I’ve written another book. Be afraid. Be very afraid. But seriously, this one is non-fiction and hopefully helpful and maybe even a little entertaining. It’s called The Time of Your Life and it’s a timeline covering the post-baby boom era from January 1950 to January 2009. I’ve included highlights of politics, science, medicine, forensics, technology, literature, movies, music, games, sports, advertising, and natural disasters. I’ll be updating it from time to time and the updates will be free. Of course, it’s only available on the Kindle since I am currently enjoying the ease and freedom of self-publishing available only on the Kindle platform. As my fellow Kindlers will attest, there is nothing like instant gratification. Unless it’s instant get-i-fication.
What’s up with the constant TV notices on where to get help with your analog TV? Can people with analog even see the announcements?! Duh.
I signed up to participate in Blogger’s Unite tribute to International Woman’s Day with all the best of intentions and then something happened. The something is called life. Still, a promise is a promise, so I’ll try my best. The United Nations theme for this year’s International Woman’s Day is women and men united to end violence against women and girls. A very worthy theme, indeed, but I’ll leave it for others more elegant than I and talk about what’s at least as pressing a matter for the women in my life right now.
I got a call yesterday from my cousin, Chris. She’s a dear woman with a husband, and a daughter just out of college starting her own life with a new family. Chris has worked hard, taken care of her family and given them the best she could and certainly more than most of us can expect. Several months ago, though, Chris discovered that her mother has Alzheimers.
She was overwhelmed and as unprepared as most of us would be. But she stepped up to the task of caring for her mom. First she fought the ignorance of some very ill-trained “health-care professionals” then fired them and searched for, and finally found, decent doctors and nurses that would treat her mother with compassion and respect.
As the disease took rapid hold on her mother, it became obvious that
moving her mother from her home would be too traumatic a change. Chris quit her job, left her own home and moved in with her mom. Her husband keeps their home as well as her mom’s, and has been a great help, but it is a tough burden as she learns about this new person who has come to live in her mother’s mind.
I say all this to say this: while we are busy working out the injustices of life and how they have impacted women, we would do well to remember why our efforts are so important. Women are the caretakers of the world. They lay down their lives, their hopes and dreams to cook and clean, to remind their children, grandchildren and sometimes their mothers to dress and brush their teeth and to eat and even sometimes just to swallow. Caring for the concerns of women is caring for the concerns of the world. It is caring for ourselves. And our futures.
For all we do, you think we’d get more than a day.
In a previous post I discussed the idea of developing a personal mythology and translating it into a type of visual medium, like a tarot deck. I began with the first “majors” of the tarot deck, the Fool and the Magician and then jumped to the eights major, the Strength card. Now, just to keep things really confusing, I’ve decided to jump even further, this time into the “minors,” one of the Cups. This then, is my Three of Cups. The Peeps!
The three of cups is all about friendship, that nurturing social circle that keeps you sane when times are tough and that leans on you as much as you lean on them. When this card appears in a reading, it stands for all forms of support and care and encourages us to reach out or to receive help. There is joy in the card and high spirits. It’s a card of encouragement, reminding us we are not alone. There is someone who cares. Give them a call. Take your peeps to lunch!
The image for my card is borrowed from the
I’ve been scraping little shavings off my ration of light
And I’ve formed it into a ball, and each time I pack a bit more onto it
I make a bowl of my hands and I scoop it from its secret cache
Under a loose board in the floor
And I blow across it and I send it to you
Against those moments when
The darkness blows under your door
Isn’t that what friends are for?–Bruce Cockburn, Isn’t that what Friends Are For?
In a previous post I discussed the idea of developing a personal mythology and translating it into a type of visual medium, like a tarot deck. Having posted my Fool and my Magician, I’ve decided to step out of the usual order and post my Strength card.
The Strength card in the tarot is usually some version of a beautiful woman petting, or at least holding the chain of, a roaring lion. The idea is something along the lines of grace, or at least the steel hand in the velvet glove. As Walt Whitman says in his “Song of the Open Road,” this type of strength is when “We convince by our presence.” It is courage without coercion, gentleness without capitulation, a rebel without a clue – well, not the latter. I digress. This Strength encourages us to persevere with patience and respect, and to engage the “enemy” in kindness, impressing with the courage of our convictions and our unwavering dedication to finding a mutually beneficial compromise. This strength is loving and patient, but rock-solid and dependable when your back is against the wall.
I could wax long and possibly even elegant on why I chose Johnny Cash as the image for my Strength card but I think DPCPastor said it best here. I invite you to read his post and then look about your own life. Who is your source of Strength? Is there someone who might benefit from finding that kind of Strength in you?
The quote on the card is the final stanza from Cash’s “The Mercy Seat.” It’s a powerful lyric, powerfully sung by Cash. I enjoy listening to music as I work, when I can, but this song always brings me to a shuddering halt. I find I can’t turn it off or continue what I was doing until the song has done. An amazing song. Really.
In a previous post I discussed the idea of developing a personal mythology and translating it into a type of visual medium, like a tarot deck. I began the idea knowing that my deck would be heavily media influenced. We live in an age of media, after all; even favorite books have been filmed and have seeped their way into the literary mindset. Not that I’m complaining about the fact that Mr. Darcy looks an awful lot like Colin Firth I’m also cool with the fact that Captain Nemo is a dead ringer for James Mason I can live with that. It irritates me that some corporate type will get bent out of shape if I ever tried to published my deck, hauling me into court for all manner of copyright infringement, but you can’t have everything.
Meanwhile, the deck moves forward. This week, I’ve finalized my Magician.
The Magician is a difficult character to nail down. As a serious student of the spiritual realm, he calls us to reach for the best that we can be. But he is also part trickster and not above using a little slight of hand to help the cause of hope. He knows that a little magic and awe will draw our eyes upward. But if the fireworks get out of hand, someone needs to keep one hand on the fire extinguisher.
My image for the Magician is Bob Dylan. As an artist and as an individual, he seems to be constantly reinventing himself. Since leaving behind his humble roots in Duluth, Bob Dylan has changed his name, re-identified himself, and reinvented himself multiple times. In Chris Paradis’ Rock and Roll deck, Dylan represents the Hermit, and understandably so. Dylan frequently disappears off radar only to reemerge with yet another layer to his mystique or another twist to his talent. There is a bit of the Hermit in the Magician, but the Hermit rarely takes the spotlight like the Magician — and Dylan — does.
As a fan from way back, I can attest that Dylan doesn’t just write lyrics. He paints moods, and tells tales worthy of any ancient campfire. As the voice of his generation, he breathed fire into an era whose songs are still synonymous with revolution and the longing for change. He weaves a curtain of words and music worthy of Oz the Great and Terrible, then slips quietly out the back door when no one is looking. Bob Dylan, as least as far as he’s allowed us to know him, is my Magician.
“Paradise, sacrifice, mortality, reality. But the magician is quicker and his game Is much thicker than blood and blacker than ink. And there’s no time to think.” -Bob Dylan, No Time to Think.
Check out this ustream Show: http://tinyurl.com/62u88t Havanese Harbor Puppies
In a previous post I made the comment that I have never been fired. Do layoffs count? I have pondered that since September 24, the day the company I have worked for over the past 15 years closed its doors after giving its employees 20 minutes to clear their desks. After swearing for weeks that they were not closing and everything was fine. Since this stellar company canceled my insurance with no prior notice (the month before, no less) and never sent me my final paycheck (not even a severance check, mind, just my final paycheck) I’m of the opinion that layoffs do not count as a firing.
No matter what they feel like.
Meanwhile, of course, my 401k is growing increasingly worthless even as I’m fighting (and paying out the nose for the privilege) to get it transferred to an individual IRA. I’m in good company there, of course. Most all of us are experiencing the mind-numbing realization that our retirement hopes are crashing and burning. It’s rather like the hammer hitting your thumb: first is the benumbed realization that something is seriously wrong. Give it just a bit and the numb wears off and the pain hits the brain full-force. I think for most of us the numb will be wearing off right any time now. Think our government will hear our collective howl when it does? The verdict’s out on that one for the moment.
Anyway, I say all that to get around to my real topic: poverty. No, I’m not poor. I’ve got a roof over my head. I’ve got a car. I’ve got enough money set aside to pay my bills for a few months. I found a new job the day after my layoff and started that last week. The electric company even restored my power. Finally. I’m good. Thanks for asking.
No, this time, it’s not about me. But it could be about you. Or your neighbor. Or a person in a far off land, or even around the corner, that, if you had the opportunity to meet them, might be the best friend you’ve never had. This is about people in real need, not some soft-soap American suburban version thereof. This is about poverty and our chance to break the cycle of hopelessness it feeds. Because it can be broken if we try.
Yes, I know Christ said “the poor you have with you always.” But he didn’t mean to imply that was a good thing or that we could use that as a defense for apathy. With the world’s population currently edging toward seven billion, the need is overwhelming. Truly. Thankfully, however, the means to help is at your fingertips. There are multiple organizations ready to assist and in need of funding. One idea gaining strength is peer-to-peer (or p2p) lending. This person-to-person lending, has been around since 2005, but has really come into its own in recent years. The idea is that lenders acting either as individuals or in groups, provide micro loans to entrepreneurs in the US, Peru, Cambodia, Tanzania, Lebanon, Bolivia, Azerbaijan, Ghana… You get the idea. These entrepreneurs can represent most any business: printers, farmers, tailors, mechanics and the like. They need start up cash for the darnedest things and can often find them cheaper in their own countries and many, if they have computer access, update with their progress so you can see your loan at work.
One such p2p group, which I have recently joined, is Kiva.org. Kiva has some incredible people doing vital things in their area. There are doctors funding health equipment, farmers staving off starvation and drought, carpenters, mechanics, women taking in laundry and mending. I’ve never been more excited about giving.
Honestly, you don’t have to be wealthy, just concerned. Just human. When you’re tossing and turning stunned by the losses in your 401k, maybe the loss of your dreams, think of Kiva and people world-wide who don’t need hundreds of thousands of dollars. They just need a sewing machine, a generator, a cow, a goat. If that doesn’t put our losses here in perspective nothing will. You can’t do anything about your 401k but you can help someone else get on their feet and with an amount that won’t break what’s left in your bank. Give back to your community. Give back to the world. It’ll make your own problems smaller pretty quick. And in this economy, that’s something worth banking on.
My mom was raised by a Marine.
Bob wasn’t her “real” dad, but he was as real a dad as my Mom could hope for. Her biological father had abandoned her before she was born; she would not meet him until she was grown with children of her own. As a child, she remembers a man coming to take her older brother to the movies and to the amusement park, a man her brother called their dad although this man never looked at her twice, never brought her gifts, or even spoke to her. She thought he looked a lot like “Slippie McGee” in the movies, Or maybe Jimmy Cagney. But he was as aloof a figure to her as the actors he resembled.
Mom’s “step” dad arrived in her life when she was three. Three months later, he had shipped off with the Marines to Europe.
Like many during the years of WWII, my mom and her mom were movie-goers. Back then, pre-TV, radio was king and movies offered short reels of news, sports and celebrity highlights before showing their feature films. For a nickel or a dime, you could spend an entire day in air-conditioned comfort, watching the stars of the golden age of Hollywood. My mom recalls once when she and her mom watched one of these newsreels. This one showed the storming of the beaches at Normandy during Operation Overlord. Her mother explained that her dad was one of those men jumping from the boats and running toward the bombs and bullets. He was a soldier. He had a helmet and a rifle and he was winning a war.
And he had his picture in her pocket.
Somewhere in my mother’s young mind, her new dad became confused with the leading actor in the featured movie that followed the newsreel. She recalls being a bit amazed that her mother showed no spark of jealousy when he kissed the lead actress in the film. You can’t blame her. Even today we can find ourselves confused by an on-screen reality that looms somehow larger than our own lives.
Bob returned home from the war in 1945. He was a steady provider and a constant presence in her life, unlike her “real” dad. Life wasn’t perfect for Mom. There was illness and hard work, as there so often is even in the best families. But she knew that she was loved and she knew that she mattered. And she knew her dad was proud of her.
Because on that day, far away at a beach at Normandy, my mother’s dad really did have her picture in his pocket.
The image attached is my grandfather, Bob Baker, looking out over an historic Houston from a balcony of the Lamar Hotel where he worked for many years.
Don’t walk, run! to http://is.gd/3qAV. Dave has lost his mind (in a good way, of course) giving away his Guide to Beating Procrastination!
I have no power. No surprise there as (post Hurricane Ike) over 70% of folks in my area have no power. My elder parents are suffering. I’m sweating so badly right now, my fingers are sticking to the keyboard as I try to type. I tried writing (you know, pen-on-paper) but the paper soaked through and wouldn’t take the ink.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m not dense. I understand many have it worse than I do. Really. Some of the folks that have no power here have no homes to power. Some are missing family. As I write this, cadaver dogs are searching for the missing. Some will,horrifically, will never be found, washed out to the Gulf of Mexico by Hurricane Ike. I understand there is a dire need beyond the end of my own nose. I just wanted an answer to a simple question. Why don’t we have the power we’ve been promised via tv, radio, internet and newspaper. There was probably a good, sensible answer. So I called.
After five separate phone calls, I was finally speaking to someone at my power company. I was told that we would not be getting power. There was a bad fuse preventing 53 homes in my area from being powered. The fix would be to send out a single technician to replace the fuse. However, in the view of the power company, getting 53 homes online is not a priority. It might be weeks before we have power. Because of a fuse that could be fixed by one person. I was told that the power company was, at this time, all about having the most numbers they could report as re-powered and that we will have to wait. I was told that the promises of power being announced are just a loose guesstimate and are just for the media to keep everyone calm. Apparently you can’t have people switching power companies over a little thing like not actually having power.
I told him that he might want to speak to his company’s PR about announcing rate hikes when they have failed to supply power to the majority of their customers. Not a good way to “keep everyone calm.” He knew nothing about that. I understand. Employees are usually the last to know what’s actually going on in a company (two words, folks: Google Alerts. Works for me.) When I asked was there anything I could do, anyone I could contact or hire who could help with the situation I was told no. It wasn’t my problem any more than it was his.
He then had the balls audacity to tell me to have a nice day. And laugh. I wished him the same with equal sincerity, which should make his day a real doozy, if there is any justice. Yeah, right.
I was going to say “he had the balls to tell me” but having the balls would imply that he was man enough to simply tell me the truth, not snidely weasel his way out of it with his company-endorsed pablum.
So here’s my gripe. I’ve worked in a number of industries: a physician’s office, several pharmacies, a physical rehab hospital, a car dealership, a couple of trucking companies, a government transportation department; I’ve tutored elementary kids, and deaf and hard-of-hearing preschoolers. Never in my 30 years in various forms of business, have I treated a customer like I didn’t care. Even when I didn’t care.
I know I’m a sucker. Unless something has seriously frazzled, I care. I’ve been on the other end of the line with couldn’t-care-less people when things as vital as oxygen equipment and medication were at stake, with children having difficulty breathing. Not having an answer in that kind of situation is unacceptable to me (and should be to anyone who calls themselves human).
If I don’t have an answer, I’ve found someone who did. In every industry I have worked in, I’ve compiled resources of people and companies to refer people to. I’ve done it on my own since I’ve not yet worked for a company who seemed to place a premium on answers other than the standard “sorry, not our problem.”
Yeah, I may shake my head when I hang up, or once I’m back at my desk, or while writing an email. I’ll probably mutter about how silly or whacked out some people are, because, honestly, people can be a pain — I can be a pain myself — and sometimes you just have to shake off the stress.
I’ve always given my name — my real name and my full real name when specifically asked. I’ve even spelled it. I’m not afraid to give it out because I always give my best to each person I speak to. It’s my personal policy and it is not negotiable. I want them to have my name and contact number so they can give me feedback. Or give my employer feedback about me. If it’s bad feedback, I want the opportunity to give my side and get input for next time. If it’s good, I want my employers to have it on record. I can honestly say that all my employers have given me high marks for my work and I attribute a good deal of that to my customer service skills and my collected resources. I have had many jobs, but they have been by my choice; I have never been fired.
Please, if you are in any kind of customer service — and if you’re in any kind of business, ultimately you are in some level of customer service — remember that the people on the receiving end of your service are just that — people just like you. Some of them need information. Some need to give you information. Some need reassurance that someone is working on their behalf. Some of them are just having a bad day and need some place to vent. Some are simply having one of those days. Some of them are just lonely. They’re not out to get you. To them, it isn’t even about you. It’s about them. It’s not personal.
Make it personal. Give them something if you can. Even if it’s just the idea that someone heard them, that someone cared enough to try to point them in a positive direction. Be the person that offered encouragement, no matter how small.
They’ll remember you. And they’ll be back. And isn’t that the best kind of customer?
In a previous post I discussed the idea of developing a personal mythology and translating it into a type of visual medium, like a tarot deck.
My deck, like most others, begins with the Fool (or a Joker, in a standard card deck). In a traditional tarot deck, The Fool is numbered, if he is numbered at all, as “0″. He is always starting over in life; he is the personification of the idea that everyday is a new day and it is the first day of the rest of your life. We are, each of us, the Fool of our own deck, if you will. Thus, my choice for the Fool is a younger me. The image is of me and my sister. I have a little white dog, which is the usual companion of the Fool, but I have no photo of the two of us together and, besides, my sister has been a much more constant companion in my life than any of my pets.
The “story” of the tarot is the story of the Fool and how he evolves over time, growing up, growing older and hopefully wiser. The Fool is not afraid to take risks — mostly because he simply knows no better. He’s a reminder that, yes, a blind leap may be foolish, but never taking a risk is worse. We’re all fools from time to time; no one gets through life without collecting a few wooden nickels or finding a few blind alleys. This archetype asks the questions:
Have you put a dream on the back burner?
Are you being true to yourself?
Is it time to move on?
The Fool reminds us to set aside preconceived notions and try something new every once in a while. He laughs and tells us to live for the moment.
But watch your step.
“But what a fool believes he sees no wise man has the power to reason away. What seems to be is always better than nothing…” – The Doobie Brothers, What a Fool Believes.
Everyone else in my neighborhood has power except my side of the street. Some neighbors across the way are sharing power but my neighbors are drug dealers (yeah, I have video of them selling pills and weed to people in cars and kids on bicycles and yeah, I gave the video to the cops just to be told that it’s “their culture” and there is nothing HPD can do about it, ’cause they’re here illegally and Houston is a sanctuary city — although our mayor swears otherwise.) Anyway, I’d rather choke than ask them for jack. If that sounds all bitter and stuff, too bad. I have no use for people who prey on the sick and the gullible just to put money in their pockets, whether those low-lifes wear cut-off jeans or Armani suits. I’ve had a gut-full of both. To hell with them. Literally.
Anyway, the power situation is just very sucky. Last time this happened was during Alicia and we were without power on this side of the street for 3 weeks while the other side went on with their lives.
Doesn’t help that my job has no power and I can’t work. No money coming in is going to get ugly quick and no, FEMA doesn’t help with that. I’m scared. So I’m probably bitchier than usual. So I’ll spew it here rather than at my family. Elder parents are hanging in, as is my very bewildered little dog. It could have been so much worse and I feel petty for whining, but I’m human enough to admit it.
Everyone is doing the best they can, including FEMA, finally, after the mayor told them he wasn’t taking the blame for their slow response and said he could prove it. The governor wimped out and passed buck but what else is new. He’s not done anything useful for this state since he took office. We’re just paying him (very well) to show up, I guess. He certainly seems to think so.
The mayor of Galveston looks very tired but, despite the Look and Leave miscalculation of yesterday, they are doing the best they can in a very very tough situation and I pray she can hang in there.
From what I’ve seen, Hurricane Ike is as big a disaster as Katrina, but no one outside of Texas seems to be overly concerned. That’s okay, though. We Texans pride ourselves on our self-sufficiency. Give us some gas to get there, we’ll bring the nails and dig a hammer from the kitchen drawer and get it done. When the word went out that first responders were going without food and water because FEMA was AWOL, Houstonians with nothing but radios started hauling boxes of food and water to assist the assistors. So much was brought, the excess was driven to hard-hit areas and distributed to the neighborhoods door-to-door. We’ll make it. And we won’t be sitting on our backsides three years from now whining that the government is suddenly expecting us to pay our own rent.
When things settle down, I intend to get the aforementioned little dog a shirt that reads: “I survived Hurricane Ike and I bit it’s butt.” ‘Cause she did. She’s a Texan, too.
washed some clothes in the bathtub, hung them in the trees. boiled a couple of gallons of water for tomorrow. I’ll be out of gasoline in a few hours. None to be had.
hurricane Ike knocked out my new McCulloch generator. No power for fridge, TV or even rechargers. Ack.
Hurricane Ike took out the power and put half of one tree in the street and another part of the tree into the backseat of my neighbors’ Honda. House is still standing, no shingles missing, so we’re doing 100% better than most. Pray for everyone in the area.
The title of this blog might be a misnomer, actually. I mean, is it apathy if you’ve simply given up?
I understand McCain and Palin are not be the best thing going. I get that. Same old politics, different names. What I don’t get is the rabid endorsement of my Democratic friends. I don’t trust Obama any more than I do the others. His color has nothing to do with it. I’m intrigued by the idea of a black man in the White House. I think he would do as well as any, white or Hispanic. I don’t believe that one’s color is the primary requirement for the job of Leader of the Free World, white or otherwise. No, my distrust for Obama comes from all the spin he carts around. He has an answer for everything and the answers are just too pat, too PR signed, sealed and approved. He sounds like one endless soundbite, all words and no substance. And some of the sound-bites are, frankly, crap. “We are the ones we’ve been waiting for. We are the change that we seek.”
Wow. We are the change we seek? Man, we are so screwed.
Seriously. I understand Gandhi’s “You must be the change you wish to see in the world.” I believe it, too, and try to live it. I just don’t see anyone in government pulling it off. Certainly not a man who for years voluntarily sat under the tutelage of a racism-mongering “pastor” while telling us:
They [the American people] want a sense of purpose, a narrative arc to their lives. They’re looking to relieve a chronic loneliness, a feeling supported by a recent study that shows Americans have fewer close friends and confidants than ever before. And so they need an assurance that somebody out there cares about them, is listening to them—that they are not just destined to travel down that long highway towards nothingness.
Christ. Is he running for political office or Pope? I’m sorry, Obama and Oprah. I’m not looking for a messiah. I already have one of those. Thank you for your efforts, however.
How about:
[I]f enough Americans were awakened to the injustice; if they joined together, North and South, rich and poor, Christian and Jew, then perhaps that wall would come tumbling down, and justice would flow like water, and righteousness like a mighty stream.
Considering those particular words have been with us for several thousand years now, with no sign yet of coming to fruition, you’ll excuse me if I’m not on my knees thanking Gawd for the new savior of mankind. I’m old enough, and been around the political block enough times, to recognize the inner workings of yet another political whore throwing around the same old spiel.
I know we need a change. Do I really need to hear the obvious from someone else? Nope. Don’t think so. Don’t tell me we need change. Tell me what change to you have in mind, sir. Your shirt? The sheets? Your undies? Get specific.
Without the teleprompter, if you don’t mind.
To paraphrase another PR soundbite: Just shut up and do it already.
