fingers. My fingers are small.
It's my mother's fault, every undeserved sweetness.

Hooray, I lose

I don't usually think of losing as something that causes a sense of well being. Does anybody?
But today I'd like to dispense with the usual caustic comments about life to indulge in a fluffy, cuddly moment because--well because it's Valentine's Day.
Every Feb. 14, my husband and I engage in a subtle contest. Oh, neither of us likes to admit it's a contest, but it is. He takes me out to eat one year; I contrive an elaborate meal in the next. I get him a card; he gets a better card. I forget (yes, that's happened); he sends flowers. He always wins, though.
This year, I vowed to be more on my game. I started groceries and weekend errands Friday, and in a bold masterstroke, managed to clean up on little Valentinettes that were marked way down. (Valentinettes--copyright 2009--are the tiny stuffed bears, boxes of six candies and other gimcracks people buy who are too cash-strapped to go to Jared's. BTW, if you use this word, now you have to pay me.) Besides getting Valentines for my husband and daughter, I managed to keep the car out of reach for any shopping he might do. I know this isn't really fair, but you know, a contest is a contest.
So when I returned from other errands today, I was fairly sure I did the best V-day this year. After all, we'd discussed the going-out-to-eat idea and decided we didn't have any budget for it this pay period.
Not so fast. On the piano, was a large folded piece of white construction paper with red hearts. Inside, a little poem made from small letters cut from magazines--ransom note style.
"You kidnapped my heart
So I ransomed my soul
I love you more than
You'll ever know."

Homemade card. Homemade poem. Game, set, match.

And here I spent my Valentine efforts picking up cheap sentiment from the store. What a loser!

So I lose once again. But I don't really mind. Because you know what? I loves ya, honey! Yeah Mike, I'm looking at you.
You won and there's nothing I can do about it.
Unless...does this post count?

Happy Valentine's Day.

US vs. Mexico

I woke up an hour early this morning because of my husband's restless tossing. And he was up a full hour early because, once again, there were rumors of new layoffs, furloughs, etc. coming up. It seems inhuman to have to keep going through this every two or three weeks. I wonder how many people have gotten sick just off the stress of this economy.
So yeah, it's going to be kind of hard to be an optimist today.
There is a bright spot, though. The US national soccer team won its World Cup qualifying match against Mexico. (Here's a game recap.)

The 2-0 win, which I caught part of while making supper, was made all the sweeter by the fact that it was in spite of the voodoo magic Blockbuster encouraged people to use against the US team.

Yes, that's correct. Voodoo. Promoted by an American company against it's own countrymen.
Apparently Blockbuster made a deal to use its Mexico City stores to sell little voodoo likenesses of US players, complete with red, white and blue colors and the word "Gringo" on the back. (Read about it here.) Most news outlets treated it as a kind of cutesy story. Ooh look. Voodoo dolls. You stick pins in them. But it's all good-natured rivalry.)

But I was kind of offended. First of all, you'd never, ever, under any circumstances be able to sell dolls representing Mexican players to stick pins into. No one would think of it as good-natured rivalry. It would be bigotry, and rightly so.

But even if you could...even if you could, this is the World Cup we're talking about. If there's any time you should be supporting your own country--or even just pretending out of politeness--it would be the World Cup. Instead, we have a company that says one thing to its American customers, then goes across the border and makes a quick buck helping people wish for American defeat. What's the next step, selling effigy figures ready-made for burning during an overseas protest? I doubt a big Italian firm like Parmalat could get away with something like this. Something tells me if they tried, they'd find a lot of their boxes of milk dumped out in the streets the next day.

Blockbuster's attitude pretty much sums up what's been wrong with the direction of this country. Corporations begin to think of themselves as bigger than the country they're in. They get arrogant and start thinking that their good fortune is unrelated to the prosperity of those around them. And the next thing you know...well, you get them selling voodoo dolls and hoping for embarrassment and defeat for the home team.

Sad, so sad. But wait! Here's an idea!
What makes people buy voodoo dolls in the first place? A wish for some kind of power where you truly have none. So--I'm beginning to see my next career here--wouldn't there be a big US market right now for voodoo dolls relating to the economy? The defeat of Mexico shows Blockbuster's magic is weak. Maybe there are better sorcerers out there who could step in where the stock market has failed. I'd be happy to get out my sewing machine and whip up a few dolls for, let's say, $9.99 apiece.
Hedge fund manager anyone?

If you want a great soccer cheerer upper, watch this video on YouTube. Sorry I can't embed it here.

Be Like Julio

By now you've no doubt seen this guy on your nightly news roundup:

Here he is with Keith Olberman on MSNBC, talking about his moment of glory as one called upon to answer a question from President Obama.
I bring him up because I am scouting about for optimist heroes to pattern myself after. I'm not talking about those sales guys who are always flaunting their expensive cars and gee-gaws to get you to sign up for their seminars. I mean real, common, everyday optimists.
It strikes me that Julio might be one. And I find that disturbing.
This is a guy who jumped up and down and screamed for the chance to ask that one last question at the town hall meeting. Then, when he got the spotlight he waved his hands in the air and babbled on in a kind of ecstasy. As the meeting ended and the crowd got to its feet, you could see him still leaping wildly in the back.
And if you clicked on this video, you heard his thoughts on succeeding.
It's tempting to laugh at this guy and his over-the-top emotions. He is just 19, after all. I know my first reaction was "this guy seems like a cartoon drawing of what an optimist is supposed to be."
Then again. He did get his wish to ask that last question. He did, as a result of the press coverage, get a chance at an internship in media. And people like him. At least I do.
Is he an optimist? Judging by his interviews, yeah, that would be my guess.
Was he successful? At least in the short term, he was.
Could I imitate him?
Not without electroshock therapy.
I was always "the quiet one" in school. I suppose I could try to transform myself into a Julio, but the enormity of the effort would probably kill me. Yet, judging by all the literature that urges you to believe in yourself, keep on pushing, etc., it seems that Julio conforms to many of the principles of positive thinking. Right down to that constant talk about being "blessed."
It's all very depressing. If being an optimist means I have to completely reverse my personality, all hope is lost.
I won't be able to be Julio. But at least I can amuse myself a little. Imagine if, you will, that everyone in that crowd became an optimist a la Julio. When Obama asked for questions, they all waved wildly, crying "Pick me! Pick me!" Befuddled by the ocean of arms and hands, Obama's gaze fell on a person standing quietly to one side, one finger upraised.
"Can you tell us how to be optimists, please?" she asked.

Gimme A D!

I was somewhat down in the dumps this morning, facing a new week, thinking about further layoffs and the unemployment numbers that came out Friday. Then I opened up the newspaper and what did I find on the front page?
"Obama's Advisers Warn of Deflation," the main story of the day in the Kansas City Star.

Suddenly, being an optimist seems a whole lot easier.
Deflation! Yay! Now I have something to cheer about! We've watched for years as college tuition, health care and last year, groceries, went up and up. We've felt left behind as a whole lot of electronic gadgets became "must haves" along with a monthly connection fee. We've seen home heating charges go up by double digits again and again. With deflation, maybe now we'll at last have a chance to catch up. Hell, yeah!

I wasn't too far into my daydream of money left over at the end of the pay period when I realized that one of the headline words seemed off. "Obama's Advisers Warn of Deflation." Shouldn't it have said "promise?"

It turns out, though, that we're supposed to fear deflation. The adviser quoted said that a downward price spiral would be difficult to get out of. Theoretically, people would just hold off buying things forever because they expect the price to keep going down and down.
You see, dear reader, deflation might make things momentarily good for buyers, but very bad for sellers.

To which I say: Yes. That is what is known as a "buyers' market."
This is what I always thought was supposed to be so great about free market capitalism. When goods become scarce, the price goes up. Apparently, though, the free market isn't quite as majestic when prices are going down.

As for the idea that people will put off buying. Well, let me tell you about our stove.
It's a gas stove that came with the house. The electric ignition no longer works on the burners. The temperature below 350 degrees is no longer trustworthy. And opening the broiler drawer causes a hideous shriek so nauseating that I avoid broiling at all costs. We've waited through our kids' college to get a new stove. If the prices on those things came down even a tiny bit, I would do a little dance in the street then run right to the store, money in fist. Ditto the refrigerator, washer/dryer and hot water heater.

I'm betting there are a lot of people who, like us, have slipped backwards the past few years. In fact, if you believe various reports, there are all kinds of people who have been putting these purchases off for years and will not wait indefinitely.

About the only way deflation could be bad would be if it caused our income to go down. Oh wait. No raise this year. Higher health care. No 401K match. That's already happened.

So don't think of it as deflation. Think of it as "adjustment."

Happy Solar Catastrophe!

Here's something that happened a couple of weeks before I started this blog. Enjoy.



It was sometime after 6 on a Friday morning. I lay on the couch, listening to the news and hoping to doze for just a few more minutes before breakfast. It would, I promised myself, be a stellar Friday with very little work to do and sunshine and 50 degrees. Weatherman Don Harman came on. A warm day today, but the cold air is moving in later. Mmmphf. And then, something about his voice caught my attention. There’s talk…there’s talk of a “catastrophic solar event” in the next three years. Could it happen? We’ll tell you more when we come back.

What? What?! I looked over at my daughter, who was, mercifully, asleep. A “catastrophic solar event?” Three years? As the commercials rolled, I began to imagine just what he could mean. I’m no astronomer, but I’ve heard of quasars and novas. One day, you’re outside, enjoying a picnic on the beach. You look up at the sky and smile. Then there’s this big pulse of energy and—all gone. What would that be like, I wondered. Would we get to see some of the show, for even just a second, before our eyes melted? And what would it sound like? I bet it would make a big snap and an electric hum. That would be awesome!
Or…maybe what he’s talking about is one of those solar flares—those big looping tongues of flame we’ve seen on science shows. I pictured the planets, the earth and the sun spinning around each other in a stately minuet. They turn, they bow, and then ever so slowly, the sun stretches out an arm to give the earth a delicate, flirtatious flick. And the earth’s response is to sizzle like fatty meat that’s been left on an open grill.


By now I was wide awake and sitting up. The prospect of mass annihilation will do that to you. The commercials rolled on endlessly, and I thought and thought. Would it be better to junk everything and spend my last years traveling the globe, or should I try and stay close to family? Is three years enough time to make it up to people for the horrible, horrible mistakes I’ve made.
And when the time comes, do I really want to be here to be consumed by hot gas or should we stock up on some cyanide? The gas seems like it would hurt, but then what happens if I took the cyanide and the prediction turned out to be wrong? This guy has been known to miss a forecast before. Maybe the best way to meet my end would be to dig down into the ground, mollusk style, to—wait. Did that commercial just say Nebraska Furniture Mart is giving away vacuum cleaners?

So many questions. Will this, for instance, make credit easier or harder to get? For one thing, impending solar doom would have a huge impact on my New Year’s resolution to become an optimist. Is it possible to think positively about the meadows, the trees and everyone you know in flames? Would we all have to live out our last days in frantic hedonism, searching for that last, best pleasure? On the other hand, maybe there’s something to be said for supernovas. Maybe we’ll finally stop hearing about the grit of the “greatest generation.” After all, how many generations can tell their kids they stood firm and stared apocalypse in the eye? Oh…yeah. Never mind.

At last, the commercials ended. Harman appeared onscreen somber, somewhat guilty-faced, as if he hated to be the bearer of the worst possible news. Here it comes, I thought. He then proceeded to give…the weather. Jet streams. Relative strengths of arctic air masses. Storms over the Pacific northwest.
C’mon man. Out with it!
Isobars. Doppler radar. Dewpoints and long-range forecasts. Then, at last, news of the “catastrophic solar event.” Harman put up a web site that I could barely see. It seems the solar storm could “take out” the US for possibly months.
Huh? I rushed to the computer to key in “solar event” and “three years.” And there it is. Solar maximum. Solar minimum. Sunspots. He’s talking about sunspots. Predicted to be severe, to be sure, but they would not fry us. Our communications and—presumably—our television signal may be interrupted. We would live, though.
I rewound the newscast just as my husband came into the room. “Look what this guy dropped on us and just before going to commercials,” I said, pressing the “play” button.
Just at that moment, my daughter awakens. “What does it mean, a ‘catastrophic solar event?’” Time for breakfast.

Update

McClatchy just announced it will freeze the pension and it won't be contributing to employee's 401Ks for at least the time being. This wasn't unexpected. As for the furloughs and layoffs, it may be a few more excruciating weeks until those things are worked out.

Doggie Doo

I just started this optimism stuff what, a couple of weeks ago? It seems too soon to be having a big exam. It really does.
Yet that is what today is shaping up as.
Word started trickling out yesterday that my husband's employer, the McClatchy Company, is considering another round of drastic cutbacks--again. They just had two painful rounds of layoffs at the end of last year, which spared our family. However, it was awful to see good friends losing their jobs.
(Smile. Must maintain smile.)
Then yesterday the buzz was that the analysts would meet with company bigwigs today and that would likely mean more cutbacks, since company stock prices have fallen so low as to be in danger of delisting. Among the possibilities was the idea of a "furlough" which sounds, on the surface, like a kind of fun vacation ashore but in reality means you have to take unpaid leave time.
(Must maintain smile.)
The idea is that we could miss a week of pay this quarter. So I suppose there's a possibility there could be more furloughs in future quarters.
Like many people (see this poll) we would take a pay cut if it means being able to work. We feel lucky that my husband has this good job. If he lost it, my piano lesson fees wouldn't pay the bills, that's for sure.
But sitting here thinking about missing even one week's pay makes me want to throw up. We've just had our second son graduate from college and the double-digit tuition increases (at a state school) exhausted all our savings. Additional college debt payments, plus higher spending on doctors visits, home heating and groceries doesn't leave much for replacing our bald front tire, or the recliner that fell apart three years ago, or our old stove that is just limping along. We don't go out to eat, hardly ever buy clothes. I just don't know what else is left to cut. And our youngest will be college age in just four years.
It doesn't help, either, that various cold-blooded bloggers and blog commenters who read my husband's column are dancing around and clapping their hands at the idea of him being fired. Apparently they would delight in seeing us all sick, cold and hungry on the street as punishment for not being conservative enough. Bad enough that you have to face this kind of strain without people cheering on your destruction.

How to turn this s***storm of bad news into something optimistic is going to be a trip. But somehow I don't think smiling is going to be enough.

So let's see...What Would an Optimist Do?

Well, first of all I suppose she would not dwell on the negative. So let's deal with the haters first. These people rank with the guy who narrowly (and rudely) cuts you off in traffic and ruins your day. I think I need to use some visualization here.

Ok. I'm picturing a nice clean sidewalk lined with buttercups. There in the middle of my nice clean sidewalk is a ferociously huge bit of dog feces, partially stepped on. I'm taking out my hose. I'm setting it on power spray and--yes--there goes the dog crap, rolling away to fertilize the buttercups. Bye, bye, guys.

Yeah, that actually feels kind of good. But it's not particularly nice. Does being an optimist mean you always have to be nice?

As for the furlough. Well, I guess it would be good if we still had the income, lower though it may be. But doesn't that fall into the "it could always be worse" trap I said I'd avoid? So maybe there's some other reason this is good? Thinking...thinking...thinking...

Nah. I've got nothing. That's going to have to do for now.

Smile

It's been a little longer than I expected to post on this. Sick kids and time spent learning the techie aspects of this will do that to you.

So, to get on with my journey:
I chose to try the advice on smiling first because I've heard it pretty much constantly my whole life. My grandmother, who seemed only to like songs with the word "smile" in them, was always telling me to just paste a big happy smile on my face and go out and pretend things are great. "It takes more muscles to frown than it does to smile," she'd say.
First of all, I don't believe that for a minute. How many times have you been at a social gathering that called for lots of smiling--a wedding reception, let's say--and come home exhausted, cheeks aching, from the effort? How could it possibly be right? Wait. Is there a loophole here? Could be have a definition of frown, please? Because if frown is the same as neutral face, then I don't think so.
Turns out there has been some research on this. For a paraphrase, I direct you to The Straight Dope.
Anyway, I've never had much trust for all these smiling people. Some of the worst things that have ever been said or done, in my experience, were all delivered by people with great big phony smiles.

There's a certain segment of researchers out there who think smiling originates from fear shown in monkeys. The bared teeth are apparently some kind of warning or grimace.


Yeah, that sounds about right. Any time I see someone smiling too hard at me, I am afraid.

Plus, I always resisted because I thought there's a little sexism involved. Women are always expected to smile. Just look at your female news anchors and compare them with men. The men just have normally affable faces, while the female anchors are smiling so hard you can see the cords of their necks standing out. It always just seemed we smile to please everyone else. Turns out, according to some other researchers, this is true.

Forget all that, though. Optimism gurus say I must smile, and they have the science to back that up.

So I vowed I would try smiling.

Let me tell you, it isn't easy. First there's the decision of what kind of smile. Should it be a big sloppy grin that broadcasts, "I am a sucker" to passers by, or would it be an easier-to-maintain Mona Lisa number? And would I smile all the time or only when exposed to other people?

I opted for a smile somewhere in the middle of the spectrum, but all the time. If this is really supposed to be changing my brain, I want to give it maximum effect.

Through the grocery store aisles, in the car, as I sit here writing, my thoughts are the same. "Must maintain smile, must maintain smile." So far, though, there have been no big returned smiles and hearty handshakes. In fact quite the opposite. People in the store pointedly do not look at me, or sometimes give a sideways glance just as we pass. What's with this weirdo?

Maybe I just haven't given it enough time. Maybe I have to smile continuously for a certain time period before it begins to change my brain. Possibly, the people I see can tell that my attitude is not yet correct. I guess I'll just have to give it more time.