PARENTAL RESPONSIBILITY WITH UNCOMPROMISED RELATIONSHIP

We inadvertently sabotage our child's ability to engage in healthy relationships and/or regard us as qualified parents when we postpone correcting unwanted behavioral issues. Our choice to do so usually stems from the belief that by taking such action, we will disrupt the serenity of our intended domestic bliss.

Truth is, avoiding such responsibility often firmly establishes the increase of undesirable and sustained behavioral patterns, from which there will not easily (and may NEVER be,) escape. These issues will furthermore serve to define our measure as people and parents, by our families, friends and the world at large.

From 30 years of trial and success, trial and error, while I have often fallen short of parenting greatness, I've remained willing to admit and correct my shortcomings, once identified. A career of working with children and families has for me served to reinforce, augment and revise "Parenting 101." I do not portend to be a rocket scientist, astronaut, electrician, accountant, doctor or phlebotomist, but I do know what I know, and I know babies and children; and I know about nurturing and protecting the hearts of others. I believe that each of us has strengths possibly yet undiscovered, but when we compare ourselves to others, we render ourselves pretty much worthless.

As a dedicated peace-seeker, when my participation toward improvement becomes evident, you'll find me among the line-leaders facing off with worst-first, understanding that improved relationship will follow. When my children were little, I wanted to ensure that wherever we went, they would be welcome to return, any time. This meant that as I shared my expectations with them early-on, I demonstrated my commitment to listen out for their needs. Compromise would have only delayed success as I lovingly steered my babies toward knowing positive social concepts. I see little evidence of this philosophy anymore, but I have yet to dismiss its intrinsic value. Kinda stems from the Golden Rule. I can't imagine a gentler, easier and more timely method for them to discover courtesy for others than when they are babies and toddlers.

Call it boasting, call it loftiness, but I never once experienced a public (or private) emotional meltdown from any one of my three. I must acknowledge that the parenting era to which I refer was far less complicated than this one. But I could tell when my children weren't on the same page with me, and lovingly resolved such issues before presenting our countenance out in the world. This procedure never involved punishment nor disdain, but simple age-appropriate sharing/discussion. It was always my heart's desire to sustain an ongoing happy RELATIONSHIP with my children, (a bonus was unbroken enjoyment of each others' company,) and while I faced my share of distraction, I would work to restore the (sometimes) unspoken parent-child communication, immediately.

So when we would be out for example, say, at the grocery store, my children only had to ask or tell me something twice. Most of the time, they only had to speak to me once, but obviously occasional distraction would occur. And when I would be in conversation with another person, each of mine understood that Mommy was going to finish that conversation, after which my child again would have my full attention. Sure, they would sometimes interject comments or queries. If I determined their interruption to be necessary, I'd pardon myself from present conversation, and respond to my child. If the interruption presented from obvious boredom or extraneous other, I would pardon myself from present conversation, facing my child to share that I did not want to be rude to the other person by ignoring them mid-sentence, and that once he or she had finished talking, I would listen to my child. I would add that "It doesn't feel good to be ignored, does it?"

I can only imagine significant degradation to my self-esteem, if my parents had practiced the art of ignoring me, ever. Every time I am in a store, I encounter at least one meltdown, and one repetitious "Mom, Mom, Mom" or "Dad, Dad, Dad." Or WORSE, a parent yelling or belittling a child. Most others just carry on, disregarding or not wanting to "get involved," but I find it grievous, imagining the burgeoning distress of such children, although I wouldn't hesitate to involve myself wholeheartedly, if I were to witness outright abuse. These children may appear to "belong" to others right now, but very soon, they will belong to "us," and they will be legislating our geriatric years.

I once had a friend whose style of comforting her child would be to assign external blame. For instance, if her son tripped over a rock while running, she would remark, "BAD ROCK!" I would cringe upon every instance. My mother had a dear friend whose daughter (my age,) was quite unmanageable. She even kicked my mother in the shin once, right in front of her own mother, and there was no response, whatsoever. Once, while we were visiting, this daughter, in a fit of anger, proceeded to ride her tricycle down a flight of many concrete steps leading from the street to their yard. Fortunately, she suffered only a few scrapes and bruises. UNFORTUNATELY, her distressed mother's reaction was to tell her angry daughter that if she promised never to "do that again," she (the mom) would take her to the store and buy her a brand new BIG GIRL BICYCLE, and the BEST one THERE!

If you would like to know what type of adult this method of parenting produced, ask me sometime. It isn't pretty, just awfully, awfully sad.

I've had friends who simply chose to ignore their children's bad behavior, subsequently witnessing these children increase their intensity of disruptive efforts until the parent DID take notice and respond. (Restrained responses, once birthed, are often overly-authoritarian in delivery.) Accepting and offering social and play invitations from and to families where the parents don't do their job often requires stressed mental deliberation, regardless of potential benefits from sharing their company, and once in their company, peace will only come from strained tolerance and zipped lips.

When we recognize that our children are engaging in unwanted or inappropriate behavior, we are actually being called into active duty. Location of battlefield is irrelevant. When our children identify any places where their behavior goes unfettered without consequence, what could possibly inspire them to self-regulate while there? And FORGET THREATS. Threats are nothing more than empty promises. We want our children to think of us as trustworthy, as there will be times (albeit rare?) when our trusted word alone will save them from bad decisions.

When we threaten to discipline and don't follow through, we relegate our position as parents to that of furniture. It is far better to say nothing and allow the offense to continue, than to EVER offer empty threats.

If a boss were to chronically threaten employees but not carry out those threats, it wouldn't take long for employees to regard his/her threats as "part of his/her personality." Nothing more. When I was a child, a common parental warning was "If you've just eaten, you must wait one hour to go back into the pool; otherwise you'll get cramps." Well, after some period of years, most of us figured out that we could even eat IN the pool, and not suffer more than splashed, soggy food. From that point on, the cramp axiom became worthless. Another was, "You'll get warts if you touch a frog." Never happened, and I held a frog or two in my formative years.

When our children begin to present undesirable behavior, we must first ensure that there is nothing physically wrong with them. Once we establish that they aren't sick or feeling poorly, we can then address and begin to eliminate the problem's source.

Without boundaries and rules, our children will never feel safe and secure. Without expectations and consequences, our children will never truly realize how valuable they are. Without quality attention, our children will face chronic internal conflict.

When we shy away from dealing with our responsibilities as parents we are saying, "I said no, but really, I don't mind your doing this, go for it." We then set up a cycle of doom for not only ourselves, but everyone else. When we establish with our children that certain behaviors are simply unacceptable, they do "get it," and then will most likely resume their lifelong search for our "other" buttons. :-)

Once we have clearly conveyed reasonable expectations to our children for courteous and thoughtful living (supported by attentive reinforcement of those principles until they sink in,) it is highly unlikely that we will have to linger on that particular issue any further. We can then address the NEXT PARENTING OPPORTUNITY, and, as I continue to learn...they are infinite!

We may be the ONLY ones to give our children the BEST (love, attention, respect, admiration, confidence, ambition, logic, worthiness and hopefulness) THEY WILL EVER HAVE. BEST...

CALL ME CRAZY...

Some might find me to be self-sabotaging (daft or clueless, at least!) as my first aspiration is to provide support to young families on the road to "happy".

Occasionally, a potential parent/client's request infers a suppressed need to hold onto that cash, or that they may have been coerced into this investigation. In respect/responsibility, my response provides them with a door "out" of their guilt.

(Should I have my head examined? There are a number of "envelopes with little cellophane windows"(AKA bills,) just lying in wait for my attention, on my own counter!)

Par example, my response to a recent inquiry from a parent whose initial email requested information about my services/prices for his 2 year old's birthday party:

Hi (insert name nere,)

Entertaining three month to three year olds is my specialty and delight, although I have equal success and experience with all ages. I believe that whether or not you offer entertainment, you can have a great party.

The inclusion of prof. ent. can allow the attending adults to enjoy the party even more, but is not a mandate.The younger ones truly enjoy the guitar music, and my experience has amply equipped me for the task of holding their attention and entertaining them with the best...In addition, I offer a festive but plain clothed appearance, or a costume, which does not include face obscurity, as this often produces fear in toddlers.

These younger ones usually prefer to have their hands (instead of faces) painted, so that they can observe the process. And balloons are an option, but I caution parents to ensure that they are never near their children's mouths, as they present a choking hazard.

I urge you to not underestimate the value of families getting together, and children playing in non-structured situations. Current societal pressures urge us to always have an itinerary, which is often the antithesis of what little people need.

Friends, community and celebration is truly sufficient.

I would love to participate in the festivities and celebration. It's up to you, but I promise, your party will be rewarding and memorable, regardless of whether or not you hire outside entertainment.

If you decide to go with prof. ent, please email me the max number of children you anticipate, and I will provide a quote.

Best,Cotton

It is doubtful that I would experience as much peace in my own life's storms, were my response to differ. If you need me, I'll be standing in the soup line, but with a smile on my face... ; )

ARCHIVING SUMMER...

Doesn't it seem like the more we have, the more we complain? Simple pursuits are ever cluttered with" stuff", rendering us unable to prioritize a number of daily responsibilities. Realistically, with the advent of time saving, the less time we have access to.

-And forget about thinking and deductive reasoning, as both are now (unnecessary)wasters of time. If any element of your life isn't directly linked to producing a bank roll, don't touch it. Pay someone else to take care of your yard, your home, (your declining parents who served as the wind beneath your own wings,) and even your offspring. You need to be scheming your next windfall. Smart people know how to purchase techno-tools or hire services to perform anything that needs doing.

I love spring and fall, as each provides a trademark style of "ahhhh" relief from harsher elements of their immediate neighbors. "AhhhSpring", freshly stippling a monochromatic winter-wrought palette with pinks, greens and yellows, the promise of new beginning; and "AhhhAutumn's" fond farewell to mosquitoes and sweaty lawn mowing, as wisps of orange, brown, red and gold in brief glory of flight, descend through brisk clean air, to unite with earth below.

While I was still working on my ABCs* and exploring such anomalies as butterflies, candle wax and time, I accepted without question permanent, immutable guidelines as handed down by my ancestors. An operating code that preserved innocence and faith in humanity. Somehow, the rules were invisibly tied to our efforts producing desired outcomes.

One such axiom was that you had to wear shoes to play outside all winter long and into spring. Even after pastel petaled spring signs were popping forth from all the formerly lifeless bush and tree limbs in your yard. Even with all the little baby birdies happily chirping the chorus of spring, you still had to wait until your mom told you it was the day your shoes could stay inside while you went out.

Ahhhh, but the wait always produced a sweeter reward, having been yearned for. There, in the center of eternal spring one newly bare foot would come to land upon soft prickles of freshly cut grass as above, a bluer world knowingly smiled down, canvassed by white puffy pillows of heaven. Ahhh.

"Shoes-off" day was an annual rite of passage. Because of an eternally long "shoes-on" season, the moment of bare feet connecting with bare ground was divine. We would soon forget that feeling, spending much of our summer unshod; but it was that first day of privilege, bearing such significance that in memory, will stand as a good thing.

The world of summer offered other unique opportunities. Neighbors would inhabit their lawns for reasons that didn't involve maintenance or aesthetics. Everywhere you looked, there would be humans, not in cars; but walking, waving, playing, laughing, talking. Perhaps due to open windows, screen doors and window box fans, which served as the most modern of "air conditioners". I don't remember complaining about the heat, not like now. Average temps today peak higher than back then. We have become acclimated to a man made environment, with all windows of our homes, cars, stores, efficiently shut, year-round. Sadly, we hardly noticed the eventual demise of drive-ins.

The fan in the window gave "ahhh"relief from otherwise hot, stagnant summer air. Much comfort and sweet dreams were produced by the ongoing drone of that little machine as it converted the object of our oppression into one long continuing lovely summer breeze. Little girls who dreamed of one day becoming famous singers would perch themselves directly in front of the window fan, to belt out the latest chart-topper from Johnny Mathis or Dinah Shore. It was there, within an inch of mightily whirring metal blades that a normally amateurish tone would be magically transformed into a professional style operatic trill.

We were more connected to our environment (before the invention of "freon-ized" AC,) and it was a good thing. The absence of closed home environments forced us to share life with weather, with all sorts of flying bugs, with other people, and with knowledge derived from incoming scents and sounds that we will never know again.

Summer evenings would usually bring people outside of their homes. And when it was the evening of the mosquito truck, you'd have thought the state fair had come to town! Lawn chairs, coolers, picnics, boys and girls on bikes, neighbors in happy alignment, all poised in anticipation of this special treat. At any time a low, distant rumbling engine hum would be detected, growing louder by seconds, until a huge whitish gray cloud-enveloped truck would roll ever so slowly past our house and continue on its way, thrilling spectators with every formerly visible thing becoming now obscured by mosquito fog (AKA, DDT). The more adventurous young bicyclists would take off behind the fog casting truck, to follow along and sustain foggy merriment.

The play of children was left to imaginings, so depending on who you hung out with, you either had fun or you were bored. Living in a neighborhood comprised mostly of NC State Univ. Profs and their families provided us kids with an extra measure of richness for scheming our play themes. There were classes, lessons and activities, but somehow they didn't dominate family schedules. There was no such thing as a shortage of time; and all children used time to wonder and discover without prompts. We made our own investigations, and drew our own conclusions, and it was enough.

We turned empty front porches into castles, bare picnic tables into feasts, swing sets into battleships, and wooden tables into horses. We discovered fools' gold and mica right there in our driveways, we sculpted beauty salons out of sand boxes. We made up theme songs and ate mayonnaise sandwiches. We propped up one side of cardboard boxes with sticks, placing a carrot underneath so that we might later discover a wild beast in captivity. We worked on learning to throw our voices and talked to each other with string-connected tin cans. We invented, we imagined, we pretended in glory.

If onions were available for our cooked-out hamburgers, everyone had to eat onions, or nobody could eat onions, as this prevented any non-onion eaters from experiencing onion breath from the onion eaters. How considerate.

Sadly, the Ahhh-feeling of summer is no longer so significant. Nowadays, the only people to be sighted out upon their lawns are mowing, watering or weed-eating. If a fellow motorist is traveling with windows open, it is pretty safe to assume that their compressor/condenser is out of whack.

All the while, glorious days of Heavenly summer live, in the hearts and memories of the DDT generation...Those of us who learned to continue our games of hopscotch when the occasional big sounding "BOOM" would rock the summer world, with WWIII still only a faraway imagining. Just another air flight breaking the sound barrier.

*add another item to my list of "OH NO!s..spell check tried to influence me to add an apostrophe to "ABCs!" Such wrongs are sustained, and will soon become standards. And there is nothing we can do to protest effectively.

THE EVOLUTION OF PARENTING

As successful living increasingly enjoins all humanity toward “MENSA-esque” time management, babies must share their lap tops with laptops. Diligent parents are pressured to dismiss all “dismissibles”, AKA matters of interest which serve to define our individuality. We schedule-in fun plans with the same enthusiasm that we bring to reconciling our checking accounts. Today’s parents must cleverly and competitively strive to surpass yesterday’s workplace successes (which often means work follows us home), while sustaining and creating a “soft place to land” on the home front. We are compelled to trade in the here and now for unrelieved strategizing. Such ambition usually produces in us a diminished availability for sensing how those closest to us are feeling or thinking.

My older daughter is fortunate to be able to work from home most of the time. With a more flexible schedule, I, or “Gammy” am usually able to be present at the criticaltime of day known as “One Hour Long Phone Conference Lasting Three Hours.” Unfortunately, my granddaughter happens to be a five month old who entered this world with an agenda, all-impervious to even the most ardent expressions of Grandmotherly love. (This is why the first doll this grandmother gave was a Barbie, not Baby doll.)

Resistant to bring it up, I dearly wish she could have enjoyed the simpler and community-supported era of parenting when I was her mom. Those days, doing one thing at a time was sufficient. Without consideration of latest findings,,I confidently availed myself of all rights and entitlement to focus exclusively on being the best mommy possible, without the encumbrance of demonstrating daily allegiance to a cash-paying employer.

Foremost among all that I own are grateful remembrances of an eternal stream of lazy summer days with my children. I fondly recall those early years with my firstborn, my daughter. Without fail, Friday afternoons would find me walking my baby in the stroller with our dog on a leash. We would merrily traverse four miles of sidewalk leading to Charlottetown Mall, where I would purchase a new wind chime for my backyard collection. Later, Daddy would join us there, for ice cream or other mall fare. With dinner hour approaching, three spent-but-happy travelers would enjoy a welcome Daddy-mobile rescue from hoofing any additional miles homeward. This was how we would kick off every weekend.

In this present age of parenting, an adoring parent will be required numerous times daily to divert her attention away from her babies. Anything but simple, parenting must include an ever-pressing myriad of outside responsibilities.

It has been my greatest privilege to have been gifted with twenty-some years as a mom, (with the most recent fifteen as a single one). From three down to only one (sob) nestling, (but here, insert “Grandmother of two”), it is my hope that parents feel hopeful and happy about parenting today, while never allowing the dreams they have for their children to overshadow their children's dreams.

WHEN I WAS RICH

When I was young, my parents ran the universe. They were my "higher power."

When I was around six years of age, a friend and I were busy playing when My father decided to present each of us with one of his personal checks, in the amount of one million dollars.I have no recollection about preceding details, but what lingers is the instant rush of exuberance this daughter felt as she hastily assessed her investment options.For a brief hour or so, one little girl made serious decisions, without a trace of doubt as to the validity of her gift, nor her father's ability to extend the in-kind hospitality to her guest.

It became clear, that with such a windfall I could buy the biggest entity in the universe...which just happened to be the Ridgewood Pharmacy; a mainstay to many, including we who rode horses at Meredith College.

There would be no finer glory than to own Ridgewood pharmacy, and all its contents. An infinity of shelves upon shelves brimming with high-fashion toiletries and trinkets spun wildly in my mind. An added bonus would be that I would also own the grill located in the back of the store,where the grill man would never think of beginning his day without a starched white linen apron and a fresh, crisp paper hat (matching-white too, but with a thin red line traversing its top.)

He'd tirelessly crank out lunch counter fare for the world. Red and white-swirled paper straws (that obviously came from the same place where the man got his hats) filled glass dispensers rhythmically positioned in line down the formica counter top, just beside the "face-reflective" metal napkin dispensers, right beside the metal-topped sugar containers, just beside the normally-greasy matching salt and pepper shakers.

Hungry patrons would trade stories of the day, as fine culinary wizardry effortlessly proceeded from the man in the white paper hat, who would often commandeer the conversation to express lunch-counter"isms." His grilled cheese sandwiches were what we usually ordered, and as the man would wield his spatula into what seemed to be a 10 gallon jar of mayonnaise, we would listen to our mothers remark about his spreading that mayonnaise on both outsides of the bread, in contrast to the standard of butter, to grill them.

Quite commonplace then, for the adults to linger and talk too long following any meal "out," we girls would expend our restlessness by wandering about the store, in awestruck marvel at the sheer quantity of things one could buy, if one had the money and a mind to.

It was during one of these post-lunch sessions that as I began my way down the next aisle of inventory, my eyes were instantaneously sparked to settle upon the most exquisite toiletry set in the world, and right there at Ridgewood Pharmacy. Nestled together in a lovely satin-lined box, I'd found perfume and powder from France. Never before had these eyes beheld anything, anywhere so beautiful and classy-and how did they make a perfume bottle of so rich a royal blue color and tiny sparkly silver stars, scattered about?

I fancied myself to be the first shopper in the whole world to spot it, too. I knew what I had to do: Buy it for my mother. Unable to remember how or when the acquisition was made possible, I clearly recall mountainous pride swelling within my young heart as I impatiently watched my mother lovingly remove drug store gift-wrapping to reveal "Evening in Paris" toilet water and bath powder with the lovely blue satin-backed powder-puff!

I was enjoying the notion that my ability to purchase something from Paris would impress my mother, who probably thought up to that point that I only knew how to give her things from America.

My mom being a bit of a quality-detective, did her best to conceal anything less than gratitude. And because she loved me, she actually wore that stuff. I found it at a store, years later, and took a whiff that nearly recalled my earlier lunch. It was common knowledge that cheap people wore cheap perfume, kind of like an invisible quantifier of status. Like beautiful fancy diamond rings that would turn your finger green.

To gallantly bring that stench along, everywhere she was to arrive, and until her next bath...
For my mom, it had to have been love, and love alone.

For me, it had been about the package.

And who would have ever imagined that I would later be so instantly rich enough to buy the whole store? I was sure that one million dollars would cover and seal the deal, exactly.

Long before I had the opportunity to hand over my check to acquire ownership, "the big reveal" occurred: My father, confessing to his biggest fan and her friend that he had presented two girls with two worthless checks, a certain daughter did some quick growing-up.

STILL HERE?

Was it cell phones, or the implementation of texting that popularized the notion that you are living a boring life if you are not engaged in communication with someone other than present company?

As I found myself walking behind a couple of women on the sidewalk at North Hills last week, I deliberated as to whether or not these two were together. They remained side-by-side long enough for me to determine that they were, in fact, together, making their way to the restaurant up ahead. But each of these women was avidly engaged with non-present ones, via cell phone repartee.

Has it come to this? “I can meet you for lunch on Tuesday. Okay, see you then…oh, and did I mention that I will be on a conference call, so I won’t have time to talk with you, but we can grab a bite to eat together, at least. Oh, and I know I will want the Pecan Apricot Consommé with the eggplant roulade, and sweet tea, so would you be a dear and give the wait person my order, so I won’t have to mute my call?” >Lovely.

A popular morning news program recently asked viewers to share some unusual places from which they had texted others. Responses ranged from, “While giving birth to twins,” to “Scaling an icy section of flat VERTICAL rock 5 miles above sea level.” When did it cease to be sufficient to be fully present and plugged-in to our present environment, thereby availing ourselves of a real-time experience, and does this trend represent gain, or loss?

A popular book by once Harvard professor Richard Alpert, (born April 6, 1931 and AKA Baba Ram Dass,) became a 1971 bestseller among hippie intellectuals. BE HERE NOW introduced a generation of young Westerners to Eastern philosophies. I remember having read the book, and even having met Prof. Ram Dass at a retreat where he spoke, however all that “took” was the title of the book, oh- and that BRD was tall, and spoke and moved quite too slowly for my liking.

My purpose in sharing the preceding is that, while I do not ascribe to Eastern ways, I did (and do) like the thought of being fully engaged in “now,” as this "now" is the only available space, truly. I certainly would prefer to live among others who value the present as all-inclusive, and likewise direct the whole of their attention to any undertakings and pursuits. For example: my family surgeon, dentist and what about my carpool driver or my pilot? Daily news reports offer too much proof that split-attention is shared through all populous and among all once-trusted professions.

And, due to splitting-attention, we don’t even HEAR the stories. I was shocked to discover that only a handful of people were aware that (three years ago) a slew of major US Hospitals (not to exclude Raleigh’s Rex Hospital and Wake Med,) had been exposed for transplanting stolen cadaver parts in many surgeries. It had made major news headlines, including an in-depth 60 Minutes expose. Google it FYI. This enterprise had become a major money-maker, with thieves digging up graves for bones, skin, etc. 60 Minutes showed X-rays of cadaver hip joints, where stolen parts had been replaced with PVC pipes, thoughtfully utilizing an L-joint at the hip socket.

A couple of years ago I was heading in to shop at Whole Foods, when one posting on the entrance's bulletin board momentarily drew my attention from shopping. At the top of the layout was a photo of an aged, more sedentary Baba Ram Dass, with following text announcing an upcoming speaking engagement on his latest literary effort: STILL HERE. As I remained there to read and reflect upon what I inferred as an aging social activist’s attempt to revive what had been his 15 minutes, I wondered if I would be the only one to consider implication beyond the info as printed, or if any others who were “there” would even take note of the author of this post.

Reading on, I learned BRD had survived a stroke. Still Here…, he shares with anyone willing to read it.

Well, I have come to realize the pointlessness of deliberating the five “Ws,” as the practice of multi-tasking is likely to escalate. I'm trying not to complain, honest.

So, like many others who miss the present, I remain….Still Here.

Credit Blunderland

to be sung to the tune of "Winter Wonderland:"
words by Cottonworld Chronicles, of course!

Here we are, all together,
One more day…nothin’ better.
We were cruisin’ along but something went wrong.
(And now we’re)
Livin’ in a credit blunderland.

So they share, with a smile
Upward trends, all the while
The credit we used
Has become our noose
Livin’ in a credit blunderland.

Come on, everybody let’s get food stamps
Medicaid to pay for all our ills
We’ll apply for supple'mental income
& Uncle Sam can worry bout the bill.

Those with cash, still out shoppin’
Makin’ deals, values droppin’
Stock prices decline
The jobless,in line
Prayin’ for someone who’ll lend a hand.

What secures today will change tomorrow
Absolutes are quickly losing ground
If your mind is overcome with sorrow
A pill or five will bring you “back around.”

What’s the use, to keep tryin’
~To sustain what is dyin’?
We must face, unafraid,
The mess that we made,
Livin’ in a credit blunderland.

Conversating

A BOOK is what the writer would have shared in conversation, if only we had been available for more than just coffee. (And if we had not invented the art of interruption for reclamation of the podium.) May even be what they have always been saying, but either we just didn't get it, or we weren't listening.

Conversating: (Jargon, perhaps,) but after a lengthy Q & A with Merriam Webster, I learned that "jargon" has evolved to kinship with "limbo". The tenure of all entries is now determined by popularity. In other words, viability is determined by the word-use detectives, who evaluate any given word's employment status (or lack thereof,) and return to editorial chambers, to cut and paste at (what appears to be) the drop of a hat.

Kinda frees-up the more creative writers and speakers for unfettered diatribe. So if, while perusing my writing, you believe I've blundered, just know that, unless you can prove it, I remain uncorrected. ; )

Ah, the days when dictionaries were sacred, often gilt with gelt and much larger than the other books on the shelf/table, and could always be located near (if not next to,) the Bible. ...Gone, baby gone!

When I was reading the obituaries live and on-air, rare was the print-upon-the-page that would trip me into a tempo alteration. I read other articles too, however the transition to share the obits section of the paper sometimes found me speaking with the same inflection and vocal dynamics with which I'd broadcasted preceding editorials and baby announcements. I would usually catch myself within the first few sentences delivering now-somber news, to steady the pace, lower the voice and slightly alter the lilt.

On one occasion during said readings, I was silenced, mid-sentence, (live and on-air,) by the next word, "funeralized," as in, "She will be funeralized on Tuesday."

If our editorial task is to say the most while using the least, then I must applaud. (Even tho' I lament, from time to time, the former immutable nature of unabridged Webster and cohorts.

So thusfar I have shared two: Conversating & funeralize, and among my other faves, Mr. Webster:
/Swimming:/ n. -A season, following Spring

/Lasterday:/ n. -Any day prior to this one.
/Worriation:/ n. -Abundance of worry
/Up-in-here, or upinhere:/ adv. -In the speaker's face. Possibly cites arrogant invasion of a preset boundary.

On Conversating:

Often (pref. pronounciation 'offen' here in the US,)....Where was I? Oh yes...In our daily survival methods we overlook the lightbulb moments in our lives, because we are distracted by our "lists". I recall one gem, emerging from time shared with a group of mothers, as we all performed the duties to which we had earlier and eagerly committed ourselves during our child's orientation week. On this (rare?) occasion, I found no opportunity to jump into the working commentary. Initially feeling left-out, I resigned myself to be content as a listener, and observed the following conversation, which I now share, as a loose but accurate account (names omitted, because I don't remember them, and don't want to:)

Mother #1: "My girls have gymnastics this afternoon, which means that I won't get dinner made by the time we are all back home, so I guess we'll be eating pizza for the third time this week."

Mother #2: "Well, I asked Jim to if he'd take the dog to the vet and he can't because he will be in a meeting, so I guess I will have to skip my tennis today."

Mother #3: "Did you know that Mrs. Tingle is leaving, so there will be a new third grade teacher next year?"

Mother #2: "I had heard she might retire, but we will be moving anyway, so it really won't affect us. I really need a new washer and dryer."

Me: "Really? She i..."Mother #3: "Did your daughter get an invitation to Chloe's party? It sounds like the whole second grade will be there!"

Mother #2: "Well, I can't remember, but we'll be out of town that weekend, anyway, so Claire couldn't have attended, anyway." (Interp: Claire was not among the invited.) " I am so tired of Joey tracking mud onto our new carpet! I told Don he was going to regret carpeting before sodding!"

Mother # 1: "I have got to get my hair cut and touched-up. Don't know what I was thinking when I agreed to become PTA president, and to chair the benefit at church, along with my work at the Jr. League raffle. I guess they need someone with experience..."

Me:

Mother # 2: Did you see Linda X. the other day? I heard she is going to leave Charley. If it were me, I'd...(gossip, psst, psst....blah blah blah....)

(Here, and only here, all three moms join topic. Tell-all interest sustained for a measure of minutes, then returns for more disconnected sharing.)


Insanity (to a "thinker,") this ambiguous conversation occurs countless times every day, and just about anywhere there are people talking. Seems that most of us want to be listened to...but few are willing to give back, listening with a heart for the speaker.

I wonder how our world would change, if each of us began to desire to learn others, and to realify (my word,) the responsibility and treasure of conversating with our fellow man...

Crunchberries are NOT REAL??? What NEXT?

Like him or not, Glenn Beck often delivers accurate expression to many of my semi-formed opinions. Today's features included one compelling headline. Here is an excerpt from the content:
(Ya gotta love it!)

"On May 21, a judge of the U.S. District Court for the Eastern District of California dismissed a complaint filed by a woman who said she had purchased "Cap'n Crunch with Crunch Berries" because she believed it contained real fruit. The plaintiff, Janine Sugawara, alleged that she had only recently learned to her dismay that said "berries" were in fact simply brightly-colored cereal balls, and that although the product did contain some strawberry fruit concentrate, it was not otherwise redeemed by fruit. She sued, on behalf of herself and all similarly situated consumers, some of whom may believe that there are fields somewhere in our land thronged by crunchberry bushes.

According to the complaint, Sugawara and other consumers were misled not only by the use of the word "berries" in the name, but also by the front of the box, which features the product's namesake, Cap'n Crunch, aggressively "thrusting a spoonful of 'Crunchberries' at the prospective buyer." Plaintiff claimed that this message was reinforced by other marketing representing the product as a "combination of Crunch biscuits and colorful red, purple, teal and green berries." Yet in actuality, the product contained "no berries of any kind." Plaintiff brought claims for fraud, breach of warranty, and our notorious and ever-popular California Unfair Competition Law and Consumer Legal Remedies Act.

Under the UCL, courts have held that a plaintiff must show that a representation was "likely to deceive a reasonable consumer." [As a disclaimer, I should tell you that my firm represents defendants in UCL cases (among others).] Actual fraud claims, and warranty claims, are harder to prove, so if Sugawara didn't win on the UCL claims, she would probably not win anything at all. And she did not."

These stories are all over the Internet, mags and TV. Just thought I'd feature one.

I do frequently refer to a Glenn Beck quote. First, allow me to offer up a preliminary setting:

Let's say you are mid-visit with GOD, (AKA your doctor,) when you realize that all the education and $$$ in the world will not produce common sense, in fact, it often appears that higher education, by nature, can oft times evict logical thinking, because there's only so much available residential space in the cranium.

So, if you are taking charge of your life like I HOPE you are, and your physician renders findings that sound like random hierarchical hoopla (because we all know there has to be a definitive diagnosis, in order for ins. to cooperate,) and when his/her conclusive proclamation vividly evidences a reality that while you shared a poignant description of your symptoms, your doctor was absorbed in limbo over whether or not to delay his tee time, (this is a long sentence, read on...)...you will not just take it, regardless of the vulnerability produced by changing into a little open-backed gown and climbing up onto your personal 6 or so feet of the paper roll, while feigning interest in a dog-eared last year's issue of People, under florescent lighting fixtures, one tube on it's way out.

Denying any anticipated repercussions, you must boldly go where few men dare...Stand up for yourself, your ability to apply logical thinking to your symptoms' analysis. And when Doc poo-poos your opinion's viability, you quote Glenn:

"I may not be a surgeon, but I AM a thinker..."

The above quote works equally well for all differences of opinion, where the untrained one evidently understands and identifies the solution far better than the one trained to. And so, eliminating "MD," simply substitute the professional title that applies (feel free to add your own;)

"I may not be a (vocation here,) but I AM a thinker...

I do not endorse use of this quote with law enforcement representatives and the judicial system, when in any type of bondage or captivity, and when addressing your in-laws (and there may be more prohibitive issues not surfacing to memory at this time.)

Thought for the day: When you encounter one of those (I hate my job, my life, and you) personalities, offer to them these words: "Do we need a hug?" in that higher-pitched baby voice you use with your dog when you believe no others are listening.

HONK if you have road rage...

We miss life-enhancing opportunities, time after time, because we remain glued to that agenda we set for the day, prior to our immersion in it. Then when an "opportunity" presents itself, we become annoyed, (deferring thoughts of "communities are like Dominoes...")

Much of the "Get out of my way...What are you, NUTS???" thinking arises from the prevalence of panic, a significant # of our waking hours. Some of us have developed methods for turning it off, and according to my pharmacist friend, over 75% of our fellow motorists out there are managing via synthetic mood alteration.

More evidence that the "What hurts the guy down the street, if not remedied, will eventually hurt me."is waning. Logical thinkers will not easily disregard unplanned-for circumstances with "oh well," and "it's all good."

With little doubt as to the longevity of "Hi, how are you?" disappearing from social repartee, I believe that originally, the asking party even sought the answer.

On occasion, (and usually to strangers), I have responded with a long-winded monologue, utilizing as many adjectives and adverbs as possible. Only in humor, of course...

At one time, I would become fear-paralyzed when asked to speak in public. Years of practice have pretty much eliminated that phobia from my repertoire. This, added to the proven knowledge that if the subject matter is of worth, then the speaker (me,) needs only to concentrate on sharing it effectively. In fact, I believe that comedy is the best solution to many problems. Years have transpired when I have worn to shreds, "Where's the punchline?"

Adolescence-led by the likes of CSN's "Love the One You're With," I have strived to make the most of each moment and because of my faith and strong pull toward the logic of living, I have been more compelled to deal with circumstances which develop en route, rather than maintaining an intense focus on where I'm going, and what I'll be doing once I get there. I've been around long enough to know that I might NOT get there, and taking note of the particular environment along my route will most likely promote a safe, if not preferable arrival wherever I arrive.

Seems like most road rage is fueled by each motorist's assumption that all events & others sandwiched in between himself and his destination are either irrelevant, or even hell-sent.
I love it when I'm driving down the road, minding my own biz, staying in my lane, not encroaching upon any other drivers, and some "passionate about driving" fellow road-traveller lays (what sounds like,) their entire body on the horn. There am I, tooling down the road, in semi-zoned peace, contemplating the life cycle of a butterfly, when all of a sudden I'm catapulted into freakish terror, and if only for a millisecond, get the spine-tingling sensation that
I'm about to become a NCDOT statistic. Whipping glances in all directions, to no avail. "What was that? What happened? What did I do, or was the honking a response to another driver?"

While most of the time, identification of the irate honker is impossible, on occasion, (right after the tirade, an unpleasant-faced "other" will appear in the next lane, perfectly aligned with my vehicle, wholeheartedly and with both hands (and feet?) directing Vivaldi or Rachmaninoff. (Who's driving?)
My choice then, is to respond in-kind, or ignore. I usually just ignore.

I have carefully honed driving skills, as my work has provided ample opportunity to do so. Sometimes reducing 30 min. trips in half, never will forget when I was asked to drive the Swedish Ambassador from an event out in the outer Mongolian stretch of Johnston County, with the warning, "He needs to be at the airport in 20 minutes..." I know around some of those back country road curves I maintained a minimum of two-wheeled road contact, at all times.
I managed to get him there, on time, and in his eloquent British, bid me a fond farewell with "You drive beautifully!" Living in DC, I was savvy re: Diplomatic immunity and such...So it's not that I drive like a little ol' lady.

Got tired of the "angry honkers," and took matters into my own hands. I took white car window paint, and in large and aesthetic letters, printed, "HONK if you have road rage."

From that point, only nice drivers would honk at me. And often. Seemed to provide some much needed comic relief, everywhere I would travel. Based on HPM, or honks per minute, I estimated that the city bearing the most concentrated road rage was Durham, followed by Apex. Funny.

Unlike the FIRST Great Depression era, our current system operates on a platform of lies and deceptions, implemented to empower the "messenger" and thereby save his establishment. At least those 1930s folks knew the value of being honest, for the most part. Especially when it came to (the current popular practice of) self-deception.

I am growing weary of wrongs, from every angle, and began to dispair as far back as the mid-to-late 90s. Everything moved full-tilt following 9/11 Tuesday.

I know where I was. You know where YOU were, when the news broke. What I can't figure out is why everyone seemingly jumped from dry land on board a sinking ship, but at least it was moving away from our fears, right?

Watching from my observant distance, I witnessed a succession of various trends being played out, finding it a bit unsettling that there was no evidence of individuals-in-action, but rather the "I don't know, but I'm with him" mentality.

"Corporate" aims, at it's very essence, to be the death of individuality. "Big Brother," as Orwell defined, has been increasingly influencing the minds of the masses for a few decades now, and what I deplore is the fact that we have let them. Reason being? FEAR.

So if your buddy is in need of something, or for that matter, your family (ie. terminally sick or dying parents, babies, toddlers, high schoolers, whatever,) and you work for the even bigger buddy Mr. "Encorporation"...then you will sell your soul before you make waves that threaten your source of income. Certain corporations, like IBM have helped stir the pot by defining themselves as; "excellent benefits, great employer, but watch us' without discretion, lay off long time workers without batting an eyelash...you could be next, so watch your step."

I believe this same mentality bumped up all the asinines (my word) into jobs as department heads. Carefully keeping the workers from becoming blase or comfortable, maintaining distrust and fear, and thereby generating dedicated employees. And the department head's inner circle is comprised of lost lambs who have wandered from the truth so far and for so long that there is nothing to which they can return...

Another lie, too, because that clean cut executive who handles (fill in the blank) for you is actually a quite different person when off the clock. Why you probably wouldn't even recognize him at his home. Quite able to shake off the weekday for the fun of the weekend, with one exception: He will not let amity with you compromise his job security. Nor for you, not for his aged parents who spend their zombified days, just sitting wherever the aides moved them at shift change. God bless the ones who did so much for us, and are now rest home residents, half in and half out.

I could deliberate however outside pressing duties are calling.

A friend shared with me a "sign of the times:" Her friend's daughter came running into the house from kindergarten, and straight up to tell her mom about this incredible new invention she learned about at school; it's called an IRON! It heats up hot to make the clothes look like new!

If you're up to reading, and you don't mind being "depressed:"


from WIKIPEDIA : (sound familiar?)

The Great Depression was triggered by a sudden, total collapse in the stock market. The stock market turned upward in early 1930, returning to early 1929 levels by April, though still almost 30 percent below the peak of September 1929.[12] Together, government and business actually spent more in the first half of 1930 than in the corresponding period of the previous year. But consumers, many of whom had suffered severe losses in the stock market the previous year, cut back their expenditures by ten percent, and a severe drought ravaged the agricultural heartland of the USA beginning in the summer of 1930.

In early 1930, credit was ample and available at low rates, but people were reluctant to add new debt by borrowing.[citation needed] By May 1930, auto sales had declined to below the levels of 1928. Prices in general began to decline, but wages held steady in 1930, then began to drop in 1931. Conditions were worse in farming areas, where commodity prices plunged, and in mining and logging areas, where unemployment was high and there were few other jobs. The decline in the US economy was the factor that pulled down most other countries at first, then internal weaknesses or strengths in each country made conditions worse or better. Frantic attempts to shore up the economies of individual nations through protectionist policies, such as the 1930 U.S. Smoot-Hawley Tariff Act and retaliatory tariffs in other countries, exacerbated the collapse in global trade. By late in 1930, a steady decline set in which reached bottom by March 1933.

AND...

Irving Fisher argued that the predominant factor leading to the Great Depression was overindebtedness and deflation. Fisher tied loose credit to over-indebtedness, which fueled speculation and asset bubbles.[29] He then outlined 9 factors interacting with one another under conditions of debt and deflation to create the mechanics of boom to bust. The chain of events proceeded as follows:

1. Debt liquidation and distress selling
2. Contraction of the money supply as bank loans are paid off
3. A fall in the level of asset prices
4. A still greater fall in the net worths of business, precipitating bankruptcies
5. A fall in profits
6. A reduction in output, in trade and in employment.
7. Pessimism and loss of confidence
8. Hoarding of money
9. A fall in nominal interest rates and a rise in deflation adjusted interest rates.[29]

During the Crash of 1929 preceding the Great Depression, margin requirements were only 10%.[30] Brokerage firms, in other words, would lend $9 for every $1 an investor had deposited. When the market fell, brokers called in these loans, which could not be paid back. Banks began to fail as debtors defaulted on debt and depositors attempted to withdraw their deposits en masse, triggering multiple bank runs. Government guarantees and Federal Reserve banking regulations to prevent such panics were ineffective or not used. Bank failures led to the loss of billions of dollars in assets.[31] Outstanding debts became heavier, because prices and incomes fell by 20–50% but the debts remained at the same dollar amount. After the panic of 1929, and during the first 10 months of 1930, 744 US banks failed. (In all, 9,000 banks failed during the 1930s). By April 1933, around $7 billion in deposits had been frozen in failed banks or those left unlicensed after the March Bank Holiday.[32]

Bank failures snowballed as desperate bankers called in loans which the borrowers did not have time or money to repay. With future profits looking poor, capital investment and construction slowed or completely ceased. In the face of bad loans and worsening future prospects, the surviving banks became even more conservative in their lending.[31] Banks built up their capital reserves and made fewer loans, which intensified deflationary pressures. A vicious cycle developed and the downward spiral accelerated.

The liquidation of debt could not keep up with the fall of prices which it caused. The mass effect of the stampede to liquidate increased the value of each dollar owed, relative to the value of declining asset holdings. The very effort of individuals to lessen their burden of debt effectively increased it. Paradoxically, the more the debtors paid, the more they owed.[29] This self-aggravating process turned a 1930 recession into a 1933 great depression.

Why the corner cabinet is not finished yet...

Blogging is a curious endeavor; typing away, striving one's best to convey current cerebral content with intermittent belief that, while reading, anyone will easily catch your drift. Distant images of your old English prof. stumbling upon your blog, perusing w/awe and admiration.

Could be blogging to no one. Could be blogging to THE WORLD. Apparently, it's not the point, it's not the reason for the blog.

On most occasions when I've moved into action with an anticipated outcome on the horizon, I would have been more productive taking a nap.

Yesterday's efforts did not produce a finished anything. Did make headway. Each passing day finds me closer to the grand finale, and further away from the "me" who began this "weekend" project, a few months ago. It's the little things that slow up progress. Like yesterday when I was ready to hang four cabinet doors, built from scratch, design all mine, satisfyingly finished. Due to complexity of "learning-as-I-go" design, the hinges placement can only be on one side, in order for the doors to fit. Guess I was "somewhere else" when I had attached the hinges and pulls.

The world of, "I can do anything" dawned once I realized that I have to be willing, even content with taking apart what I had previously committed all my time/heart and soul to assemble.
This is why I dropped out of sewing class when I discovered I had machine-stitched-up both sleeves of my class project, so that I had two options: Take it apart, and start over, or find a girl with no arms who would like a new dress. (Actually three,) the third option being to trash it, and I did. I am sure my sewing-class dropout status disappointed my parents...esp. my mother, but I have no recollection of this. Years later, I mastered the art of sewing, and on my own terms, in my own time.

I believe the realization that one's work must be dismantled and restarted, while disappointing, evokes the perception that any prior efforts were just time wasted. Not true. There is more value in the process than the outcome. Because if you learn to love the process, the outcome is always grand.

As a visual artist, I have experienced difficulty in understanding the relationship of artist to work of art. I have several paintings that are no longer in my collection, as they were purchased by parties with whom I've lost contact. And even if I were able to, I would certainly NOT call someone with something like, "Hey, remember me, the one who painted that painting you bought? Well, I was wondering if I could just come look at it, or perhaps borrow it for a bit, so I could hang it on MY wall...it is really MINE, because I was the one who painted it."

The pieces I retained, for whatever reason, are either in storage where "I know they are safe," (and what good is this?) or hanging in my house, and have long (since initial placement) ceased to be anything more than an object the right size and color for its location. Like when I was growing up, EVERY home had a piano in the living room, some had Wurlitzer organs in the dens...most of which became furniture-of-custom, kind of like an ashtray or lamp on the table. "And this is the living room...how lovely! What, no PIANO???," graciously supressing inner thoughts of, "they must not be able to afford one, pity." Many "piano-homes" made the kids take lessons, like it or not. I guess the piano was a holdout from the prev. generation. They socialized around pianos, no TV, probably few radio programs. And so, each generation carries a bit of superfluous "custom/tradition" from the previous one, and most times, the custom retained is of little use to the new generation, so it becomes an "antique."

So value the Artist receives "from" the work exists in the making. (Unless consideration of accolades is included, and is there value in such?) Maybe, when the compliments compel the artist to do more. Caution should be taken to avoid laurel-resting, for the obvious reasons...

Though I still contemplate, I've arrived at the conclusion that once I have finished painting a painting, it then belongs to the world of "things". I no longer have a relationship with it.

So I can not remember what I set out to write today, but that's okay. I will today be torn away from my "significant other," (this unfinished corner bookcase/entertainment center, a photo will be posted upon completion,) and I will be out in the world of people, which restores me to rightful thinking, prevents me from becoming a total loon.

Friday

Today represents the 70-something-th day I have absolutely KNOWN that I would be able to complete my current home renovation project. It's not so much that I'm a "morning" person, however in the first part of any day, I tend to greatly overestimate how much time it takes to complete ANYthing, added to the brutal reality that it isn't possible to anticipate those infinite serendipitous "occasions" requiring my immediate participation, do-or-die.

I believe this chronic and daily shift from my AM ("Maria Von Trapp" enthusiasm, arms outstretched, high above the cares of this world,) to the unrelenting PM (WHAT time is it? How did it get to be so late? [What in the world???] OK...well, I have accomplished progress TOWARD the end, and there's always tomorrow...") has defined me for too long. Perhaps even changed me permanently.

So while it is early-ish, here I sit, typing away, feeling full of power, might and glory about wrapping this reno up today. Perhaps I should put off the sawing/wood/drill/hammer/nails/nail set/putty/sandpaper/math a little longer, in order to sustain and bask in this wonderful feeling I'm having.

A couple of years ago, I believed that carpentry, plumbing, electrical etc. were all hidden secrets, privy only to Masons. But one thing does lead to another, and having a brilliantly creative mind (made only keener with AARP elegibility and the Internet,) I have discovered that not only can I do anything, but in most cases, with more concern and perfection than a contractor. The only problem has been that there has been more redo than do. AND THE VALUE OF THIS?

I am learning! I've discovered the only time any lesson or skill has ever "taken" has been when I have had to redo. Thus, there is intrinsic value in errors/blunders/mistakes/horrors, etc. (Perhaps this is why in middle school, (esp.) fellow student bystanders often applaud us when we trip, goof up, etc.)

FYI, I cite a couple of my "lightbulb moment" findings:

1. HOMEMADE SPACKLE: So far, this seems to be a good idea: With enough resulting sawdust to build a shed, I have learned that it is okay to use it in some mulching applications in the yard. It occurred to me that, I should be able to combine sawdust with wood glue, adding minimal amounts of water to create just the right consistency, thereby creating a stronger spackling, et voila! This concoction has effectively obscured certain structural imperfections and improperly angled crown molding corners along with other slight but visible gaps! Once dry, appears to be better than putty/caulk/plastic wood. (bondo?) I will update w/a retraction, if need be.
2. CAR DETAILING DETAIL: First, remove any lightweight items, such as paper from your car. Next, open all doors, then take your leaf blower and within a minute or two, your car will be freer of dust/debris than if you had carefully vacuumed it for 20-30 minutes.

I guess the time has come to finish this project today. I won't be able to finish it, however, if I don't start. I think starting is the most difficult part. Kinda like, I don't mind vacuuming, even enjoy it sometimes, but what I can't stand is getting the vacuum cleaner and plugging it in. (What's this syndrome?) BTW...we all have syndromes and peculiarities, however the majority of diagnoses identifying the more commonly known thinking disorders occur within the members of our population with high IQs. Hope this is comforting to some. (And you know who you are.)

Anyway, because I don't like vacuuming, when I know I need to vacuum, I begin to ponder the task, and by the time I am ready to plug it in, I will have painted a bathroom, waxed the car, baked fresh bread, and filed my taxes.