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.