Whoopie and I are sisters! Soul sisters! Recently, when a friend asked me why I don’t like the Christmas holiday season, I could not articulate a response. I just know that I don’t care for this time of year. If I had my way, I’d hunker down in my comfy bed with a pile of books and endless cups of hot coffee and surface in January.
Today, on The View, Whoopie made similar comments, prefacing her remarks, however, with the question: Do you ever go into a sex slump? Well, yeah, I’ve been in one for decades, but let’s move on. Whoopie explained that she doesn’t like Christmas, that she doesn’t feel pretty, she doesn’t feel happy, she doesn’t feel special this time of year: she just doesn’t feel.
I identified with her. Not only do I know that feeling, but I live that feeling every year.
Once Whoopie opened the topic, it got pretty spicy, but it was interesting to see that Whoopie and I are kinda out there all by our lonesomes. If other people share the total blah to Christmas feeling, they aren’t willing to make it publicly known! And if other people share that “sex slump,” they definitely aren’t going to publicly admit it. Perhaps the two most important things in life are to love Christmas and have an active, happy sex life!
Score: them +2; me zip.
I’m turned off by the shopping; the endless stream of “have-to’s” that permeate the mindset; the parties that are either social payback or business function; the competition to be the Queen of Christmas. I do enjoy driving around at night and looking at all the lights, and I love cooking a big dinner, especially if a pie is part of that process, but the tree? the decorations? the forced togetherness? the fakery? the commercialized music?
Gift me with a season pass.
Friday, November 30, 2007
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
Dreaming
A Langston Hughes’ poem has been rattling around in my mind these past few days as a kind of retirement ennui overtakes my life.
What happens to a dream deferred?
Does it dry up
Or does it explode?
I have dreams, some of which have been deferred, and other dreams that I cannot realize by myself, such as sharing my life with someone who wants to share his life with me. It’s tricky to find someone you want to be with and who also wants to be with you! I’m not going to spend my days/weeks/months/ years with someone who would rather be somewhere else and with someone else. All that makes is us both miserable. It’s tough to accept that reality and move on, but sometimes, that’s what life offers, regardless of the dream.
I have some dreams that dried up like raisins in the sun, but I like raisins, especially in oatmeal cookies and Eggless, Milkless, Butterless Cake (also called War Cake). Raisins plump nicely when they soak in hot liquid, so drying up like raisins isn’t all bad. The dream is still there; sometimes, it just takes a different form. How you handle that new form is the difference between a dream deferred and a dream realized.
I’ve had dreams that have festered, become damn sore, and then burst open so the pus could cleanse the wound and allow it to heal. Those dreams have knocked me off my feet and left me unable to stand temporarily, but I learned to pick myself up and put my life back together several times over. The next time I felt the festering begin, I knew that I was in for some pain before the injury could heal. I learned that some things have to just work themselves out, but eventually they will, one way or another.
Some dreams give the appearance of being solid, substantial, real—but if they are not cared for properly, they can sour like a piece of meat left out to thaw that stinks up the kitchen. Oh, sure, you can go ahead and prepare it, and even take a bite if you’re a glutton for punishment, but once the meat turns, you might just as well as wrap it in plastic and take it outside because it’s going to stink up the whole house, not just the kitchen, if you leave it on the counter.
Some dreams stay just close enough to be tempting, just close enough that you think there is still going to be a chance for dreams to come true. But if you don’t act on them when the window of opportunity presents itself, not opening the lid on the jam jar because you want to save it for when the time is right, all the sugar comes to the top and ruins the jam. Toss the jam, keep the jar, and next time—enjoy the jam when you get it. There is no better “right time” than right now!
There are dreams that sag, that weigh us down and don’t allow us to move in the direction we need to move. I always wanted happily ever after, but that wasn’t written into my life plan. I’ve watched other people meet their mates, marry, and live reasonably happily ever after, but that option hasn’t been presented to me. When I divorced, I imagined that I would find someone else to share life with, and I waited for it to happen, but I haven’t really even come close! I guess there is a part of me that would rather be reasonably happy single than miserably unhappy married, but I’ve always thought that there could be a between.
Does a dream deferred explode? Does it blow up in our own faces or make us so angry and vengeful that we explode in other people’s faces? Yeah. It’s hard living with disappointment, with having to endure that which we don’t want to endure. It’s awful to have to accept that what we thought our life was going to be isn’t going to be, and no matter how hard we try, no matter what we do (or don’t do), our dream goes up in smoke, but that happens.
It’s no one’s fault; it’s just life.
It’s what we do in response to not getting what we want that makes us the people we are. If we stand up and accept what is, rather than howling about what is not, we can get through this life. It might not be our dream, but sometimes we have to live our reality, rather than continue to wait for our dreams to come true. It could be a really long wait.
It’s about each of us having dreams that disappoint us, dreams that sometimes just fade away, and other times dreams that provide the direction and meaning to our lives. It’s about who we are and who we are to become, and the journey between.
Dream Deferred:
What happens to a dream deferred?
Does it dry up
like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore--
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over--
like a syrupy sweet?
Maybe it just sags like a heavy load.
Or does it explode?
I have dreams, some of which have been deferred, and other dreams that I cannot realize by myself, such as sharing my life with someone who wants to share his life with me. It’s tricky to find someone you want to be with and who also wants to be with you! I’m not going to spend my days/weeks/months/ years with someone who would rather be somewhere else and with someone else. All that makes is us both miserable. It’s tough to accept that reality and move on, but sometimes, that’s what life offers, regardless of the dream.
I have some dreams that dried up like raisins in the sun, but I like raisins, especially in oatmeal cookies and Eggless, Milkless, Butterless Cake (also called War Cake). Raisins plump nicely when they soak in hot liquid, so drying up like raisins isn’t all bad. The dream is still there; sometimes, it just takes a different form. How you handle that new form is the difference between a dream deferred and a dream realized.
I’ve had dreams that have festered, become damn sore, and then burst open so the pus could cleanse the wound and allow it to heal. Those dreams have knocked me off my feet and left me unable to stand temporarily, but I learned to pick myself up and put my life back together several times over. The next time I felt the festering begin, I knew that I was in for some pain before the injury could heal. I learned that some things have to just work themselves out, but eventually they will, one way or another.
Some dreams give the appearance of being solid, substantial, real—but if they are not cared for properly, they can sour like a piece of meat left out to thaw that stinks up the kitchen. Oh, sure, you can go ahead and prepare it, and even take a bite if you’re a glutton for punishment, but once the meat turns, you might just as well as wrap it in plastic and take it outside because it’s going to stink up the whole house, not just the kitchen, if you leave it on the counter.
Some dreams stay just close enough to be tempting, just close enough that you think there is still going to be a chance for dreams to come true. But if you don’t act on them when the window of opportunity presents itself, not opening the lid on the jam jar because you want to save it for when the time is right, all the sugar comes to the top and ruins the jam. Toss the jam, keep the jar, and next time—enjoy the jam when you get it. There is no better “right time” than right now!
There are dreams that sag, that weigh us down and don’t allow us to move in the direction we need to move. I always wanted happily ever after, but that wasn’t written into my life plan. I’ve watched other people meet their mates, marry, and live reasonably happily ever after, but that option hasn’t been presented to me. When I divorced, I imagined that I would find someone else to share life with, and I waited for it to happen, but I haven’t really even come close! I guess there is a part of me that would rather be reasonably happy single than miserably unhappy married, but I’ve always thought that there could be a between.
Does a dream deferred explode? Does it blow up in our own faces or make us so angry and vengeful that we explode in other people’s faces? Yeah. It’s hard living with disappointment, with having to endure that which we don’t want to endure. It’s awful to have to accept that what we thought our life was going to be isn’t going to be, and no matter how hard we try, no matter what we do (or don’t do), our dream goes up in smoke, but that happens.
It’s no one’s fault; it’s just life.
It’s what we do in response to not getting what we want that makes us the people we are. If we stand up and accept what is, rather than howling about what is not, we can get through this life. It might not be our dream, but sometimes we have to live our reality, rather than continue to wait for our dreams to come true. It could be a really long wait.
It’s about each of us having dreams that disappoint us, dreams that sometimes just fade away, and other times dreams that provide the direction and meaning to our lives. It’s about who we are and who we are to become, and the journey between.
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
No Coincidence
Okay, I’ll admit that I’ve been reading—a lot—since I retired. I enjoy reading crime dramas written by men whose sense of humor interjects itself into the most gruesome crime. Women writers also do an excellent job, especially true crime author Ann Rule, who reverse engineers actual crimes to show how they began, many times years before the actual criminal event/ murder. When it comes to female fiction, no one beats Nora Roberts (writing as J.D. Robb), whose fictional female lieutenant Eve kicks butt and solves crimes, usually with the aid of her uber-cyber savvy hubby, Roarke.
So, this morning, I’m reading about the death of Sean Taylor, a professional football player, who was shot in the groin by an intruder and died early this morning. He leaves behind a girlfriend, 1-year-old daughter, and a history of suspicious behavior that often involved law enforcement.
Hmm, thinks I, as I continue reading the article.
Additionally, his father is a police chief in Florida (explains the rebellion against authority figures). A University of Miami football player was killed one year ago this month; shot, as a matter of fact and lived a couple of miles from today's victim (too coincidental). Eight days ago, an intruder broke into Taylor’s home and left a kitchen knife on the bed (a warning, perhaps). Last night, the intruder came back and finished the job (crime anniversary?).
Now that sounds a whole lot like cause and effect, rather than an unbelievable chain of criminal coincidence.
Yeah, I’d start looking for the links because the investigators in the crime dramas never believe in coincidence. I’m thinking that this murder is simply the next in a chain of events that originated in Florida, in the past, and may be linked to the father, not just to the son, in the present.
And if I’m a football player with those same ties, I’d be upgrading the home security system and asking for personal protection until the shooter is caught.
So, this morning, I’m reading about the death of Sean Taylor, a professional football player, who was shot in the groin by an intruder and died early this morning. He leaves behind a girlfriend, 1-year-old daughter, and a history of suspicious behavior that often involved law enforcement.
Hmm, thinks I, as I continue reading the article.
Additionally, his father is a police chief in Florida (explains the rebellion against authority figures). A University of Miami football player was killed one year ago this month; shot, as a matter of fact and lived a couple of miles from today's victim (too coincidental). Eight days ago, an intruder broke into Taylor’s home and left a kitchen knife on the bed (a warning, perhaps). Last night, the intruder came back and finished the job (crime anniversary?).
Now that sounds a whole lot like cause and effect, rather than an unbelievable chain of criminal coincidence.
Yeah, I’d start looking for the links because the investigators in the crime dramas never believe in coincidence. I’m thinking that this murder is simply the next in a chain of events that originated in Florida, in the past, and may be linked to the father, not just to the son, in the present.
And if I’m a football player with those same ties, I’d be upgrading the home security system and asking for personal protection until the shooter is caught.
Friday, November 23, 2007
'Til Death Do Us Part
The truth of life is more challenging than the illusions. In a video game, the same villains can be obliterated endlessly; in life, once you’re dead, you’re dead. Game over.
Recently, I’ve seen 3 movies on the big screen that provide a graphic experience with the finality of death: In the Valley of Elah, 3:10 to Yuma, and No Country for Old Men. What these three powerful films have in common is a massive dose of reality that is ugly, harsh, hard to watch, and difficult to forget.
War is reality: as long as we have neighbors, we will fight with them; when the school bully picks on a kid, someone will fight for the kid who cannot fight for himself; when someone wants to take from me that which is mine, I will fight to prevent it. Often, the fight ends in death. Real death. No do-over. No second chance. Just instant, final death.
Life is not a video game.
Elah is about the after-effects of war, the desensitization of the warriors who learn to kill or be killed, an instinct that is not easily shut off once it’s engaged. If you want to stay alive in combat, you don’t play nice! You shoot first; you shoot to kill. When you come back from combat, you deal with the morality of your actions. Sometimes, the simplest home-town confrontations escalate into internal mental wars that result in the enemy, even when it’s a drinking buddy out for a night on the town, eliminated.
In 3:10 to Yuma, a battle of wits ensues when a man, a struggling rancher, gives his word to escort a prisoner to the train that will take him back to jail. The accused tells his escort that he’s already broken out of the same prison once, so the viewer acknowledges that the man’s struggle to return the criminal to prison is a fool’s errand. The criminal shoots first, shoots often, and kills what he aims to kill. If the rancher is in his way, he will die, and both of the men know that is truth. However, once the rancher gives his word, it is his bond. Even if it costs him his life.
In No Country, a man takes $2 million that does not belong to him, but which can forever change his life from what it is to what he imagines it to be. Although he is a Viet vet, he is no match for a psychopath who wants the money back simply because it is his. Shoot first; shoot to kill; do not let anything or anyone stand in the way. Few of us are capable of living that truth.
Life is a lesson that continues long after the individuals are gone. Sometimes we get it the first time, but often we have to be retaught—that is, retaught when there is a “next time.” If the lesson fails, often we pay the price with our lives. Filmmakers send that message in a variety of ways, and in these three films the message is graphic, and it is harsh.
The mostly male casts, sparse dialog, and bleak settings impose substance in subtle, but powerful ways that all too often is artifically created in commercial films. It's not just "a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do," but more that mankind has to do whatever it takes to get it right, and it's not the same right for every man in every situation. Each of us has to learn when to stand up, when to put our lives on the line for what we know within ourselves is right, even if it costs us our lives, as well as when to walk away.
These characters aren't superheroes--or even heroes--they are just men going through life one day at a time. And then they die.
In each of the films one person asks the question “why,” but there is no why. Life just is; it’s ugly and it’s messy, but whether you do it right or make a mess, you leave behind a lesson that others remember long after you have left.
Unfortunately, that lesson is just as often violent as it is peaceful. More people know Jeffrey Dahmer’s name than know Mother Theresa’s name; Ted Bundy ruined more lives than the local pastor of a small congregation saves.
People live, people die, and the filmmaker tells the story.
Recently, I’ve seen 3 movies on the big screen that provide a graphic experience with the finality of death: In the Valley of Elah, 3:10 to Yuma, and No Country for Old Men. What these three powerful films have in common is a massive dose of reality that is ugly, harsh, hard to watch, and difficult to forget.
War is reality: as long as we have neighbors, we will fight with them; when the school bully picks on a kid, someone will fight for the kid who cannot fight for himself; when someone wants to take from me that which is mine, I will fight to prevent it. Often, the fight ends in death. Real death. No do-over. No second chance. Just instant, final death.
Life is not a video game.
Elah is about the after-effects of war, the desensitization of the warriors who learn to kill or be killed, an instinct that is not easily shut off once it’s engaged. If you want to stay alive in combat, you don’t play nice! You shoot first; you shoot to kill. When you come back from combat, you deal with the morality of your actions. Sometimes, the simplest home-town confrontations escalate into internal mental wars that result in the enemy, even when it’s a drinking buddy out for a night on the town, eliminated.
In 3:10 to Yuma, a battle of wits ensues when a man, a struggling rancher, gives his word to escort a prisoner to the train that will take him back to jail. The accused tells his escort that he’s already broken out of the same prison once, so the viewer acknowledges that the man’s struggle to return the criminal to prison is a fool’s errand. The criminal shoots first, shoots often, and kills what he aims to kill. If the rancher is in his way, he will die, and both of the men know that is truth. However, once the rancher gives his word, it is his bond. Even if it costs him his life.
In No Country, a man takes $2 million that does not belong to him, but which can forever change his life from what it is to what he imagines it to be. Although he is a Viet vet, he is no match for a psychopath who wants the money back simply because it is his. Shoot first; shoot to kill; do not let anything or anyone stand in the way. Few of us are capable of living that truth.
Life is a lesson that continues long after the individuals are gone. Sometimes we get it the first time, but often we have to be retaught—that is, retaught when there is a “next time.” If the lesson fails, often we pay the price with our lives. Filmmakers send that message in a variety of ways, and in these three films the message is graphic, and it is harsh.
The mostly male casts, sparse dialog, and bleak settings impose substance in subtle, but powerful ways that all too often is artifically created in commercial films. It's not just "a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do," but more that mankind has to do whatever it takes to get it right, and it's not the same right for every man in every situation. Each of us has to learn when to stand up, when to put our lives on the line for what we know within ourselves is right, even if it costs us our lives, as well as when to walk away.
These characters aren't superheroes--or even heroes--they are just men going through life one day at a time. And then they die.
In each of the films one person asks the question “why,” but there is no why. Life just is; it’s ugly and it’s messy, but whether you do it right or make a mess, you leave behind a lesson that others remember long after you have left.
Unfortunately, that lesson is just as often violent as it is peaceful. More people know Jeffrey Dahmer’s name than know Mother Theresa’s name; Ted Bundy ruined more lives than the local pastor of a small congregation saves.
People live, people die, and the filmmaker tells the story.
Thursday, November 22, 2007
Giving Thanks
A couple of days ago, a friend from college, a former roomie, came out and we went to lunch. It amazed me how quickly we were back in the 1960s, reliving so many moments of our shared history. We don't spend as much time together as we should, especially in the autumn of our lives, but when we are together, we remember why we are still friends.
I traveled up the hill last week to deliver some goodies to a social event another friend was hostessing. She didn't ask, she wouldn't, but I offered. We've traveled many roads together in the time we've shared, some of them filled with joy and laughter, but some of them a trail of tears. I'm happy for her because she's found new joy in a marriage that was a long time coming and richly deserved.
I stopped by another friend's home to see her new swim spa in place within the brick foundation that will become her pool room. She loves to swim and makes a point of driving to visit the only local public pool--an outdoor pool at a nearby high school, which is only open during the summer. Once her swim spa is operating, she'll be able to swim 24/7, if that's what she wants ... and I can't wait to see her in the water, stroking away the stress of the day.
I drove another friend, a newer friend, to her summer home in the mountains, hauling some furniture she was moving in the back of my truck. After we off-loaded that, we spent time together, relaxed time, over a cup of coffee and then some mindless meandering through the village before we headed back to the desert. It was quiet, it was peaceful, it was friendship.
Today, I shared Thanksgiving dinner with another friend, another journey of laughter and tears that has endured so many years. Once, we were young together, and now we're not so young. Our minds are as much friends as our souls, and it's always a special time when we are together. Sometimes, she just lets me come and sit on her seashore because she knows how much I need that to be part of my life. Other times, we run errands--and we often take in a movie and lunch. And she always prays for me, whether I ask her to or not. I usually ask her to--just in case.
Some friends have gone on before me, and I miss them most at the holidays. I lost 3 friends within a year, and it's taken me time to come to grips with that. I don't handle death well, but I really don't handle it well when someone I love dies.
I don't have a long list of friends, but the ones I have are embedded deeply in my soul.
Thank you, my friends.
I traveled up the hill last week to deliver some goodies to a social event another friend was hostessing. She didn't ask, she wouldn't, but I offered. We've traveled many roads together in the time we've shared, some of them filled with joy and laughter, but some of them a trail of tears. I'm happy for her because she's found new joy in a marriage that was a long time coming and richly deserved.
I stopped by another friend's home to see her new swim spa in place within the brick foundation that will become her pool room. She loves to swim and makes a point of driving to visit the only local public pool--an outdoor pool at a nearby high school, which is only open during the summer. Once her swim spa is operating, she'll be able to swim 24/7, if that's what she wants ... and I can't wait to see her in the water, stroking away the stress of the day.
I drove another friend, a newer friend, to her summer home in the mountains, hauling some furniture she was moving in the back of my truck. After we off-loaded that, we spent time together, relaxed time, over a cup of coffee and then some mindless meandering through the village before we headed back to the desert. It was quiet, it was peaceful, it was friendship.
Today, I shared Thanksgiving dinner with another friend, another journey of laughter and tears that has endured so many years. Once, we were young together, and now we're not so young. Our minds are as much friends as our souls, and it's always a special time when we are together. Sometimes, she just lets me come and sit on her seashore because she knows how much I need that to be part of my life. Other times, we run errands--and we often take in a movie and lunch. And she always prays for me, whether I ask her to or not. I usually ask her to--just in case.
Some friends have gone on before me, and I miss them most at the holidays. I lost 3 friends within a year, and it's taken me time to come to grips with that. I don't handle death well, but I really don't handle it well when someone I love dies.
I don't have a long list of friends, but the ones I have are embedded deeply in my soul.
Thank you, my friends.
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
Death's Doorway
Last night’s class was somber; of the 8 students in the class, 3 worked with a young man who was killed in a horrific accident Sunday morning. He survived Iraq, but couldn’t survive driving on a local highway long known for its high death toll.
Evidently, he left work Saturday and headed down the hill. No one knows where he was or what he was doing, but he headed back up the hill Sunday morning. Suddenly, he swerved across the median, hit another vehicle head-on, and then both of those cars collided with a semi. The two smaller cars burst into flames and, trapped in their vehicles, both drivers were burned beyond recognition. The driver of the semi was able to get out of his truck, but neither he nor the passengers in other vehicles on the road at the time were able to help the victims trapped in their burning cars.
The roadway was closed to all traffic for several hours as the cars burned; when the fires were out, the investigation began, but it wasn’t until many hours later that the cremated remains were removed from what was left of the vehicles. Then began the task of identifying first, the vehicles, and then the remains, and then notifying next of kin, and, slowly, others who may have known the victims learned of their deaths.
The remains of the military man were identified yesterday, and his death sent shockwaves throughout the military hospital where he worked alongside the students in my class.
The expected comments were made:
“I worked with him Saturday, but he didn’t show up Monday. Everyone wondered where he was.”
“I saw his car in the hospital parking lot Saturday, but didn’t talk to him because we were so busy.”
“Yeah, I worked with him; we were in the same department.”
We all try to understand and accept that a person can be here one moment and gone the next, but when you are turning 21 this week and on your way to Las Vegas to celebrate, you expect to return home after the party ends. When you drive down the hill to shop, eat out at a nice restaurant, or go clubbing, you expect to return home. When you are preparing to head out for the holiday, you expect to share special time with family and friends and come back home filled with memories.
When you are driving anywhere, you don’t expect another driver to suddenly swerve into your vehicle, hit you head-on, and burn to death.
This tregdy was a somber reminder to all of us as we begin the holiday season in earnest that it may well be my time next.
Evidently, he left work Saturday and headed down the hill. No one knows where he was or what he was doing, but he headed back up the hill Sunday morning. Suddenly, he swerved across the median, hit another vehicle head-on, and then both of those cars collided with a semi. The two smaller cars burst into flames and, trapped in their vehicles, both drivers were burned beyond recognition. The driver of the semi was able to get out of his truck, but neither he nor the passengers in other vehicles on the road at the time were able to help the victims trapped in their burning cars.
The roadway was closed to all traffic for several hours as the cars burned; when the fires were out, the investigation began, but it wasn’t until many hours later that the cremated remains were removed from what was left of the vehicles. Then began the task of identifying first, the vehicles, and then the remains, and then notifying next of kin, and, slowly, others who may have known the victims learned of their deaths.
The remains of the military man were identified yesterday, and his death sent shockwaves throughout the military hospital where he worked alongside the students in my class.
The expected comments were made:
“I worked with him Saturday, but he didn’t show up Monday. Everyone wondered where he was.”
“I saw his car in the hospital parking lot Saturday, but didn’t talk to him because we were so busy.”
“Yeah, I worked with him; we were in the same department.”
We all try to understand and accept that a person can be here one moment and gone the next, but when you are turning 21 this week and on your way to Las Vegas to celebrate, you expect to return home after the party ends. When you drive down the hill to shop, eat out at a nice restaurant, or go clubbing, you expect to return home. When you are preparing to head out for the holiday, you expect to share special time with family and friends and come back home filled with memories.
When you are driving anywhere, you don’t expect another driver to suddenly swerve into your vehicle, hit you head-on, and burn to death.
This tregdy was a somber reminder to all of us as we begin the holiday season in earnest that it may well be my time next.
Monday, November 19, 2007
An Immovable Object
My garage door won't open--at all. My car is inside, and it's going to stay inside until someone can open the garage door. I'm glad I have alternate transportation parked outside because I think this is a major repair job.
Nope, it's not the electrical system, which works fine; it's the garage door itself. I've investigated all the possibilities, engaged and disengaged the electronics, and the door won't budge, but the garage door opener does its thing just fine.
I'm expecting the repair person any moment. I carefully made sure I explained that it's the actual door that won't move, that I've tried releasing the mechanism, yada yada yada, so it'll be fun to see what the repair person says when (s)he arrives.
Above the door is a metal cylinder which, as I looked more closely at it, seems to be some sort of spring, and it's broken. I suspect that may be the problem, but the person on the phone assures me it's the cable.
No, I checked that and the cable seems to be fine--but the metal cylinder is broken, so that is probably the problem.
Well, we'll check the cable.
Okay, but please tell the person who is coming to my home to be prepared to deal with the broken cylinder above the garage door as well!
It's $95 to show up, with the repair work and parts added on. I'm seeing a bunch of bucks being wasted if the repair centers on the cable or the garage door opener, rather than on the pully mechanism that actually raises and lowers the door.
_________________
For a total cost of $285, both of the springs were replaced and the garage door now opens and closes! Hurrah! Not only was I correct in my assessment of the problem, but the servicemen were friendly, efficient, and instructional (they told me to clean the tracks and call them for service annually).
Problem solved.
Nope, it's not the electrical system, which works fine; it's the garage door itself. I've investigated all the possibilities, engaged and disengaged the electronics, and the door won't budge, but the garage door opener does its thing just fine.
I'm expecting the repair person any moment. I carefully made sure I explained that it's the actual door that won't move, that I've tried releasing the mechanism, yada yada yada, so it'll be fun to see what the repair person says when (s)he arrives.
Above the door is a metal cylinder which, as I looked more closely at it, seems to be some sort of spring, and it's broken. I suspect that may be the problem, but the person on the phone assures me it's the cable.
No, I checked that and the cable seems to be fine--but the metal cylinder is broken, so that is probably the problem.
Well, we'll check the cable.
Okay, but please tell the person who is coming to my home to be prepared to deal with the broken cylinder above the garage door as well!
It's $95 to show up, with the repair work and parts added on. I'm seeing a bunch of bucks being wasted if the repair centers on the cable or the garage door opener, rather than on the pully mechanism that actually raises and lowers the door.
_________________
For a total cost of $285, both of the springs were replaced and the garage door now opens and closes! Hurrah! Not only was I correct in my assessment of the problem, but the servicemen were friendly, efficient, and instructional (they told me to clean the tracks and call them for service annually).
Problem solved.
Sunday, November 18, 2007
Stop, Look, and Listen
This week, in the space of just over 12 hours, 3 female pedestrians were killed: 2 locally and one at the other end of the valley. Prior to these latest fatalities, within the past year an elderly man was killed crossing a highway between a mall and a restaurant, another elderly man was killed jaywalking across a busy main street in a local dowtown business district, two teens who were arguing were killed on another nearby highway, and another teen was killed crossing a major thoroughfare between two housing areas on Halloween night.
When an accident occurs, the investigators seek the cause(s); the public assesses the blame.
A teen girl was killed Halloween night when she—and a group of friends—made a bad decision to cross a poorly-lit, highly-traveled street in the middle of the block while wearing dark costumes. The driver swerved and avoided most of the group of trick-or-treaters, but not the last one. The hue and cry arose about the posted 50 mph speed limit, the nearby construction that “forced” the teens to cross the street in the middle of the block, the lack of street lights. The blame was thrown at the driver and the roadway, but not at the bad decision-making of the teens who chose not to walk an extra hundred feet to a corner traffic light before trying to cross the street to continue their festivities.
An elderly woman also crossed in the middle of the block and was killed by a passing motorist. The woman was carrying groceries, so she probably wanted the shortest route to her apartment door, but she too was on a highly-traveled street with a posted speed limit of 50 mph at night and crossing in the middle of the block. Concerned citizens are calling for lowering the speed limit, adding more street lights, making the area safer for pedestrians.
A 20-something darted across a busy street, taking her chances against the traffic, and she also lost the gamble that she could make it safely to the other side of the street.
It is tragic whenever anyone is killed, but we have forgotten that many victims of pedestrian traffic accidents cause their own injury/death. We cannot, as so many have asserted, change all the speed limits to keep jaywalkers safer while darting across the street. We cannot, as more demand, add an endless string of street lights to illuminate areas that are inherently not safe for pedestrians. We cannot assume that adding gutters and sidewalks in rural areas will protect pedestrians from speeding drivers, inattentive drivers, bad drivers, drivers under the influence.
Or protect drivers from unsafe pedestrians who make bad decisions.
We cannot legislate that pedestrians understand that the human body cannot withstand a collision with a 2000-pound automobile traveling 50-60 miles per hour. We have to put some of the responsibility onto the shoulders of the pedestrians who should have known better, who should have realized that they could not be seen in the darkness as they crossed in the middle of the street, who should have realized that they could not cross the street faster than the oncoming traffic would approach them.
It used to be that all children were taught to stop, look, listen—and then look again—before crossing any street. That is no longer the case as far too many people assume that wherever they choose to cross the street, the vehicles will stop for them. Drivers just aren’t going to do that if they are talking on the phone, dashboard dining, disciplining children, running late, inexperienced, under the influence, or speeding. Drivers assume that the middle of the block is for their use, not for pedestrians who want to take a short-cut, rather than find a corner, a traffic light, or a marked sidewalk.
In the most recent fatality, however, another young teen was walking on the shoulder of the major route in and out of the community that would also take her to school. Because she lived within a mile of her school, she was a walker; the major route she walked has no gutters, no sidewalks, just an uneven shoulder and then desert dirt. A driver hit her, threw her body and her backpack about 50 feet off the roadway, and then sped off. No one saw the young girl for about an hour after the impact, and she was pronounced dead at the local hospital about the same time classes were starting at her school.
She was the one of the most recent pedestrian fatalities who was doing everything right that morning—and the driver who hit her did everything wrong. We cannot, as some have suggested, blame the local school district for not providing bus service, the lack of gutters and sidewalks, or the speed limit, because a person is responsible for the accident that killed this young girl. A driver caused this accident, and a driver has to be held accountable for it.
When an accident is a crime, such as the collision that killed a young girl on her way to school, law enforcement needs to use all the resources within their power to bring the driver to justice; however, when it’s a matter of bad decision-making that results in a pedestrian death, the public has to accept that there are no laws that can protect a pedestrian who makes the bad decision.
When an accident occurs, the investigators seek the cause(s); the public assesses the blame.
A teen girl was killed Halloween night when she—and a group of friends—made a bad decision to cross a poorly-lit, highly-traveled street in the middle of the block while wearing dark costumes. The driver swerved and avoided most of the group of trick-or-treaters, but not the last one. The hue and cry arose about the posted 50 mph speed limit, the nearby construction that “forced” the teens to cross the street in the middle of the block, the lack of street lights. The blame was thrown at the driver and the roadway, but not at the bad decision-making of the teens who chose not to walk an extra hundred feet to a corner traffic light before trying to cross the street to continue their festivities.
An elderly woman also crossed in the middle of the block and was killed by a passing motorist. The woman was carrying groceries, so she probably wanted the shortest route to her apartment door, but she too was on a highly-traveled street with a posted speed limit of 50 mph at night and crossing in the middle of the block. Concerned citizens are calling for lowering the speed limit, adding more street lights, making the area safer for pedestrians.
A 20-something darted across a busy street, taking her chances against the traffic, and she also lost the gamble that she could make it safely to the other side of the street.
It is tragic whenever anyone is killed, but we have forgotten that many victims of pedestrian traffic accidents cause their own injury/death. We cannot, as so many have asserted, change all the speed limits to keep jaywalkers safer while darting across the street. We cannot, as more demand, add an endless string of street lights to illuminate areas that are inherently not safe for pedestrians. We cannot assume that adding gutters and sidewalks in rural areas will protect pedestrians from speeding drivers, inattentive drivers, bad drivers, drivers under the influence.
Or protect drivers from unsafe pedestrians who make bad decisions.
We cannot legislate that pedestrians understand that the human body cannot withstand a collision with a 2000-pound automobile traveling 50-60 miles per hour. We have to put some of the responsibility onto the shoulders of the pedestrians who should have known better, who should have realized that they could not be seen in the darkness as they crossed in the middle of the street, who should have realized that they could not cross the street faster than the oncoming traffic would approach them.
It used to be that all children were taught to stop, look, listen—and then look again—before crossing any street. That is no longer the case as far too many people assume that wherever they choose to cross the street, the vehicles will stop for them. Drivers just aren’t going to do that if they are talking on the phone, dashboard dining, disciplining children, running late, inexperienced, under the influence, or speeding. Drivers assume that the middle of the block is for their use, not for pedestrians who want to take a short-cut, rather than find a corner, a traffic light, or a marked sidewalk.
In the most recent fatality, however, another young teen was walking on the shoulder of the major route in and out of the community that would also take her to school. Because she lived within a mile of her school, she was a walker; the major route she walked has no gutters, no sidewalks, just an uneven shoulder and then desert dirt. A driver hit her, threw her body and her backpack about 50 feet off the roadway, and then sped off. No one saw the young girl for about an hour after the impact, and she was pronounced dead at the local hospital about the same time classes were starting at her school.
She was the one of the most recent pedestrian fatalities who was doing everything right that morning—and the driver who hit her did everything wrong. We cannot, as some have suggested, blame the local school district for not providing bus service, the lack of gutters and sidewalks, or the speed limit, because a person is responsible for the accident that killed this young girl. A driver caused this accident, and a driver has to be held accountable for it.
When an accident is a crime, such as the collision that killed a young girl on her way to school, law enforcement needs to use all the resources within their power to bring the driver to justice; however, when it’s a matter of bad decision-making that results in a pedestrian death, the public has to accept that there are no laws that can protect a pedestrian who makes the bad decision.
Thursday, November 15, 2007
Phone-y
It's been exactly a year since the last cell phone switch. You have a phone for a year, the battery dies, you get the phony sales pitch re: it's cheaper to get a new phone than a new battery--and you chomp on the bait only to realize it actually costs you a 2-year extension of your current plan!
The battery is dead, so I stopped into the "Cingular" store, which is now AT&T, to buy a new battery.
Nope, don't want a new phone: I want a new battery and the same phone.
Well, this phone is obsolete! We don't carry replacement parts for phones "this old."
Hey, it's one year old--one year, not a decade!
Well, you might be able to find a battery on the website, but it's gonna cost you $40-50 for the battery, so it's actually cheaper to upgrade to a more modern phone.
Thanks, but no thanks. No battery? I'm outta here.
I googled "LG 3.7 volt battery" and found dozens of sites selling the replacement battery, ranging in price from $9.99 (au extension) to $10.99 (uk extension) to USA ($12.99). My battery should be here the first of next week and I get to keep the phone I like without having to extend my service again.
Win-win!
_______________
The new battery arrived, is installed, and works beautifully! $9.99, no extension of the service contract, and I keep the phone I want.
The battery is dead, so I stopped into the "Cingular" store, which is now AT&T, to buy a new battery.
Nope, don't want a new phone: I want a new battery and the same phone.
Well, this phone is obsolete! We don't carry replacement parts for phones "this old."
Hey, it's one year old--one year, not a decade!
Well, you might be able to find a battery on the website, but it's gonna cost you $40-50 for the battery, so it's actually cheaper to upgrade to a more modern phone.
Thanks, but no thanks. No battery? I'm outta here.
I googled "LG 3.7 volt battery" and found dozens of sites selling the replacement battery, ranging in price from $9.99 (au extension) to $10.99 (uk extension) to USA ($12.99). My battery should be here the first of next week and I get to keep the phone I like without having to extend my service again.
Win-win!
_______________
The new battery arrived, is installed, and works beautifully! $9.99, no extension of the service contract, and I keep the phone I want.
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
Flash Point
When my electric bill was the highest it's been in the 8 years I've lived in this house, I saw instant red. Come to find out, it doesn't matter if the utility company makes a billing error: you pay the amount due or they turn off the utility.
IF they've made a mistake and you can prove it, they credit your account. There are no refunds, no apologies, no other recourse.
Well, I turned off the air conditioning October 15, the day I paid the $229.12 bill. I had already looked up previous bills, the average of which Jan through May was $47.24; the summer months (J-J-Aug) averaged $130.62, so I knew the Oct $229.12 was an error--but knowing it and getting So Cal Edison Co to acknowledge it are two different things.
My new bill is $49.99, which is about right. The increased rate I'll chalk up to higher utility costs as that warning came in a correspondence included with the last bill, perhaps to justify the staggering increase.
As warm as it's been, I probably won't turn on the heat until January. It really ticks me off that do everything in my power to keep my utility costs at a minimum and pay my bills on time and still get gouged by an outrageous bill that is obviously in error.
* * * * * * * * * *
Along with the Edison bill came the determination from the insurance company that they don't have to pay for the last day of my hospitalization in July because "the patient had stable vital signs, was tolerating a diet, was able to walk and was not requiring intravenous (IV) medications."
All that's true.
But what's also true is that the cardiac catheterization scheduled for 10 AM was not performed until 6 PM, which added the "extra" day to my stay as I could not be released until 6 hours after the catheterization (it is inserted into the femoral artery, so they want to be sure it seals before they send a patient home to bleed to death), and patients aren't often released at midnight!
My admitting doctor made rounds the next morning at 8 AM, told me to get dressed and ready to go -- but it took until 11 AM to process me out. I don't know why: that's just what happened. Believe me, as soon as they said I could leave, I left!
Now, I am penalized by the system. I can't sign myself out and leave the hospital, but if I stay, I have to pay out of pocket because I theoretically "could have" gone home.
Of course, there is no refusal to pay because all those papers signed at admittance affirm that what isn't covered by insurance will be covered by the patient, and I'm the patient.
I've called my doctor's office and the office staff representative said she'll look into it, assuring me that this happens all the time. Well, maybe it does and maybe it doesn't--but if I were indigent, I wouldn't have to worry because if you don't have insurance, you don't have to pay.
* * * * * * * * * *
Finally, I sent back an 18-pack of pens I bought for grading papers. Packaged in a colorful array, the Pilot G7 assorted pens seemed like a great solution for keeping track of which essay I was responding to and separating the points in the hard copy of the grade book prior to inputting them into the electronic grade book.
However, the pens didn't work. I'd begin writing with one and have to switch to another as it dried up, but when I put it down to use the second pen, when that one dried up I could use the first one again. Irritating, to say the least.
So I wrote a letter of complaint, to which I received a nice reply: return the pens and we'll send you a product substitution. I paid $4.60 to send the pens back (remember it's an 18-pack) and today received 12 replacement pens, plus 2 "free samples" of other Pilot products.
Hm, let's see. I paid $4.60 to send you 18 pens and you sent me 12 back, plus 2 "free" pens. Unless I'm wrong, I not only am short 6 of the original pens, but the 2 "free" pens cost me $2.30 each because I did not receive credit for the postage I spent. Even if I subtract their $1.98 postage, I end up paying $2.62 for this deal, which is $1.31 per "free" pen.
* * * * * * * * * *
Today, life is difficult--perhaps because I'm making it so, rather than because it is. So, I'm going outside, light some candles, pour a glass of wine, and just enjoy the beautiful weather and my lovely garden.
IF they've made a mistake and you can prove it, they credit your account. There are no refunds, no apologies, no other recourse.
Well, I turned off the air conditioning October 15, the day I paid the $229.12 bill. I had already looked up previous bills, the average of which Jan through May was $47.24; the summer months (J-J-Aug) averaged $130.62, so I knew the Oct $229.12 was an error--but knowing it and getting So Cal Edison Co to acknowledge it are two different things.
My new bill is $49.99, which is about right. The increased rate I'll chalk up to higher utility costs as that warning came in a correspondence included with the last bill, perhaps to justify the staggering increase.
As warm as it's been, I probably won't turn on the heat until January. It really ticks me off that do everything in my power to keep my utility costs at a minimum and pay my bills on time and still get gouged by an outrageous bill that is obviously in error.
* * * * * * * * * *
Along with the Edison bill came the determination from the insurance company that they don't have to pay for the last day of my hospitalization in July because "the patient had stable vital signs, was tolerating a diet, was able to walk and was not requiring intravenous (IV) medications."
All that's true.
But what's also true is that the cardiac catheterization scheduled for 10 AM was not performed until 6 PM, which added the "extra" day to my stay as I could not be released until 6 hours after the catheterization (it is inserted into the femoral artery, so they want to be sure it seals before they send a patient home to bleed to death), and patients aren't often released at midnight!
My admitting doctor made rounds the next morning at 8 AM, told me to get dressed and ready to go -- but it took until 11 AM to process me out. I don't know why: that's just what happened. Believe me, as soon as they said I could leave, I left!
Now, I am penalized by the system. I can't sign myself out and leave the hospital, but if I stay, I have to pay out of pocket because I theoretically "could have" gone home.
Of course, there is no refusal to pay because all those papers signed at admittance affirm that what isn't covered by insurance will be covered by the patient, and I'm the patient.
I've called my doctor's office and the office staff representative said she'll look into it, assuring me that this happens all the time. Well, maybe it does and maybe it doesn't--but if I were indigent, I wouldn't have to worry because if you don't have insurance, you don't have to pay.
* * * * * * * * * *
Finally, I sent back an 18-pack of pens I bought for grading papers. Packaged in a colorful array, the Pilot G7 assorted pens seemed like a great solution for keeping track of which essay I was responding to and separating the points in the hard copy of the grade book prior to inputting them into the electronic grade book.
However, the pens didn't work. I'd begin writing with one and have to switch to another as it dried up, but when I put it down to use the second pen, when that one dried up I could use the first one again. Irritating, to say the least.
So I wrote a letter of complaint, to which I received a nice reply: return the pens and we'll send you a product substitution. I paid $4.60 to send the pens back (remember it's an 18-pack) and today received 12 replacement pens, plus 2 "free samples" of other Pilot products.
Hm, let's see. I paid $4.60 to send you 18 pens and you sent me 12 back, plus 2 "free" pens. Unless I'm wrong, I not only am short 6 of the original pens, but the 2 "free" pens cost me $2.30 each because I did not receive credit for the postage I spent. Even if I subtract their $1.98 postage, I end up paying $2.62 for this deal, which is $1.31 per "free" pen.
* * * * * * * * * *
Today, life is difficult--perhaps because I'm making it so, rather than because it is. So, I'm going outside, light some candles, pour a glass of wine, and just enjoy the beautiful weather and my lovely garden.
Crawling
My gmail account has been crawling toward opening, taking a couple of minutes to bring up my email account when it used to take seconds. Often when there is a computer problem, I assume I've done 'something' to cause it, even though I know that I have done nothing. My son and I have argued about this far too often as he's convinced I screw up computers just so I can argue with him, while I am convinced that he accuses me of causing the problems when he doesn't know what's wrong and won't admit it.
Whatever.
However, knowing that I cannot discuss it with my resident expert without another argument, I went into the settings box to see if I inadvertently changed something (yeah, I know, that cannot happen--but it does), but everything was the way I wanted it. I tried changing the settings to see what options are available, but it was just the way I wanted it ... so I left it alone.
For a couple of weeks I've been unhappy with the account and frustrated trying to figure out why it doesn't work as well as it used to work. I'll admit I'm not the most patient person in some areas, which includes computer operation, but it's not an area where I have either knowledge or skill (which I find intimidating). However, if it once popped open, it should continue to pop open, and not popping open was simply not acceptable.
I've gone to the service page; I've read all the messages; I've tried to find anything that conforms to my issue and fix it myself; I usually give in, give up, and learn to live with whatever happens because it's easier than the argument it takes to explain it and fix whatever is wrong.
This morning, however, I saw a box at the top of the window that said "old version." Hm, I didn't know there was a "new" version, so I clicked on it. Zippidy doo dah! Up popped my mail in a new window fast as greased lightning. I went to my other gmail account and changed it to "old version," happily with the same results. I closed the site and reopened it several times, and it works as it used to work: fast!
I did not change this site to the newer version, so I'm not sure why that change was made. I tried the newer, faster version of my MSN hotmail account and found that it bogged down my computer to the point of being unusable; however, the minute I changed back to the older version, my computer was back to its former, faster operating speed.
Thus, I had already learned the lesson that "newer" doesn't always mean "better," and I usually leave well enough alone. But I didn't change my gmail account ... so why was it changed?
The questions remain: if I didn't upgrade to the newer version, was it just foisted on all gmail users? Are there other users out there who cannot figure out what has screwed up their gmail accounts? Was there a message I didn't get that said unless I opt out, my account is automatically upgraded?
And why would anyone change what was working well for something that doesn't work at all?
Whatever.
However, knowing that I cannot discuss it with my resident expert without another argument, I went into the settings box to see if I inadvertently changed something (yeah, I know, that cannot happen--but it does), but everything was the way I wanted it. I tried changing the settings to see what options are available, but it was just the way I wanted it ... so I left it alone.
For a couple of weeks I've been unhappy with the account and frustrated trying to figure out why it doesn't work as well as it used to work. I'll admit I'm not the most patient person in some areas, which includes computer operation, but it's not an area where I have either knowledge or skill (which I find intimidating). However, if it once popped open, it should continue to pop open, and not popping open was simply not acceptable.
I've gone to the service page; I've read all the messages; I've tried to find anything that conforms to my issue and fix it myself; I usually give in, give up, and learn to live with whatever happens because it's easier than the argument it takes to explain it and fix whatever is wrong.
This morning, however, I saw a box at the top of the window that said "old version." Hm, I didn't know there was a "new" version, so I clicked on it. Zippidy doo dah! Up popped my mail in a new window fast as greased lightning. I went to my other gmail account and changed it to "old version," happily with the same results. I closed the site and reopened it several times, and it works as it used to work: fast!
I did not change this site to the newer version, so I'm not sure why that change was made. I tried the newer, faster version of my MSN hotmail account and found that it bogged down my computer to the point of being unusable; however, the minute I changed back to the older version, my computer was back to its former, faster operating speed.
Thus, I had already learned the lesson that "newer" doesn't always mean "better," and I usually leave well enough alone. But I didn't change my gmail account ... so why was it changed?
The questions remain: if I didn't upgrade to the newer version, was it just foisted on all gmail users? Are there other users out there who cannot figure out what has screwed up their gmail accounts? Was there a message I didn't get that said unless I opt out, my account is automatically upgraded?
And why would anyone change what was working well for something that doesn't work at all?
Friday, November 9, 2007
This Little Light of Mine
The first time the compact flourescent bulb burned out and I could not buy a replacement, I bought a new fixture. In an attempt to avoid a future fixture for which there is no replacement bulb, I bought the new fixture at Lowe's, the big box building supply store with inventory to fit my every need.
Sort of.
The bulb in the new fixture burned out.
Lowe's light = Lowe's bulb.
Not exactly.
Although there are, indeed, many replacement CFLs in the lighting department, there is NOT a replacement bulb for this fixture. It doesn't happen often, explains the courteous service representative, but it now has happened to me: twice.
You see, these specialty CFLs are unique, so you can't just walk into the store and buy one that fits your fixture. Of course, I can always buy another outdoor light fixture, one that takes regular, old-fashioned light bulbs--but aren't they being phased out due to the popularity of and demand for the green qualities of the CFLs?
I asked to speak to the manager, explained that if Lowe's carries the fixture, Lowe's should carry replacement bulbs for the fixture.
"I'll look into it."
Perhaps. Then again, I could see that he was really busy with other pressing matters, so I'm not going to hold my breath. It is, after all, just a replacement light bulb.
Sort of.
The bulb in the new fixture burned out.
Lowe's light = Lowe's bulb.
Not exactly.
Although there are, indeed, many replacement CFLs in the lighting department, there is NOT a replacement bulb for this fixture. It doesn't happen often, explains the courteous service representative, but it now has happened to me: twice.
You see, these specialty CFLs are unique, so you can't just walk into the store and buy one that fits your fixture. Of course, I can always buy another outdoor light fixture, one that takes regular, old-fashioned light bulbs--but aren't they being phased out due to the popularity of and demand for the green qualities of the CFLs?
I asked to speak to the manager, explained that if Lowe's carries the fixture, Lowe's should carry replacement bulbs for the fixture.
"I'll look into it."
Perhaps. Then again, I could see that he was really busy with other pressing matters, so I'm not going to hold my breath. It is, after all, just a replacement light bulb.
Tuesday, November 6, 2007
When the Going Gets Tough--Quit!
Part of who we are comes from within, from the deepest places in our being that is formed one instant at a time by the people, the places, and the events of our lives. We make decisions about who we are without realizing we are doing so, and we become what we become as a result of those decisions. If the decisions are based on faulty information, we become faulty people and probably don’t even realize it until “someday” comes.
You know, the “someday you’re going to regret this” moment that we all have, sooner or later. For many young people, that “someday” moment happens when they leave high school for the real world, woefully unprepared for what’s waiting for them as they apply for jobs or attend their first college class. Self-confident based on social skills, not academic preparation, far too many post-high school citizens find themselves with limited options for their future, and even more limited skills for coping with the reality of the situation they helped create.
The past couple of weeks have been insightful because I'm dealing with young adults who don't know the difference between intrinsic, living one's life from the inside out, and extrinsic, living on the outside and not knowing to look within. The manifestation of this situation is a steady parade of people on my path filled with self-doubt, with fear about the future, with no internal support system to sustain them when life doesn't go the way they have been told it should go. They all plan to be successful, but don’t have the tools or the attitude to be successful: they want it now, they want it easy, and they want it to come with a big paycheck.
When it doesn't work that way, they freeze in place. They don't know that it's on their shoulders, it's their decision, it's their responsibility to take the next step. When the going gets tough, you either get tough too or you get run over by those who don't quit.
The countless "I can't do this" commentary taxes my patience: how does anyone know what can--or cannot--be done unless (s)he first tries? “I can’t do this” is all too often “I won’t do this.” I respect a person who tries, and then has to try again, because that’s learning! I don’t hold the person who refuses to try in very high esteem because that person has already determined what they are and are not willing to do to become more. They think that they have already arrived, and don’t want to know that their journey lasts a lifetime.
"I don't know" more often than not means "I'm not willing to risk not being right, so I won't answer." If you don't know, how are you going to find out if you are unwilling to risk being wrong? We often know far more than we are willing to risk knowing, so why not think about it, say something, and find out you know more than you give yourself credit for knowing? And if you truly don’t know, after sharing the conversation you will know and be able to use that knowledge in a similar situation next time.
"This is too hard" translates to I'm not willing to sacrifice my personal time to work on something that is going to require me to dig deep to do it. It’s faster, easier, and more fun to replicate endlessly what I already know, and it’s less threatening than working harder to learn something I don’t know. Far too often “this is too hard” is followed by “you are so unfair,” as if blaming the responsible adult absolves them of any personal responsibility for not only their situation, but finding a solution.
Dropping a course because the teacher is too hard pushes my buttons. A teacher who is not too hard may not be doing the job for which (s)he has been hired: teaching students what they don’t know, not endlessly reinforcing what they already have learned. Our job is to push people past their comfort zone, to force them to confront their areas of deficiency so they can conquer them and move to a higher educational plane. If they already know it, why are we endlessly reteaching it?
The student who complains to me that (s)he earned all As in high school but cannot write a coherent sentence confirms to me the sad state of our educational system, where teachers are afraid to be “too hard” because they won’t be popular with students, colleagues, or parents. Sure, I can accept that some teachers are more comfortable with happy horseshit than they are with strict standards and high expectations, but where are these popular folks 5 years down the road, when the student confronts the ah-ha moment and realizes that they may have felt good in that classroom, but they didn’t learn anything new? They may have all As and Bs on a report card, but they didn’t walk away from high school with an education they can use in college or on the job or in their lives.
New knowledge is scary because it often takes us out of our comfort zone and puts us at risk in a place we’ve never been. Until the new becomes the old, we have to exist in that uncomfortable place between. What I’m learning is that not many of today’s younger generations are willing to do that because we’ve made the familiar too comfortable and the unknown too risky.
I left the high school classroom for many reasons, one of which is the complete collapse of high expectations and rigorous classroom challenges. The educational system is geared, thanks to No Child Left Behind, to teach to the lowest common denominator, and that’s a formula for failure. The educational process has inflated the achieving student to “gifted” status and rewards what once would have been a strong B student with academic excellence through effort grades that reflect how grateful we are that some students can read and some students actually complete homework assignments.
I cringe when I see project-based activity substituting for knowledge-based competency. A group becomes veneer for the unmotivated, as well as the unable, student who earns a group grade without engaging in the process of creating the project—or learning the information contained in the completed project. “Let’s make the students feel good about themselves” is the hue and cry of those who don’t know that the students have to make themselves feel good honestly, by engaging in and mastering solid educational concepts and building their personal knowledge base.
We aren't educating, we're enabling, constructing a house of cards that tumbles with the least breath of moving air. Standards-based education is based on lowering the standards so ALL children can walk across the stage on graduation day, clutching that high school diploma and waving to friends and family. It’s a social event, not an educational high-water mark. I’m beginning to think that society doesn’t care to know the difference because that would mean changing what we are doing and going back to real basics, the rote memorization of information that forms the foundation for everything else that comes after it.
But if all we expect from them is that what we provide makes them feel good about themselves now, that becomes all they expect from themselves. When it no longer feels good and they don’t know what to do about it, we all fail.
You know, the “someday you’re going to regret this” moment that we all have, sooner or later. For many young people, that “someday” moment happens when they leave high school for the real world, woefully unprepared for what’s waiting for them as they apply for jobs or attend their first college class. Self-confident based on social skills, not academic preparation, far too many post-high school citizens find themselves with limited options for their future, and even more limited skills for coping with the reality of the situation they helped create.
The past couple of weeks have been insightful because I'm dealing with young adults who don't know the difference between intrinsic, living one's life from the inside out, and extrinsic, living on the outside and not knowing to look within. The manifestation of this situation is a steady parade of people on my path filled with self-doubt, with fear about the future, with no internal support system to sustain them when life doesn't go the way they have been told it should go. They all plan to be successful, but don’t have the tools or the attitude to be successful: they want it now, they want it easy, and they want it to come with a big paycheck.
When it doesn't work that way, they freeze in place. They don't know that it's on their shoulders, it's their decision, it's their responsibility to take the next step. When the going gets tough, you either get tough too or you get run over by those who don't quit.
The countless "I can't do this" commentary taxes my patience: how does anyone know what can--or cannot--be done unless (s)he first tries? “I can’t do this” is all too often “I won’t do this.” I respect a person who tries, and then has to try again, because that’s learning! I don’t hold the person who refuses to try in very high esteem because that person has already determined what they are and are not willing to do to become more. They think that they have already arrived, and don’t want to know that their journey lasts a lifetime.
"I don't know" more often than not means "I'm not willing to risk not being right, so I won't answer." If you don't know, how are you going to find out if you are unwilling to risk being wrong? We often know far more than we are willing to risk knowing, so why not think about it, say something, and find out you know more than you give yourself credit for knowing? And if you truly don’t know, after sharing the conversation you will know and be able to use that knowledge in a similar situation next time.
"This is too hard" translates to I'm not willing to sacrifice my personal time to work on something that is going to require me to dig deep to do it. It’s faster, easier, and more fun to replicate endlessly what I already know, and it’s less threatening than working harder to learn something I don’t know. Far too often “this is too hard” is followed by “you are so unfair,” as if blaming the responsible adult absolves them of any personal responsibility for not only their situation, but finding a solution.
Dropping a course because the teacher is too hard pushes my buttons. A teacher who is not too hard may not be doing the job for which (s)he has been hired: teaching students what they don’t know, not endlessly reinforcing what they already have learned. Our job is to push people past their comfort zone, to force them to confront their areas of deficiency so they can conquer them and move to a higher educational plane. If they already know it, why are we endlessly reteaching it?
The student who complains to me that (s)he earned all As in high school but cannot write a coherent sentence confirms to me the sad state of our educational system, where teachers are afraid to be “too hard” because they won’t be popular with students, colleagues, or parents. Sure, I can accept that some teachers are more comfortable with happy horseshit than they are with strict standards and high expectations, but where are these popular folks 5 years down the road, when the student confronts the ah-ha moment and realizes that they may have felt good in that classroom, but they didn’t learn anything new? They may have all As and Bs on a report card, but they didn’t walk away from high school with an education they can use in college or on the job or in their lives.
New knowledge is scary because it often takes us out of our comfort zone and puts us at risk in a place we’ve never been. Until the new becomes the old, we have to exist in that uncomfortable place between. What I’m learning is that not many of today’s younger generations are willing to do that because we’ve made the familiar too comfortable and the unknown too risky.
I left the high school classroom for many reasons, one of which is the complete collapse of high expectations and rigorous classroom challenges. The educational system is geared, thanks to No Child Left Behind, to teach to the lowest common denominator, and that’s a formula for failure. The educational process has inflated the achieving student to “gifted” status and rewards what once would have been a strong B student with academic excellence through effort grades that reflect how grateful we are that some students can read and some students actually complete homework assignments.
I cringe when I see project-based activity substituting for knowledge-based competency. A group becomes veneer for the unmotivated, as well as the unable, student who earns a group grade without engaging in the process of creating the project—or learning the information contained in the completed project. “Let’s make the students feel good about themselves” is the hue and cry of those who don’t know that the students have to make themselves feel good honestly, by engaging in and mastering solid educational concepts and building their personal knowledge base.
We aren't educating, we're enabling, constructing a house of cards that tumbles with the least breath of moving air. Standards-based education is based on lowering the standards so ALL children can walk across the stage on graduation day, clutching that high school diploma and waving to friends and family. It’s a social event, not an educational high-water mark. I’m beginning to think that society doesn’t care to know the difference because that would mean changing what we are doing and going back to real basics, the rote memorization of information that forms the foundation for everything else that comes after it.
But if all we expect from them is that what we provide makes them feel good about themselves now, that becomes all they expect from themselves. When it no longer feels good and they don’t know what to do about it, we all fail.
Thursday, November 1, 2007
Dangerous Darkness
Last night, a local girl, aged 13, became a national statistic: children who are killed/injured on Halloween night. It was a tragic accident that occurred when the girl and two friends made a mad dash across a wide, busy road at 8:30 pm.
It was dark last night, and it gets really dark in the desert; by 6 pm, I could not see the street in front of my home. Streetlights are few and far between in my community, so I understand the darkness, but where the accident happened, there are more streetlights. However, streetlights occur in the housing areas, not in the broad expanses of open road that connect the populated areas.
The girls wanted to cross in the middle of the block, not at a corner, not in a crosswalk, not where there was a streetlight. An unsuspecting driver hit one of them, causing massive trauma to the little girl's body. Hysterical, the driver called 9-1-1 and begged for help. The paramedics who arrived on-scene used CPR and every other intervention they could to save her life, but it's doubtful that she'll survive, although she was alive when she arrived at the hospital.
When I read the article, my mind flashed back to a couple of weeks ago, about a mile from my home. I was in the last leg of my journey back down the hill from teaching a night class, and when I return it's dark, deep dark, the kind of dark that requires driving all the time with the brights turned on. The last stretch of open road before my housing area has, perhaps, 2 lights to cover a full mile, but it's an industrial area, so there aren't many people out at 9:45 pm.
Suddenly, just at the leading edge of my headlights, I saw a man walking toward me in the middle of my lane. I swerved the car and avoided him, but was almost frozen in shock: had I not been driving with my brights on, I would not have seen him in time to avoid hitting him.
He was an older man, dressed like older men dress, in trousers, a button-up shirt, and a cardigan sweater, wearing glasses and a dazed expression. I don't know how he was where he was or why he was walking toward the oncoming traffic, but the cars behind me also missed him, so he was a lucky man that night.
I called the local police department and explained the situation, expressing concern that perhaps he had walked away from a nearby home and his family could be looking for him. I was told that they'd check it out and left it to the police to do their duty.
I didn't hit him, but I had nightmares during the night as I kept seeing his face so close in front of my car. I jarred awake, imagining how I would live with hitting another human being. Even though I knew it would not have been my fault, it would have been my burden to bear for the rest of my life. I can imagine what the driver of the car last night must feel as so suddenly and so unexpectedly there was a child in front of that bumper--and no way to avoid hitting her.
The police report can vindicate the driver of a tragic accident, but the human report never allows the guilt to go away.
When the conservation people call for a "Lights Out" night, I shudder because I know how much well-lit streets and neighborhoods can deter crime--and prevent tragic accidents that are caused by poor visibility and bad choices, a deadly combination on any night.
It was dark last night, and it gets really dark in the desert; by 6 pm, I could not see the street in front of my home. Streetlights are few and far between in my community, so I understand the darkness, but where the accident happened, there are more streetlights. However, streetlights occur in the housing areas, not in the broad expanses of open road that connect the populated areas.
The girls wanted to cross in the middle of the block, not at a corner, not in a crosswalk, not where there was a streetlight. An unsuspecting driver hit one of them, causing massive trauma to the little girl's body. Hysterical, the driver called 9-1-1 and begged for help. The paramedics who arrived on-scene used CPR and every other intervention they could to save her life, but it's doubtful that she'll survive, although she was alive when she arrived at the hospital.
When I read the article, my mind flashed back to a couple of weeks ago, about a mile from my home. I was in the last leg of my journey back down the hill from teaching a night class, and when I return it's dark, deep dark, the kind of dark that requires driving all the time with the brights turned on. The last stretch of open road before my housing area has, perhaps, 2 lights to cover a full mile, but it's an industrial area, so there aren't many people out at 9:45 pm.
Suddenly, just at the leading edge of my headlights, I saw a man walking toward me in the middle of my lane. I swerved the car and avoided him, but was almost frozen in shock: had I not been driving with my brights on, I would not have seen him in time to avoid hitting him.
He was an older man, dressed like older men dress, in trousers, a button-up shirt, and a cardigan sweater, wearing glasses and a dazed expression. I don't know how he was where he was or why he was walking toward the oncoming traffic, but the cars behind me also missed him, so he was a lucky man that night.
I called the local police department and explained the situation, expressing concern that perhaps he had walked away from a nearby home and his family could be looking for him. I was told that they'd check it out and left it to the police to do their duty.
I didn't hit him, but I had nightmares during the night as I kept seeing his face so close in front of my car. I jarred awake, imagining how I would live with hitting another human being. Even though I knew it would not have been my fault, it would have been my burden to bear for the rest of my life. I can imagine what the driver of the car last night must feel as so suddenly and so unexpectedly there was a child in front of that bumper--and no way to avoid hitting her.
The police report can vindicate the driver of a tragic accident, but the human report never allows the guilt to go away.
When the conservation people call for a "Lights Out" night, I shudder because I know how much well-lit streets and neighborhoods can deter crime--and prevent tragic accidents that are caused by poor visibility and bad choices, a deadly combination on any night.
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