"Police search! Get on the ground!" We've been hearing that a lot the past couple of days. It's a little disconcerting to hear the morning song of birds mixed with the barking of commands. It's a little scary, passing through the parking lot, to see a line of guys in camouflage, helmets and bulletproof vests snaking around with guns drawn, alternately dropping to the asphalt or pointing into the vehicles. But it's also kind of cool. Police tactical teams are practicing across the street from us this week. The reason: Two houses have been sold to nearby Holy Trinity Catholic Church and are set for demolition. But before that happens, the church agreed to let police play with them for a while. That means that a half dozen times a day, we can look out a window and see eight or ten guys advance on our former neighbor's home, guns (well, I think they're some kind of practice gun because they have blue on the barrels) drawn and shouting. Then there's the routine pounding on the door. And the predictable BAM as the door is kicked in. Then they all come out and do it again. It's like the ending of the Blues Brothers, without the "Hut, hut, hut." Before that, it was the fire department. We'd look out and see smoke coming from under the roof, or water spraying out an upstairs window. (It was always our dream they would actually burn the houses down while we watched but...sigh...no luck). Cool and fun as all this is, though, I have some mixed feelings. We live in the oldest part of Lenexa. Our house is closing in on 100, but there's a mix of post World War II houses as well. Many are rentals. It's the kind of neighborhood that's looked down upon in much of Johnson County. I can't help wondering, as I see people drive past to take their kids to Catholic school, if they're thinking the SWAT teams are right at home in a neighborhood like ours. Maybe I'm being paranoid. I probably am. But the church and a nearby retirement home have been on an expansion kick for the past decade. Gradually, they have eaten away a lot of the old neighborhood. These two houses are simply the next in line. Someday, I'm sure, they'll want our house as well. We're in the way. It just feels like--with everything going the way it has--we're beset upon on all fronts. Like the person with a "kick me" sign taped to his back. Best to not think too much, I guess. Just enjoy the show across the street and try to hold out a few more years. Now where did I put that brainwaves CD?
Not much time today for a new post. Too many things going on. Instead, I'd like to invite everyone to come check out our new garden blog, Mike and Roxie's Vegetable Paradise. As the title suggests, it is a combined effort with my husband, Mike Hendricks. Gardening in Kansas City is an act of optimism in itself. Here's a pic of ours in progress:
It's Monday. It's rainy. It's cloudy and dark. Once again. But I'll resist the temptation to give in to pessimism today, especially after what was one of my darker posts on Friday. Today, instead, I'll allow myself to be inspired by words I heard in President Obama's speech to the National Academy of Sciences this morning. I know, I know. Being inspired by a politician in office is not the appropriate response for someone with a journalist's background. Instead, our reflex is to doubt, maybe even sneer a little. We cross our arms and sit back, waiting for disappointment. This is still my first reaction to anything coming out of a politician's mouth, and I know that some of my friends feel that way also. If it helps any, the thought in question isn't so much Obama's as it is Abe Lincoln's. Obama talked about Lincoln's signing of the act creating the NAS, a time when the outcome of the Civil War was far from certain. "Lincoln refused to accept that our nation's sole purpose was merely to survive," Obama said. He then went on to list Lincoln's optimistic agenda: land grant colleges and a transcontinental railroad. "Even in the hardest times and against the toughest odds, we have never given in to pessimism; we have never surrendered our fates to chance; we have endured; we have worked hard; we have sought our new frontiers," Obama said. That spoke to me today. Because that person who's thought is "merely to survive?" That's been me. We got the first small paycheck since Mike was cut back last week, and it's...uh...it's.......yeah. It's grim. There are still adjustments, of course. The lump sum "bridge payment" had so much withheld for taxes that the regular withholding will have to change. But.... So all weekend, I've been losing sleep over the idea of surviving. How to not merely survive but thrive? That's a tough one. By taking on way more than I have time for? Working around the clock? Possibly. By applying for jobs I'm in no way qualified for? Probably. But my grandmother and her family survived the Great Depression. I can, too. Let the fun begin.
Take your Daughter or Son to Work Day is over. Irene is back at school. We did so much goofing around that I never really had the chance to do that heart-to-heart with her about the world of work. It's been a couple of decades since I made my decision to leave full-time office employment to stay home with the kids. And because Irene is my youngest and she will be on her own in only a few short years, I've been doing a lot of looking back. There were a lot of complicated reasons I stopped working at my newspaper in the 1980s. Far fewer women worked outside the home before the recession of the early '80s. As the recession drove more into jobs, though, some writers began to talk of daycare and working mothers as a huge national experiment on our children. That swayed me. Partly, I could agree to their point that yes, feminists (and I consider myself one) had gone too far in demeaning the stay-at-home mom. Now, all these years later, my feelings are mixed. I want Irene to have a happy and fulfilling life. Yet the employment and child care options are not that different than they were 25 years ago. So in the spirit of optimism, here is my advice to her:
1.Work only for yourself. I know this goes contrary to what everyone teaches in school and Sunday school. And honestly, it's okay if you talk a good game about being compassionate and working for the team. But at your core level, be in it for yourself. Take your experiences and use them to your advantage. Always be on the make for the better opportunity.
2.Your workplace is not your family. I grew up watching sappy TV shows like Mary Tyler Moore. You'll do far better with The Office. (Check out the British version sometime.) This is important. You may really really like the people, but never forget that it's just business.
3.Sisterhood is a myth. Back when I was in school, there was a lot of talk about how much better the workplace would be if more women were in it. Theoretically, women would support each other and push each other forward. That hasn't panned out. In fact, just the opposite. Sadly, women are some of their own harshest critics. And men still don't respect us because we haven't shown the gender loyalty necessary to play on our own team. Expect to suffer some of the most egregious work fouls at the hands of a female colleague.
4.Do the thing you love...but only if it's possible to make good money. If you can't make good money, then consider doing the thing you love as a hobby. Because if it doesn't pay well, that's a sign that society doesn't value it. Hence, you will become bitter because you don't feel your efforts are appreciated. Maybe not the first few years. But eventually.
5.You'll be a cliche whatever you do, so choose the cliche you like best. If you're lucky enough to have kids and a job, you'll have a big decision to make. If you stay home, people will assume you're backwoods and uneducated (in good times) or over privileged and perfectionist (in hard times). If you work, you'll be an unbearable Type A momzilla (white collar job) or a neglectful and possibly dysfunctional drone who doesn't even feed the kids breakfast (blue collar or pink collar.) One thing for sure, you won't get the benefit of the doubt. The best thing you can do is choose your persona and then work it, baby!
6.And, given everything, I think you're better off working. Yes, you can benefit your kids by staying home. You may get along just fine for years. But if some huge economic shock comes, your family will be financially exposed and you'll be blaming yourself. It will be unbearable, take it from me.
Wow. This sounds kind of like I'm entering my depressive phase. While I'm checking my meds, here are two items to end on a happier note: Wizards win over NY Red Bulls, 1-0. Wooo--hoo! Go Wizards!
Yet another happy faced bug in Hawaii. Here's a story from the Telegraph.
It's Take Our Daughters and Sons to Work Day. So today, I have a co-blogger. Say hi, Irene.
Irene: Hola chicas and chicos .
Me: In the 20 years I've had kids in school, I've never taken any of them to work. This is the first time (and probably the last) that I've let anyone miss a school day for this. Am I the coolest mom, or what?
Irene: ummmm yeah 'bout that.....not really sure.....freinds say you're "groovy" but you're as lame as a black and white movie.
Me: Uh...what time is it again? 1:25? Yeah, I think you could still catch science class 7th hour if we hurry...
Irene: goddd nooooo! i just....um...no.
Me: So, were you wondering why I've never let any of you kids out of school for TYD&STW Day? Ask me. Ask me why.
Me: What a great question! Well, when the boys were school age, boys weren't really encouraged to go. It was supposed to be just girls. I always thought they would have benefitted just as much to see women in the workplace, but oh well. Then, I always felt a little bad that I worked from home. The idea was to get girls out of the house. Show them the correct choice--a career outside the home. And after all these years, I have seen the light. It is the correct choice, Irene.
Irene: I didnt read that at all so ill go on about pandas. Pandas what significant creatures they are. with their light fluffy coats and their black and white pattern. Just so lovable i could go on about them FOREVAAA!
Me: Okaaaay. Anyway, here's the other reason. The economy is making me become dangerously unsocialized. I used to believe you should keep your kids in school every possible day. Now, I look around me and say, "Meh. What's the point?"
Irene: alright something important is about to go down right here. CRISTIANO RONALDO is the most sexiest dude alive! with his rock hard body and cute face. He is a hotty with a swimmers body. fo sho
Me: Yeah. Roger that. Irene, what has our day been so far?
Irene: Alright Roxie/y our day so far has been quite interesting.....First, we had breakfast. Second, we played with puppy (einstein.) Third, we went to yoga BLAH. Fourth, we worked on key board merit schedule (boring as a monkey turd on a stick.) Fifth, we read a book contract. And now im being entertained.
Me: Yes. Entertaining it is. After this, we'll work on the garden blog, learn some html and maybe you can sit in on my only lesson today (if the student agrees).
Irene: *sarcasticly sayin* YAY!
Me: In other words, we've taken what was supposed to be a workplace experience and used it to totally screw off. Yay, us! Irene, what have you learned today? I know it wasn't spelling.
Irene: absolutly nothing ohhh wait! i learned that my mom is reallllllyyyyy boringgggggg!
Me: Yes. Yes I am. Don't follow my example. Get out there in business and work, girl!
Irene: i plan to. farrrrrrrrr awayyyy frooommmmm you/here.... gator smell ya later
Brain wave therapy is supposed to help me with my positive attitude problem. This I know from the claims on the web site of Kelly Howell. But after several hearings of the tape Positive Thinking, I wasn't feeling much different. I still had my rollercoaster emotions. I still woke up an hour early some mornings with cynicism and dread. So I began to wonder if I was doing something wrong. I went back to Howell's web site and as it turned out, yes. Yes I was. My error had to do with Track 2. This track is the special track. It needs to be experienced on headphones, Ms. Howell says. Aha! So the next day, I set up my headphone listening experience.
I'll describe it in a second. But first a pause for a quick clarification. Most of the things I'm trying to improve my outlook are done because they sound like fun and might give me a good chuckle. Brain wave therapy falls into this category--because it sounds so crazy. But there is a reason to take it a little bit seriously. The brain waves in question for this CD are theta waves. These are the type of waves said to be most active just as a person is most relaxed--in meditation, just before sleep and hypnosis. And since there's a lot of research out there suggesting meditation and hypnosis work, that's reason enough to put skepticism on temporary hold.
But enough academia. On to the therapeutic experience. The headphone setup at our house is not what you'd call maximal for a brain wave tape. We do have phones, yes, but the cord is short. Ever since our recliner fell apart (and we didn't replace it) there's been no seat near enough. So my therapy had to take place on the floor next to the stereo. I got myself set up with a pillow and some Flamin' Hot Cheetos and fired up the CD player. Track 2, like the first one, starts out with a low, growly somewhat pulsating sound. Have you ever been on a large boat? A car ferry, perhaps? This just like what you get standing above the engines. The low sound went on a bit, soon overlayered with some higher frequencies that were more in the form of traditional music. I decided to stop eating the Cheetos, since my crunching interefered with the sounds. I turned up the bass until the engine thrumming began to feel like one of those massage chairs at Sharper Image (how I miss that store). The higher instrument began to play gently up and down my spine. Ahhh. My spine...I began to feel that loose, silly feeling, just like I do when trying not to fall asleep during the commercial breaks of the Colbert Report. From somewhere far away I heard a voice. "Mom, who's your favorite sexiest celebrity?" Huh? I cracked open my eyes. My daughter stood a few feet away. "Mmmff. Go away. Brain waves." Damn Internet. Back into the music. I tried to let myself sink in. Then the delightful bass sound abruptly cut completely out. "The rest of us can hear this." It was my husband, turning the knob that silences the tape to the regular speakers. I sat up instantly, trying to squelch the white-hot rage. Then flipped the knob back. No chance, amigo. Must have my bass. They left me alone after that and I sank back in. Higher frequencies came and went. And then...a human voice singing. "Ahh." Or something like that. I felt a sensation on my neck. A pulling across my throat. I reached up...the headphone wire. The cat was playing with the headphone wire. I waved her away. No matter what they say about pets and happiness, you have to watch out. Because cats will try to strangle you in your sleep. A few minutes later the track ended. My arms and legs were so heavy, they could barely move. I had to wipe some drool off the side of my mouth. Did it work? Who knows? Kelly (I call her Kelly now) says I need to listen every day for 4-6 weeks. But it really doesn't matter. Because me likee.
This music reminded me somewhat of Continuum, by Vangelis. Here's a sample:
Want to try brain wave therapy here? Here's a YouTube clip:
I didn't know what to expect, exactly, from a book on tape that claimed to be "brain wave therapy." Perhaps it would be a learned discussion of biofeedback or the latest research on brain scans. People are always watching which portions of the brain "light up" on scans when you remember this or that. In fact, researchers recently located two areas of the brain that become active with positive thoughts. They're now checking into what goes wrong with these spots when a person gets depressed. (Reuters story here.) I just know the title appealed to me. Subliminal Success, by Kelly Howell (Random House Books on Tape, 2008). The collection includes three of CDs: Positive Thinking, Winning and Create Success. Ah, here we go. If it's subliminal, maybe it will help me meditate. Meditation has also been said to be useful in creating a calm and successful life. Jerry Seinfeld even endorses it on the Maharishi University of Management web page. Meditation is something I've always been colossally bad at. Yes, I know it's supposed to help you fight stress and keep your blood pressure lower. But every time I'm in a yoga class where there's meditation and we're all lying there listening to the calm music and trying to empty our minds, my music brain kicks in. This is what I'm usually thinking: Okay, focus on the breath. Breathing in. Breathing out. Is that a pan flute? Do I hear a pan flute? Wonder what ever happened to Zamfir? Breathing in. Yes. Definitely pan flute. With some kind of...zither maybe. And some low tone. Didge? So okay, we have pan flute, zither-like stringed instrument, possibly a didge or something electronic and--hey, that little piano cascade was nice. And we're not going anywhere, just sticking with one-four-one for chords. New Age. Percussion has so many great instruments. Why don't they use--oh, is it time to sit up?
I opened up the case and popped in the CD I was most interested in. Positive Thinking. The music started with some growly low tones and built. I gathered this must be the introduction. In a few seconds, Ms. Howell would begin her positive attitude talk. Maybe the music would keep playing in the background to create a mood. A few more second went by. Then a few minutes. I did some light chores while I waited. After five minutes, though, it became obvious that the new agey music with the bass growl and the tinkly piano was all I was going to hear. What the...? Well, it's a library copy. Maybe someone swiped the talking part and this was just the sound track. The case was no help. It gave thumbnails of the CDs, plus basic information. Three compact discs. Three hours. Self help and health. "Read by Kelly Howell." Is she supposed to be reading something? If so, it's at a volume so low that it can't be heard. And if it can't be heard, then how can it influence my positive attitude? Or maybe it's audible, but masked by the ever-present low tones. More than anything, I'd like to get my hands on her data files to see what's going on here. My impression of subliminal messages has been that they are subtly hidden and not usually noticeable on first passing. But when you know they're there and you look for them, they reveal themselves. It's like Alfred Hitchcock. When you know where to look for him in his films, you can find him. He's not invisible. No amount of fiddling with the bass and treble would reveal the voice of Kelly Howell, though. And here's another thing: What instruments did they use? Who wrote the music? Where was it recorded and mixed? And who played piano. No credits were evident. This bothers me a lot. Kelly Howell gets credit for "reading," which we can't hear. But none of the musicians--whom we can hear--rates a mention.
Most of all, I wondered, what is she saying? It's supposed to be about positive thinking but it could be anything. Worship the Devil. Or Kill a public figure. Or come find out more about Dianetics. And how would I ever know differently, until my trial?
I had to go to Howell's own web site to find out the basics. Howell says she started Brain Sync about 20 years ago by making "reprogramming" tapes in her home. She now claims over 2 million audio programs in print from about 60 titles (that figure's from Amazon) She also says her work has been embraced by medical professionals. Her tapes are organized by brain wave. Positive Thinking used the theta waves, which are the ones you feel just as you're about to go to sleep. She also lists what the subliminal messages are. Positive Thinking includes: "I am optimistic; I feel great, I love my life; I am clear and lucid; I am lucky and I adjust effortlessly." I couldn't find any musician credits on the site, though.
Well okey-dokey then. I've been a pessimist so long, maybe my brain is calcified. Maybe a little theta therapy is just what the doctor ordered. So I'm going to let Kelly get right into my cortex and work her magic fingers. Did I mention I feel lucky?
Next: Riding the brain kahuna.
Oops. Almost forgot. Here's a pic of our new puppy, a German shepherd/lab mix from Animal Haven. His name's Einstein. Or possibly Waffles. Or Sluggo. But probably Einstein.
This weekend, we look for a dog. This may seem contraindicated, given all that's happened the past month. With a smaller paycheck and financial upheaval a certainty, the expense of a pet seems a little...well...impractical. The adoption fee, which covers surgical sterilization at most shelters, runs around $100. Then you have the food, the bedding, the chew toys. Nonetheless, when Saturday afternoon rolls around we are packing ourselves into the van and heading for Animal Haven, Wayside Waifs and wherever else we think of. Because We. Need. A. Dog. Actually, finding a pooch has been on our to-do list for a while now. After Speedy, our "shepherd mix" died of old age and cancer, we grieved for a while. But when the second Christmas without her came and went last year, family members began to drop hints. "We'll wait for cold season to be over," we said. It would be easier on us for the house training. And now it's April and we have a choice. Label ourselves as too scared and poor for a pet. Or thumb our noses at the Cosmic Joke God and take the risk. Which would be the more optimistic? Besides, pets are supposed to help improve your mood if you're depression-prone. It says so here, on Self Growth.com. I know the cats improve our mood tremendously when they mess up their pans and play loudly at night. (But all is forgiven when we find out their "play" was really some mouse killin'.) Speedy, too, could be a happiness enhancer when she wasn't destroying furniture and windows. She amused us by running the "figure 8" around the dining room and coffee tables, and by grabbing the toothpaste off the bathroom vanity and running through the house. Look! I have toothpaste! Chase me! The only qualm I have about it has to do with what I found on the Internet when I typed in "dogs and depression." Oops. It turns out that dogs may themselves get depressed. So it looks like my family could actually bring the dog down. I sure hope the shelters don't give us any psychological tests. As for our search, we do not plan to take as long as the Obamas. None of us has any allergies. If possible, we'd like a talking dog. One who could tell us about his/her day. Like one of these posted on YouTube.
Or maybe just a dog who can do funny things to make us laugh, like these:
Ah well. Here's Patti Page with the inevitable song. I love how it gets all Vegassy at the very end.
I've been especially wordy lately so today I'm giving everyone a break. I won't rant on and on for a change. Here are a couple of quick items. First, I now have a line on my next career. I want to become a franchisee of a local Sarah's Smash Shack. (CNN story here.) Sarah Lavely of San Diego, CA, is a former veterinarian whose new business seems aptly timed. Her's is a place where you can vent. You go in, plunk down some coin, suit up in safety gear and you can throw plates, glasses and other breakables to your heart's content. Take it from me, there's nothing like the satisfying sound of bone china hitting concrete at 40 miles an hour. It's so much cheaper than that Glock, and there's no waiting period. And here's the beauty part--you don't have to spend hours in triage and cleanup afterward like usual.
I hope someone forwards this next video to the Kansas City Council. See?! See what we're missing out on by not having commuter rail? This is what's going on in the Central Train Station in Antwerp, Belgium.
Actually, it was a publicity stunt staged by a television station, apparently for a reality show looking for auditioners for the Sound of Music. Hey, somebody should have told the Tea Partiers to do this yesterday. If they had, I'd have gone. Well, maybe next time...
Yay! Give it up for Tax Day! Show some love, already, for the IRS! I was prepared, this morning, for just an average Wednesday. Big teaching day. Lovely warmer weather. But otherwise nothing special. Then, my local Fox News affiliate reminded me that today is Tax Day and I should be feeling outraged! Angry!! Mad as hell!!! I should be bent over my sign marker, breathing deep as I scribble out tax protest signs for the big rally. To them I say: Tsk, tsk. How negative. Don't you realize I'm an optimist now? Instead of raging against injustice and stupidity of government, as I have done for the past eight years, my new strategy is to find the good in a bad situation. And then make fun of it. In the words of the Joker, "Why so serious?" (Full disclosure: We lost our second dependent claim when our middle son graduated from KU last spring. So, for the first time in years we had to write a check to Uncle Sam. $75. Am I happy about this? I think you know the answer.) Instead of letting my bitterness eat away at my liver, though, I'm taking the positive way this year. Hey, there's a party and I've been invited! So here, ladies and gentlemen, are five reasons I'm grateful on Tax Day.
First of all, I'm grateful to be living in a country that allows a Tax Day. Having us all pay taxes on the same day--and only that one day--each year focuses the anger and makes it easy to get a platform for a protest. If the US really wanted to go all Totalitarian on us the government would fix it so we paid in a staggered system by last name or birthday. Like we do our car tags. Those businesses that pay quarterly...you never see them out on the streets with signs. Yet our government does not do this. It values free speech. So come on patriots! Instead of being out there burning the flag, you should be on your knees in gratitude that such protests are allowed. (Uh oh. Did I say burning the flag? Well I'm sure that's wrong. I'm sure no one is burning any flags.) I like the idea of a single tax paying day so much that I wish everything was set up this way. Why don't we have a national utility bill day? Or maybe a national rent paying day? A bank ATM fee paying day? I would love to see some discussions of these expenses on national TV.
2. Every fun list should have one serious reason. So here it is: Taxes make it possible for my mom to live on her own. Because of a disability, she's never been able to work at much more than a menial job most of her life. As such, she is qualified for a subsidized apartment. My grandparents worked and saved for years to leave her money to live on but it still wouldn't be enough without the government subsidy. Why should you help pay for my mother's apartment, you ask? Answer: Because I'm helping pay for whatever your relatives might be getting.
3.Taxes keep our house from burning down. True! I'm not talking about taxes that pay the fire department. I mean fire prevention. If I didn't have to keep various slips of paper in order for Tax Day, they'd be strewn all over the place and it would only be a matter of time.
4.Having a Tax Day is cute. And it's a pleasant diversion from the other things going on. It brings a lot of television stations' resources to the outside of the post office and other federal buildings, usually until midnight. So we spend our viewing time thinking about an event that comes, predictably, on the same day each year. Like Valentine's Day. In this way, we are spared from more tiresome news items, such as unemployment, corporate cheats, health care crises and the president's dog.
5. And finally, who wouldn't love a day that has inspired so much music? I'm ending this list with a few samples from YouTube. First, a couple of grassroots, from-the-ground-up entries about the Tea Parties:
Country music not your thing? How about some rap?
Here's one that originated in a law school. If nothing else, you'll learn what Section 61 is for.
And finally, my favorite, about a poured drink tax in Allegheny County, Pa.
One of the best things about Easter weekend is that it always seems to be a big movie blowout. This weekend we had a choice of some older Hitchcock films, Independence Day and of course, The Ten Commandments. (MO-ses!) We chose Hitchcock's Saboteur, which is a 1942 film about a man (the puppy-faced Robert Cummings) wrongly accused who must run from police as he hunts down the true saboteur. I know I've seen this movie before but apparently I didn't remember it well. Because, whoa! WTF? This was out in 1942, you say? Knowing that, plus the fact that it was about the extremely unpopular wartime crime of sabotage gives you a few expectations. You'd expect the movie makers to go way over the top because all the films back then put in a lot of pro-war propaganda, right? So at the very least, Cummings' character should be hunted and beaten by angry mobs, adults and children alike. Surprise! The good citizens do not hold him captive at gunpoint while someone runs for a rope. In fact, just the opposite. They actually hide him from authorities and help him get away. First it's the truck driver who points police in the wrong direction, then a train of circus performers and finally a kindly blind man living out in the country. This was a little weird, to say the least, for my post-9/11 brain to take in. In fact, it's hard to imagine any modern movie in which common people would routinely work against the authorities. It's almost as hard to imagine as having a TV courtroom drama where every defendant is wrongly accused and the defense lawyer is the good guy. (Looking at you, Perry Mason.)
Speaking of good guys and bad guys, in Saboteur, the bad guys are--ta da--the wealthy! They have servants at their country homes and put on elaborate balls. Rather than be grateful to an American system that made them rich, they wish to install fascism, because it "gets things done" for them.
Which makes me think that maybe there's been a form of reverse brainwashing going on for the past 20 or so years. Almost all the shows now portray authority figures and prosecutors as the good guys. Accused criminals are always scumball lowlifes. Normal working people, like those in the Hitchcock movie, are most often either dangerously stupid or clueless. And the rich? They're to be admired for their extravagance because don't we all want to be like them?
I know what you're thinking. Where's my optimism peg? Hold on, it's coming.
Now that the disgraceful immorality of some of our wealthiest citizens has been revealed, I think it's not too much of a stretch to think that the anti-common-folk spin in the entertainment industry might go back the other way. The little guy will be a hero for a change. Bankers will be evil, just like they were during Bonnie and Clyde's day. I know it would mean a lot to have normal working people portrayed as smart and resourceful, instead of just a drain on the tax and health care system. A few of us might even be cheered and empowered enough to get up and find a fix for the mess we're in. Maybe we'll even see some stories with us little people sticking together. A most dangerous concept indeed.
Magic. We've all been there, one way or another. Maybe you don't watch the sixth inning of a playoff game for fear of jinxing it. Maybe you rub a little spit onto the corner of that job application for good luck. You wear yellow underwear on New Year's Day. Or maybe you're normal and just avoid broken mirrors and the number 13. I've been having a little fun with magic myself, as the economy seems to spin out of control around us. A little magic seems like harmless good fun. A little religion...not so much. I didn't go to church Easter Sunday. The rest of my family went. My daughter helped set out Easter eggs for the little kids. Me--I stayed home. I'm still feeling guilty, I guess, which may explain why I'm blogging about it today. This is a big deal to me. I can't ever remember having missed an Easter Sunday. In college, my fervent roommates and I became "born again" Christians. We used to go to church Sunday morning, Sunday night and sometimes Wednesday night, too. Later, in Kansas City with young kids, Mike and I still managed to go almost every Sunday. The past three years or so, though, we've skipped more and more. First it was just in summer. Then it was most of the year. Finally our attendance boiled down to just Christmas and Easter. This year...I don't know. Easter dawned and I just didn't feel like going. I bring this up for two reasons: The Newsweek cover story (please subscribe) this week was titled, "The Decline and Fall of Christian America," by Jon Meacham. He quotes the American Religious Identification Survey, showing that the percentage of people who call themselves Christian has dropped about 10 percentage points since 1990--from 86 to 76 percent, while the number of unaffiliated has doubled. At the same time, religious faith pops up there right along with "positive attitude," as a good thing for mental and physical health. (See related articles here and here.) So apparently I'm part of a trend. The Meacham article is mostly a reaction piece. It doesn't go deeply into why people's attitudes are changing. I can't speak for everyone else on that survey, but what I feel is religious fatigue. It's been building for a long, long time--since back in the early '80s. That was when we started hearing endlessly about right-wing religious fundamentalism and how it was reshaping politics and the economy. First it endorsed Reaganomics, then ever more extreme forms of laissez-faire capitalism. And social issues. Those who disagreed were renounced ever more loudly. I started to hear with amazing regularity that I couldn't possibly be considered a Christian if I voted a particular way, or disagreed with a particular thing. I couldn't possibly be both a liberal and a Christian. And, I don't know, at one point--maybe it was during the campaign season--I just quit arguing. Yeah. Maybe you're right. Maybe I'm not a Christian after all. It felt good just to say it and get it over with. Because when I think back on the past two decades, it's been American-style Christianity backing up the politicians who got us into the mess we're in. Ergo, American-style Christianity should be willing to shoulder some of the blame for the shambles that is the world economy. So does the decline of self-identified Christians mean optimism is also on the decline? Can I possibly have the hope I need without a religion? Especially now, when I should be praying like mad? We'll see. All I know is, I feel a little better for having unburdened myself. Ahh yes. Another gray, cold Monday morning.
I've got to stop all this worrying about money. College funds, retirement funds, all the things the stock market took away this past few months. It's not good to dwell on it. It's not optimistic. An optimist would be investing, now that it seems things are on the upswing. And so I'm going to start focusing on things that can give some hope--or at least a little entertainment--in weeks to come. Just as some turn to gambling (are all gamblers by default, optimists?) I'm seriously considering putting some of my teacher's mite on stocks. It's only money, right? And the first thing I'll back, as soon as I can scrape a couple of sawbucks together, will be anything that has anything to do with the Tetris. Because dang! That video game can fix anything! This comes up because I've recently become interested in brain waves and brain wave therapy (ask me later). In the course of reading about brain wave research, I came across Tetris again and again. Exhibit A: Researchers at Harvard Medical School used Tetris to study how the brain uses dreams to learn things. The study's subjects, who were asked to learn to play Tetris every day, reported dreaming about the game, or seeing images of the game's colored shapes floating before their eyes just as they went to sleep. The scientists believed that their brains used the sleeping state to reinforce and review the things they needed to learn. To this day, the person who dreams about vexing problem he or she must solve is said to be experiencing the "Tetris effect." (Here's a report in Scientific American, 2000) Exhibit B: Playing Tetris within a certain time after a traumatic experience may help alleviate "flashbacks" and other post-traumatic stress disorder symptoms. Oxford University scientists came up with these results after showing their subjects a disturbing film, then having some of them play the game. Those who played, later reported fewer or lighter memories of the stressful film. (BBC report here) The theory: If you busy yourself with Tetris soon after the traumatic event, you interfered with the brain's ability to form vivid memories of it. Therefore, these vivid memories will not come back so strongly in the form of flashbacks. Admittedly, this study still needs some follow-ups. (And, I hate to admit it, but this seems to back up my grandmother's folk wisdom about "putting it out of your mind. Just keep yourself busy with something and forget about it." She can't be right about that. Can't, can't, can't.) If it's true, though, I could see myself stocking up on hand-held Tetris--for emergencies. They'd be in my house, to play in the back of the ambulance after my husband's ladder and chain-saw accident. They'd be in my car, for after that truck driver almost kills me. (Well, wait. Maybe no Tetris in the car. That's what texting's for.) Who knows, maybe if I'd had Tetris, I would remember junior high as a land of rainbows and unicorns, where goodwill and kindness reigned over all and nerds and gearheads walked together in peace. It would have helped this pas few weeks, for sure.
Here's a guitar version of the theme, in case it isn't already stuck like glue inside your head.
When things look bad you suck it up. You get tough. You show what you're made of. That's the conventional wisdom. But given our reaction so far to bad economic news, I'm beginning to have niggling doubts about our own family's fortitude. We know we're going to have to make some drastic spending cuts. We tell each other it won't be forever. Our income will improve some day. Yet so far, we haven't found the strength to make much of a dent in our spending. When hard times hit my grandmother's family in the 1930s, they made do with less. When she was alive, she used to tell me about her favorite childhood "treat"--a piece of bread smeared with lard and sugar. Which makes me wonder: Are we tough enough to eat a lard sandwich? I decided to find out.
There's a fair amount on the web about cooking and the Great Depression. On YouTube, a 91-year-old survivor of those times named Clara has a whole series of films cooking the food of her childhood. Check out this one for "Poor Man's Meal."
Fried potatoes and onions. What's not to like about that? But I run into trouble where she adds the hot dogs and tomato sauce. I spent several years watching my picky boys eat Beanie-Weenies from the can. As a result, I can't look at a cut up hot dog now without a strong urge to retch. So hot dogs in our family casserole? Ain't happening. I started at the store with a couple of foods that probably weren't available when grandma was little: Ramen noodles and Spam. Ramen noodles are, of course, the favorite of broke college students everywhere. This week they were on sale for 20 cents a package. Even when I threw out the disgusting "flavor" packets, I still saved money against regular pasta. It turns out there are several recipe sites just for ramen noodle lovers. I checked out this one and whoa! Ramen noodle chocolate cakes? Ramen noodles and Jello!? (Appropriately enough, there's an ad beneath this recipe that teases, "How I lost 32 pounds using a crazy method." I'm willing to bet that method was the recipe above.) I was encouraged, though, that one of the pictured recipes used Spam, because that's exactly what I had in mind. Spam, the pressed ham in a square can, is enjoying a popularity upswing, says the New York Times. Apparently hard times make people think back fondly on institutional meals of years gone by. I couldn't quite let go of my family's health, so I picked up a can of Spam Lite. At $3.19, it didn't seem like that great of a deal. But oh well. I should add here, that this isn't the first time I've cooked with Spam. A few years back, Mike entered a Spam cooking contest. Afterwards, a reader sent him another can, which I made into...something. I can't remember what. And we brought home a can of spicy Spam from the Spam museum in Rochester, Minn. one year just out of curiosity. As I was leaving the store, I found the lard, tucked quietly between a freezer case and some rawhide dog chews. It had dust on it. Had some wise guy drawn a skull and crossbones?
My supper dish was fairly simple. I cut the Spam into cubes and fried it hard, then added a chopped onion and some frozen peas, a bay leaf and some thyme. I thought this might be a good place to use some cherry juice I had frozen from our tree last summer, so I put in about a half cup. But it was sweeter than I remembered (these are sour cherries) so I put in a little soy sauce and then thickened the whole thing with a cornstarch slurry. The Spam mixture was served atop a bed of three packages of cooked noodles, sans flavor packets. I made the lard sandwich just as my grandmother described: Lard spread on bread and sprinkled with sugar. While I was at it, my husband wandered through the kitchen. "Just so you know, I'm not eating that. No matter what." So I cut the sandwich into appetizer-sized cubes and added poked in some festive colored toothpicks. No one can resist party toothpicks. You'll eat lard and like it, mister. There were the expected jokes at the table. "Could this give you liver failure?" asked my son, the med-school hopeful. But everyone thought the Spam was passable, if a little sweet. As for the lard sandwich--what can I say? Colored toothpicks make everything better. Mike had two. It was an okay meal, if you're just desperate for meat. We probably would have been better off, though, with one of my endless vegetarian recipes.
Very funny, you may say. The hunger and poverty of the Great Depression wasn't a joke. No, it wasn't. But our experience has made me think the people who will survive will be the ones laughing anyway. Maybe fancy toothpicks really are the key. Even for a family of marshmallows like ours.
As each week passes we get ever closer to the drastically lower paycheck. We thought it would be this week, but now it turns out we have one pay period more to go. Enough time has passed that by now, we aren't feeling the dread as much. But it's hard to decide exactly which stage of grief we're in. The Kubler-Ross model is: denial, anger, bargaining, depression and finally acceptance. I think the order may be somewhat different for workplace grief, though. At least for us. So far I can identify anger, bargaining, depression and maybe now, denial mixed with guilt (because after all, other people are losing their jobs completely.) No acceptance yet, though. But it's pointless to dwell too long on feelings. Not optimistic. We need action. With such a large pay cut on the horizon, the logical thing would be to start drastically cutting expenses right away, wouldn't it? But so far in our house, it has been just the opposite. Need some new jeans? Better get them this week while we still have enough. A movie? Sure. It may be the last we see for a while. Better get that physical while we still have enough for the deductable. Planning ahead, though, has proved to be next to impossible. Part of the problem is that figuring the new check is amazingly complicated. We'll stop having 401K money deducted. Same with life insurance and long-term disability. Then we'll probably go down a tax bracket, so that will affect how much comes off the top. Also, the Obama tax break will kick in, and that will help a little more. What it all boils down to is I have no idea how much the new amount will be. Consequently, I don't know how much to cut. That hasn't stopped us from trying, though. But from the preliminary talks we've had, it sounds like cutting the expenses is going to be at least as hard as getting all the pork out of Congress's spending plan. Every time anyone puts something up for discussion, it turns out to be someone else's favorite air base. HBO--But mama! Flight of the Conchords! All the movies. Bill Maher. New York Times--Hey, it's a business expense. And the crosswords! Cable TV--Well, maybe. How hard would it be to get everything on our outdated computer? The gym--C'mon. It's keeping us all alive.
And on and on. So for the time being, we're going to try not to cut the fun things, and concentrate on smaller things until we know more. With that in mind, I'll be looking back on a previous post, "Try these money saving tips," with an eye toward some creative cost cutting.
Monday posts are the hardest. Maybe it's because I'm still grieving the loss of the weekend. Or because it's only 30 degrees, windy and cloudy right now. I just don't have it in me to attempt humor. Yet it also seems wrong, on a Monday, to subject others to some of the darkly serious thoughts plaguing me this weekend. Topics. Let's see... The advice to "do the thing you love" vs. the hurt when that thing is no longer an option? No. Would I advise my daughter to break from her career some day to raise kids, given what's happened? Uh...let's don't go there today. Comical ways to cut our budget? Try me later, when it seems funny.
So instead, today's topic will be the activity that truly defines both optimists and saps--the vegetable garden. We've had some form of vegetable garden since our second year in Kansas City--twenty-four years in all. This surely puts us somewhere in the top tier of both optimists and saps. Because to grow vegetables in this area takes either a blind belief in positive outcomes or naivete on a scale that is touching and yet sad. Having moved here from the garden of Eden (Iowa) I was something of a garden snob.I remember thinking on the drive down: Look at the limestone ledges. Look at the pasture land. Surely that's not a good sign. And what's with all this hot wind? Yet we went ahead anyway, first with a small plot at our rental house, then a community garden, then a garden on a neighbor's land and finally (!) our own plot at our own house. All my Iowa instincts proved correct, too. Over the years we've experienced the following: Drought so bad the soil turned beige and tomatoes remained spindly through July. Flooding that soured the soil until the rain spigot turned off in July and the garden became hard as the tennis courts at Wimbledon. Mass infestation of spider mites and some yellow and black bug I never could identify. Theft of garden produce from mysterious invaders. Deer? Squirrels? Raccoons? Neighbors? Freak late freezes that wiped out every bit of early planting we did.
We start again every spring, just the same. And from all indications, more people are interested in vegetable gardens this year than in at least the past 20. Participation is up in gardening "schools" put on by the extension office. The Obamas started a garden at the White House. Why? Why go through all that, year after heartbreaking year, when food is readily available for the buying? There are obvious answers. The economy keeps grocery prices high while people are out of work. Customers are fed up with endless recalls for salmonella, e Coli, etc. They want to cut down on their carbon footprint. But I think it all boils down to one overriding reason: Control. You keep your thermostat at 65 during the day in winter and 60 at night and it does not get you ahead. The rates go up anyway. You work unpaid overtime and you do not get ahead. You get laid off. You make what you think are sound investments for retirement, like grandma told you, and they turn out to be a scam. You read all the labels on the package and they turn out to be a lie. Drought. Flood. Insects. At least you have a fighting chance against those.
I went out and looked at our garden today. Don Harman predicts a hard freeze tonight (well, at least it's not a catastrophic solar event). The potatoes are not up yet, but I could see signs of peas and onion tops, tentatively poking at the topsoil. The cherry buds are still tight fisted, but the apples are further along.The over-wintered garlic...well, that's a risk you take. I found myself wanting to yell at them, "Stay under. Don't be an optimist. Keep your heads down until this all blows over. Just hang in a little while longer." Because maybe this will be the last hard freeze. Then again, maybe it won't.
Every so often, you'll hear someone scornfully refer to the "dead tree" version of the newspaper. You don't necessarily have to waste that newsprint, though. Here's a way to take the newspaper and feel less guilty about the "dead trees."
It was a lot of fun rewriting an old fable about the rewards of hard work into a neo-communist tract. But as I was doing it yesterday, I realized just how inadequate Aesop's characters are to express the nuances of today's economy. Not many of us have the spirit of the ant who works himself to death for the benefit of the group. Well, maybe the Japanese company men touted by the Reaganites back in the '80s. Are they still the norm? And the grasshopper is also a confusing image. Is he a musician, living the bohemian lifestyle? Or a tobacco-spitting redneck out to game the system? Anyway, squeezing American capitalism into the fable seems a pretty tight fit. And it skirts a better question: What type of insect would an optimist be? The first temptation is to look for bugs that seem kind of human. What better optimist than a bug with a somewhat human face, for example? An insect that seems to look you straight in the eye and say, "How dare you think of squashing me! I'm one of you!" I found two or three good candidates on the web. The samurai beetle:
The shield bug:
And the skull crab spider:
But as it turns out, two of those bugs are stink bugs, and, I don't know, it seems wrong that an optimist would be stinky. (I think I may have found my new avatar, though.)
Likewise, I had trouble with what I'll call the "bloodsucker family," Fleas, ticks, mosquitos and the like. And wasps. Insects that lay their eggs inside of other insects...wow. All those bugs would make pretty good villains in the fable. But you couldn't call them optimists.
The water spider would make a decent optimist, though. This little bug lives and hunts underwater, despite the fact that it has absolutely no physical adaptations to make it easier. It can't breathe underwater. Instead, the water spider carries pockets of air down on its abdomen and makes a bubble nest, which it has to keep replenishing. It would be like one of us saying, "Hey, you know, I like swimming. Why not set up house about 20 miles offshore? I don't have any scuba gear but that's no problem. I'll just bob up every so often and collect some air in my shirt."
Maybe someone should introduce them to those bubble-blowing dolphins.
The dung beetle is another obvious choice for optimistic insect. Dung beetles are famous for living in, working with and eating feces. Some of them roll it into balls and pushing those giant balls of feces up and down the countryside all day long. Here's a video of one with his special prize that I would nominate for "feel good movie of the year."
On second thought, maybe the dung beetle isn't the best choice for optimist bug. He does what most of us do every day, after all. Nothing to watch here, folks.
Okay. There is one bug. One who stands alone in her tenacity, inner strength and ability to inspire. Ladies and gentlemen, the cockroach.
She's an opportunist who takes every adverse situation an turns it to her favor. I have personally seen cockroaches eat laundry detergent. Not the stuff you buy today, either, but a real he-man's detergent, filled with phosphates and all kind of other stuff deemed too dangerous for us mere humans. A cockroach doesn't bow to the authority of the hive. She doesn't grovel by prettifying herself or having pictures on her back. She doesn't stink. She survives, even thrives, despite that pile of garbage that surrounds her. She eats, she lives, and when we try to wipe her out, she gives it back by climbing up through the sewer pipes and giving us a good scare. If that isn't something to pattern yourself after, I don't know what is.
Forget the DOW. Forget the deficit. As we move into the second quarter of 2009, a really important decision looms before us. Should we be ants or grasshoppers? You remember the Aesop fable. The busy ant kept his nose to the grindstone, stayed in line, did things right. When winter came, he was warm and well prepared. The grasshopper, meantime, drank deep from life's nectar, had fun and ended up shivering and hungry. When winter came, he had to go begging at the ant's door. At that point, you can take your pick of endings. Either the ant told him "tough luck" and he died or else the ant showed his kind nature and shared. As we've watched large corporations getting handouts this winter, we've often wondered if it's worth it, to stay ants. In fact, I toyed with the idea of rewriting the fable to suit modern times. Then I looked online and--whoa!--rewriting the ant and grasshopper story is something of a cottage industry. Michelle Malkin claims a version that has made the rounds. In it, the tireless ant, which is supposed to be the workers, is beset by sneering grasshopper bankers who start a group that sounds like ACORN and demand access to easy credit and questionable mortgages and--wait. I guess in this version the ants are the martyred corporate bigwigs who later come with hands out to the government And the grasshoppers are...us? Another site, Positive Liberty, takes a similar turn, mentioning Jesse Jackson, Oprah and Kermit the Frog and taking a little swipe at Republicans as well. Then the readers chime in with their own alternative versions. I'm confused. We paid our bills and lived, with the exception of a family vacation and the dog's illness, within our means. When we refinanced, our mortgage payment went up, not down, so we would pay less in the long run. So I really don't think we're the grasshoppers. And I know for sure the top "talent" of GM and AIG, etc are not the ants. So okay, I'll take a little crack at it. There once was an intrepid little ant. Well, a colony of ants really, because these ants helped each other out. They didn't believe much in rugged individualism. When they all worked hard, they all reaped the benefits. Anyway, these ants stayed at it all summer long, carrying food back and forth in single file for the good of the commune--ity. Just across the meadow there was an arrogant grasshopper. This guy was a real user. Since he was so much bigger than the ants, it was easy to just stomp on them and bully them out of their food, and he did just that. The ants just shrugged and kept on working, though. As summer passed, the grasshopper took more and more food from fewer and fewer ants. By September, he noticed something: There wasn't any more food to take. The indignant grasshopper stormed to the ant colony to demand the ants get back to work. He was shocked by what he found. The ants were mostly dead from overwork, trying to feed both themselves and the grasshopper. "Get up, get up!" the grasshopper cried. "How will I eat if you don't get back to work?" A small voice rasped from nearby. "When you work, you should reap the benefits." There you have it. A communist ant and grasshopper story. That was fun.
Tomorrow: Insects continued.
(Note to literal-minded readers: I've always been pretty direct, haven't I? If I have problems with particular people, I just come out and say it. So read this at with that in mind. It is an allegory. About the bailouts. And insects.)
Welcome to my journey. I am a piano teacher and composer and former newspaper reporter who took time off to raise kids and never made it back. Inexplicably, I am not a natural optimist. Is it possible to change?
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