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.