Today has started very busy. In my head. So many thoughts are circling of things I have to do and things I need to do, and things I want to do. The urgent vs the important. Even though I am not, as they say, gainfully employed I struggle with balance in my life. Being retired isn't all it is cracked up to be. I would really like to make money, like I used to. for all the things I do that I do not want to. Did you know that I never really wanted to work in accounting/business, yet I did for more than 40 years. I did a few other jobs in other years I worked, but nothing I really loved either. All the things I loved to do I did outside of work.
When I first went to work in NYC in June of 1963,( after flunking out of College at Geneseo), I had no idea of what to expect. My first job I learned what the work world was really like by working in the mail room of a professional association of accountants. I learned to operate all the mail room machines and to sort the mail for different depts. and executives. I got to wheel around a mail cart and learn to put faces and jobs to all the names. I also learned to operate a switchboard(the old fashioned kind with wires that you plugged into an actual extension board), talk about multitasking. My first boss sent me to typing school and tried to mentor me but I was a reluctant student. She sent me to a free clinic at Belview hospital when I had an excruciating toothache for several days. The tooth was pulled to my later regret. My boss also sent me to a fancy hair salon in NYC. I will not mention the name but you would know it. My ears stuck out of my new hairdo. Too short. I cried for days. She told me how to dress, compose myself, live my outside life and would scream at me when I came in hungover after 2 hours sleep. I was the favorite victim of the "dragon Lady", but she really did teach me a lot and prepared me for my future jobs in the NYC business world. I absolutely hated her and when I went home at Christmas I told my mother I was going to resign when I went back. She advised me to get another job before I left that one. This is what I did which led me to my first airline job.
More about the job world in subsequent blogs.
Thursday, May 30, 2013
Sunday, May 26, 2013
Odd thoughts on mental health
I just finished reading the some of the blog, Idoinautismland.com. It is the blog of an autistic boy who has learned to communicate through writing. He is brilliant and his thoughts are fascinating. He now has a book he has written on Amazon. I bring him up not only because he deserves recognition, and because he can teach us all so much about what those who are locked in feel and experience; but also because so often what appears normal is often abnormal and what is called defective often isn't.
I have been thinking a lot lately about apparently normal people who are going off the deep end all around us and we just pass it off. I'm thinking Jody Arias and her dead lover and the secret life they were involved with and their family and friends not knowing. The two radical terrorist's who hacked up a British drummer soldier in England. Since guns are not available in England they used a meat cleaver and knives. If they were in the States with AK47s they could have taken out a whole Band and then some. The mad motivation is the same however. People become radicalized because of events, thoughts and situations they cannot deal with in their own lives. Their internal world becomes fixated on a single solution and they can draw others into their madness, by sharing their vision. Reality becomes reduced to black and white, simple to understand concepts, that can be dealt with by simple actions or solutions. I.E.:
Our lives are shitty in our neighborhood or country and we don't know how to deal with complex solutions so "kill the infidel".
My mother is mean, nasty and has power over me so I will rape and torture other girls or women that I can have power and control over.
My father abused me when I was young so I will use my femininity to punish other men who find me interesting and attractive; or I will keep putting myself in abusive situations because I am worthless and deserve it.
I cannot be comfortable with thoughts and ideas which have mysteries or are perplexing or contradictory, so I will follow a simple set of rules which allow no contradictions and I will achieve happiness.
I can think of a thousand examples which will just repeat my same theme. The internal world of normal appearing persons can be mad and contain great evil, while the internal worlds of so called mentally ill people who might be labeled bipolar, schizophrenic, autistic, etc. are caused by chemical and over stimulated nervous systems rather defective personalities. Being locked into the mind beats acting out hostile and deadly thoughts towards others.
So now you have some oversimplified and most likely very naive rambling thoughts on a Sunday morning.
I have been thinking a lot lately about apparently normal people who are going off the deep end all around us and we just pass it off. I'm thinking Jody Arias and her dead lover and the secret life they were involved with and their family and friends not knowing. The two radical terrorist's who hacked up a British drummer soldier in England. Since guns are not available in England they used a meat cleaver and knives. If they were in the States with AK47s they could have taken out a whole Band and then some. The mad motivation is the same however. People become radicalized because of events, thoughts and situations they cannot deal with in their own lives. Their internal world becomes fixated on a single solution and they can draw others into their madness, by sharing their vision. Reality becomes reduced to black and white, simple to understand concepts, that can be dealt with by simple actions or solutions. I.E.:
Our lives are shitty in our neighborhood or country and we don't know how to deal with complex solutions so "kill the infidel".
My mother is mean, nasty and has power over me so I will rape and torture other girls or women that I can have power and control over.
My father abused me when I was young so I will use my femininity to punish other men who find me interesting and attractive; or I will keep putting myself in abusive situations because I am worthless and deserve it.
I cannot be comfortable with thoughts and ideas which have mysteries or are perplexing or contradictory, so I will follow a simple set of rules which allow no contradictions and I will achieve happiness.
I can think of a thousand examples which will just repeat my same theme. The internal world of normal appearing persons can be mad and contain great evil, while the internal worlds of so called mentally ill people who might be labeled bipolar, schizophrenic, autistic, etc. are caused by chemical and over stimulated nervous systems rather defective personalities. Being locked into the mind beats acting out hostile and deadly thoughts towards others.
So now you have some oversimplified and most likely very naive rambling thoughts on a Sunday morning.
Friday, May 24, 2013
Childhood interests
I'm going to have to change my blog time. I will experiment and try different times.
I have been sorting through old papers the last few weeks as time and energy called me. It is really interesting to see what I saved and what I didn't. I have only scraped the surface of the sorting but some things I've kept are a little strange. I have saved my scrapbooks of movie stars from the 1950s. I used to cut pictures of my favorites out of Photoplay and other fan magazines and put them in scrapbooks. They have followed me almost everywhere. My cousin Joretta Pierce mailed me a letter a few years ago, that a neighbor had found in the wall he was renovating, in the house we used to live in Slab City. The letter was written from Claire Pierce to Audie Murphy. In it I told him how much I admired him and how I enjoyed all his movies and I asked for an autographed picture. The letter was never mailed, most likely because I didn't have a stamp. It goes without saying I must hold onto this treasure.Why, I don't know but now I cannot throw it or the scrapbooks out. I guess I think my future biographer may be interested in my childhood interests.
The funny thing is I didn't save my little books of wild animal stamps and stamp books of different countries and cultures. When I was a child I used to subscribe to some company which sent booklets with written explanations and sheets of stamps which you would then tear and match to the proper area in the booklet. I remember I used to save my allowance and Christmas/birthday money to subscribe. I remember I also had a bunch of deeds to one square inch of land in Alaska. They used to put a coupon in some cereal boxes and I used to mail them in for the deeds. I think I figured I would eventually own enough square inches to own an acre in Alaska. I wasn't too smart and not good at math in those days either. I had no conception of how many square inches made an acre and how much cereal I and my family would have to eat to get that acre. I also have a scrapbook of newspaper clippings from my days in Potsdam. There is a picture of me and my friend Betsy in high school, trick or treating(we were too old), and an article on my friend Christa's family's escape from East Berlin when the wall was still there.
None of my toys were saved. I gave them to my sister Jackie's little girls after I moved to NYC. I remember all my favorites though. There was a little toy cash register that really added and rang up the fake groceries I had. Mama used to cut the bottoms instead of the tops off fruit and vegetable cans, wash them, then give them to me to play store with. She did the same with cereal, cake mix, and other boxes. I had the most realistic grocery store ever. She gave me a fashion doll for Christmas with blond hair and a nipped in waste and beautiful legs. This was just pre-Barbie so my doll was larger than she was and prettier. My Mom made her a wardrobe which included a green wool skirt, plaid blouse and a green wool coat. She made several other outfits as well. I adored that doll. I also had a little black rubber baby doll which I used to dress in exotic colored neckerchiefs to represent African or Indian princes I saw in picture books. I had more than a dozen neck scarves in solid bright colors. It was the fashion back in the day to tie them around the neck to match different outfits. I used mine to dress my dolls. My father mentioned when he first met Srini, that he remembered I always was carrying around that little black doll. and was so interested in other cultures. My favorite thing however, was my glass horse collection. I, again, used my allowance and Christmas/Birthday money to carefully choose and buy each little glass horse. I had a wooden fenced corral stand and I used to keep my collection there.
One of my favorite things to do was to read. My favorite books for sometime were the Black Stallion series, the Golden Stallion, Black Beauty, and any other horse books I could find in the school library. I had a few treasured copies of the Stallion books given to me as presents. I remember Jackie and Gene gave me a glass golden stallion for Christmas one year with the book. My childhood was spent for the most part alone and in fantasy, unless I was in school. My sister was eight years older, my parents both worked, we lived in the country and when I got off the school bus I had myself and my dog and cats and for one wonderful year, my horse.
Because I was so horse crazy my Dad bought me a horse when I was nine. This horse story will come later, but suffice it to say I had an alone childhood. The stories I made up and acted out with my toys and animal friends, and my travel adventures through books, are what prepared me for the life I began to live when I left home. Well, enough for today, more when my muse moves me.
I have been sorting through old papers the last few weeks as time and energy called me. It is really interesting to see what I saved and what I didn't. I have only scraped the surface of the sorting but some things I've kept are a little strange. I have saved my scrapbooks of movie stars from the 1950s. I used to cut pictures of my favorites out of Photoplay and other fan magazines and put them in scrapbooks. They have followed me almost everywhere. My cousin Joretta Pierce mailed me a letter a few years ago, that a neighbor had found in the wall he was renovating, in the house we used to live in Slab City. The letter was written from Claire Pierce to Audie Murphy. In it I told him how much I admired him and how I enjoyed all his movies and I asked for an autographed picture. The letter was never mailed, most likely because I didn't have a stamp. It goes without saying I must hold onto this treasure.Why, I don't know but now I cannot throw it or the scrapbooks out. I guess I think my future biographer may be interested in my childhood interests.
The funny thing is I didn't save my little books of wild animal stamps and stamp books of different countries and cultures. When I was a child I used to subscribe to some company which sent booklets with written explanations and sheets of stamps which you would then tear and match to the proper area in the booklet. I remember I used to save my allowance and Christmas/birthday money to subscribe. I remember I also had a bunch of deeds to one square inch of land in Alaska. They used to put a coupon in some cereal boxes and I used to mail them in for the deeds. I think I figured I would eventually own enough square inches to own an acre in Alaska. I wasn't too smart and not good at math in those days either. I had no conception of how many square inches made an acre and how much cereal I and my family would have to eat to get that acre. I also have a scrapbook of newspaper clippings from my days in Potsdam. There is a picture of me and my friend Betsy in high school, trick or treating(we were too old), and an article on my friend Christa's family's escape from East Berlin when the wall was still there.
None of my toys were saved. I gave them to my sister Jackie's little girls after I moved to NYC. I remember all my favorites though. There was a little toy cash register that really added and rang up the fake groceries I had. Mama used to cut the bottoms instead of the tops off fruit and vegetable cans, wash them, then give them to me to play store with. She did the same with cereal, cake mix, and other boxes. I had the most realistic grocery store ever. She gave me a fashion doll for Christmas with blond hair and a nipped in waste and beautiful legs. This was just pre-Barbie so my doll was larger than she was and prettier. My Mom made her a wardrobe which included a green wool skirt, plaid blouse and a green wool coat. She made several other outfits as well. I adored that doll. I also had a little black rubber baby doll which I used to dress in exotic colored neckerchiefs to represent African or Indian princes I saw in picture books. I had more than a dozen neck scarves in solid bright colors. It was the fashion back in the day to tie them around the neck to match different outfits. I used mine to dress my dolls. My father mentioned when he first met Srini, that he remembered I always was carrying around that little black doll. and was so interested in other cultures. My favorite thing however, was my glass horse collection. I, again, used my allowance and Christmas/Birthday money to carefully choose and buy each little glass horse. I had a wooden fenced corral stand and I used to keep my collection there.
One of my favorite things to do was to read. My favorite books for sometime were the Black Stallion series, the Golden Stallion, Black Beauty, and any other horse books I could find in the school library. I had a few treasured copies of the Stallion books given to me as presents. I remember Jackie and Gene gave me a glass golden stallion for Christmas one year with the book. My childhood was spent for the most part alone and in fantasy, unless I was in school. My sister was eight years older, my parents both worked, we lived in the country and when I got off the school bus I had myself and my dog and cats and for one wonderful year, my horse.
Because I was so horse crazy my Dad bought me a horse when I was nine. This horse story will come later, but suffice it to say I had an alone childhood. The stories I made up and acted out with my toys and animal friends, and my travel adventures through books, are what prepared me for the life I began to live when I left home. Well, enough for today, more when my muse moves me.
Saturday, May 18, 2013
I'm Sorry, but I am tired
I haven't posted for the past week because I have not been feeling well and have been getting up too late to post. I may have to change my blogging time or just get more energy. It is not funny, but I had so much energy on the prednazone. I really wish it could have lasted. I wish there were a safe vitamin with the same results. This stupid disease(COPD), I caused myself really has had some negative results for me. Not only difficulty in breathing but amazing lack of energy. The only time I feel like my normal self is when I have been up one hour, until about 4 hours later. It is all downhill from then. I sleep or rest in the afternoon and go to bed early but I am definitely operating at diminished capacity. I don't really care, either, about a lot of things I used to. I don't know if this is normal aging or slow death by asphyxiation. Well, I'll worry about that tomorrow. I need to do some other things right now, while I have the energy.
Monday, May 13, 2013
Heaven help me, Who am I???
Was too sleepy to get up and write past 2-3 days. Who's counting. It is early morning or nothing, with writing, with this being the exception. It is now 8:16 AM and oops, I'm actually writing. I tired myself last week with planning and preparing for the Mad Hatter's Luncheon at the church. We have this little Mom's and kid's luncheon every year for Mother's Day. It is a lot of work and effort for not too much return but there were about 36 ladies and young girls for the event this year. I thought of the theme and followed up by ordering posters, making part of the centerpiece decorations, and the place mats, as well as supplying the tablecloths and coordinating the set up in Fellowship Hall.
The thing that tired me most, however, was the worrying because the rest was really duck soup. (where did that phrase come from anyway).
I try not to worry about something as silly as a luncheon when so many really important things are out there which have much more reason for concern. When I take on a project it is all consuming. It is for me like going for a Master's dissertation or something. I had so much help for this luncheon from my lovely group of ladies and I did no physical work at all. They moved tables and chairs, set up and decorated the room, handled the activities and provided all the cleanup and put away. I sat there in the corner giving directions and puffing away like the caterpillar in the "Alice in Wonderland" book and movie. But instead of smoking a hookah, I was hooked up to my oxygen machine, looking for all the world like a slug which had crawled out from under a magic mushroom. We all wore crazy hats and mine was a little green flowered prairie hat number with additional flowers glued on the bonnet.
Why these lovely ladies put up with me is anybodie's guess but they do and I just keep getting us into worse and worse follies. We broke even as far as the food and other expenses went but my personal layout was at least $75.00. It was my idea and it had to be as perfect as I could make it. It was like my whole self worth was tied up to this silly little party which was only attended by my friends anyway.
I keep trying to figure out what is with me. "Know thyself" the ancient wise persons have said.(notice the political correctness). But there are so many different aspects of myself that at almost 70, I feel I am just beginning. Know who and what and where and how about myself? Which self? The one who really feels we should share all our wealth with others less fortunate and live very simply. Or the one who wants to know everything about everything, the intellectual and the scholar. Or the one who loves fashion magazines like Vogue and Harper's Bazaar, and household magazines like Woman's Day and Good Housekeeping. Or the one who reads Time, Psychology Today, Horse Mag. Architectural Digest, and Guide Posts. I want to go to Church and follow what Jesus said, as well as have a good time and party. Who am I?
I watch Project Runway, the Rachael Maddow Show, CNN, The Voice, American Idol, The ED Show, Monday Morning, House, How It's Made, etc etc. What I am trying to illustrate here is that I am such a bundle of different interests, impressions, want to be's, that I am in existential angst. If you don't know what this all means neither do I.
So just keep on expecting the unexpected from me, as I do each day. Without meaning to, I guess I just refuse to be consistent.
Does anyone else recognize themselves here?
The thing that tired me most, however, was the worrying because the rest was really duck soup. (where did that phrase come from anyway).
I try not to worry about something as silly as a luncheon when so many really important things are out there which have much more reason for concern. When I take on a project it is all consuming. It is for me like going for a Master's dissertation or something. I had so much help for this luncheon from my lovely group of ladies and I did no physical work at all. They moved tables and chairs, set up and decorated the room, handled the activities and provided all the cleanup and put away. I sat there in the corner giving directions and puffing away like the caterpillar in the "Alice in Wonderland" book and movie. But instead of smoking a hookah, I was hooked up to my oxygen machine, looking for all the world like a slug which had crawled out from under a magic mushroom. We all wore crazy hats and mine was a little green flowered prairie hat number with additional flowers glued on the bonnet.
Why these lovely ladies put up with me is anybodie's guess but they do and I just keep getting us into worse and worse follies. We broke even as far as the food and other expenses went but my personal layout was at least $75.00. It was my idea and it had to be as perfect as I could make it. It was like my whole self worth was tied up to this silly little party which was only attended by my friends anyway.
I keep trying to figure out what is with me. "Know thyself" the ancient wise persons have said.(notice the political correctness). But there are so many different aspects of myself that at almost 70, I feel I am just beginning. Know who and what and where and how about myself? Which self? The one who really feels we should share all our wealth with others less fortunate and live very simply. Or the one who wants to know everything about everything, the intellectual and the scholar. Or the one who loves fashion magazines like Vogue and Harper's Bazaar, and household magazines like Woman's Day and Good Housekeeping. Or the one who reads Time, Psychology Today, Horse Mag. Architectural Digest, and Guide Posts. I want to go to Church and follow what Jesus said, as well as have a good time and party. Who am I?
I watch Project Runway, the Rachael Maddow Show, CNN, The Voice, American Idol, The ED Show, Monday Morning, House, How It's Made, etc etc. What I am trying to illustrate here is that I am such a bundle of different interests, impressions, want to be's, that I am in existential angst. If you don't know what this all means neither do I.
So just keep on expecting the unexpected from me, as I do each day. Without meaning to, I guess I just refuse to be consistent.
Does anyone else recognize themselves here?
Friday, May 10, 2013
Are you following me?
Have you walked down the street and been sure someone is following you? It used to happen to me in NYC. Sometimes it was true and sometimes I think it was wishful thinking.(just kidding). No, I have been followed on the street and it can be a very scary sensation. First, your not sure and think you are imagining things. Then you realize it is for real and you must decide what to do. Once in NYC I knew two apartment buildings, which were on two parallel blocks, were connected by a tunnel. To escape my follower I went in one building, sent the elevator to the 6th floor, took the stairs to the basement, and scurried through the tunnel to the other apt. bldg.. and from there went out on the street. I was shaking like crazy and couldn't believe it had worked. I ran to my apt. bldg. which was on the same block as the second bldg. There is actually more to this little tale but it doesn't detract from the fact that I escaped from the situation by keeping my cool and using my wits.
There are times I went into stores and restaurants when I thought I was followed and I was the type who kept my keys in my hand so I could get into a car or a home quickly. Once when I was studying martial arts I was walking to the school on a very crowded street. I felt someone behind me and then felt the strap of my handbag being pulled from the rear. I spun around with my hands raised in a fighting stance only to confront Ralph, one of the black belts and worst practical joker in the school. He of course stepped back quickly and said "don't hit me", laughing. I wanted to punch him in the face so badly but restrained myself.
Yes, being followed is a scary thing, unless you have a blog and wanted to be followed. I eagerly check the stats every day to see how many people have logged on to my blog and what countries they are from. I don't know how accurate the stats are but I seem to have had people read my blog from USA, So.Korea, Germany, India, Canada, and surprisingly a steady flow of readers from Russia. I would really like to know who my readers are but only 2 people, who I love, ever comment on FB and a few have spoken to me in person. Please come out of the darkness of Internet privacy and let me know who is following my blog. I wish it were easier to comment here, but since it isn't, you can use face book or send me an email. Thanks guys, I would prefer to know my followers.
There are times I went into stores and restaurants when I thought I was followed and I was the type who kept my keys in my hand so I could get into a car or a home quickly. Once when I was studying martial arts I was walking to the school on a very crowded street. I felt someone behind me and then felt the strap of my handbag being pulled from the rear. I spun around with my hands raised in a fighting stance only to confront Ralph, one of the black belts and worst practical joker in the school. He of course stepped back quickly and said "don't hit me", laughing. I wanted to punch him in the face so badly but restrained myself.
Yes, being followed is a scary thing, unless you have a blog and wanted to be followed. I eagerly check the stats every day to see how many people have logged on to my blog and what countries they are from. I don't know how accurate the stats are but I seem to have had people read my blog from USA, So.Korea, Germany, India, Canada, and surprisingly a steady flow of readers from Russia. I would really like to know who my readers are but only 2 people, who I love, ever comment on FB and a few have spoken to me in person. Please come out of the darkness of Internet privacy and let me know who is following my blog. I wish it were easier to comment here, but since it isn't, you can use face book or send me an email. Thanks guys, I would prefer to know my followers.
Thursday, May 9, 2013
I'm just sayin
The news is a buzz with Jody Arias, the Cleveland rescue of 4 girls/women, Benghazi, Israel's air strikes and a few lesser evils. It is all so sensational one stays riveted to the news as the facts don't change but hopes for more information, just keep on building. I'm a news junkie and I have admitted it before. Even when absolutely nothing is happening I watch the weather channel with baited breath waiting for something. I guess I am waiting for the Apocalypse or worse. It all began with the JFK assignation, then Martin, then Robert. I was glued to the TV and hooked. Later came Vietnam, the first really televised war, and then the Watergate hearings, and a war of a different kind. The theater of the absurd then moved to the Clarence Thomas hearings. Then the Clinton/Lewinsky farce was a real attraction for me. I was drawn in again by the death of Princess Diana. Then the nature tragedies really got me hooked. The Tsunami, Katrina, Haiti, Japan, Sandy, etc. Who could ever look away from Jim Jones in Guyana, Waco, 9/11, the mad mass shootings from Columbine to Sandy Hook. Always the politicians ranting and the pundents , pundecating. How can I ever look away from such everyday fascinating and riveting news. I know some people who never listen to radio or TV, or read magazines or newspapers. They always seem to be somewhat aware of what is going on through social babble. They do not have the true, muddied, garbage picture like I do. My picture changes constantly as new information is updated. As I am riveted I think I become an authority on who, what and where and I know the truth about the motive. NOT.!
I really do not know anymore than anyone else. I just know what my liberal bias tells me about who to believe and my favorite correspondent' s theory.
So what to do? Be ignorant, get my news headlines from AOL or Yahoo. Tune into alternate Internet sites, or just tune out completely.
This is very serious because it really matters to me. Like my plan when I get to heaven is to sit at the feet of the Most Holy and for eternity ask the questions I have always had and get the real answers, the real truth, the true scoop. I have to KNOW. If the True and unending Spirit won't tell me, who will.
So I think being a news junkie is all leading up to this, my final bid for Knowledge and Truth, Heaven only knows and I cannot wait to find out. Keep turned in to me as I do for you and perhaps we will all be a little wiser for the final day.
I really do not know anymore than anyone else. I just know what my liberal bias tells me about who to believe and my favorite correspondent' s theory.
So what to do? Be ignorant, get my news headlines from AOL or Yahoo. Tune into alternate Internet sites, or just tune out completely.
This is very serious because it really matters to me. Like my plan when I get to heaven is to sit at the feet of the Most Holy and for eternity ask the questions I have always had and get the real answers, the real truth, the true scoop. I have to KNOW. If the True and unending Spirit won't tell me, who will.
So I think being a news junkie is all leading up to this, my final bid for Knowledge and Truth, Heaven only knows and I cannot wait to find out. Keep turned in to me as I do for you and perhaps we will all be a little wiser for the final day.
Wednesday, May 8, 2013
I'm late, I'm late, for a very important date
I really am late. I think I forgot to show up for parts of life and am just trying to catch up. There are so many things I thought I would have more time to do. I wanted to own a horse property with at least several horses. I wanted to have more dogs and cats, though I have treasured each one I have known and loved. I wanted to travel to more places and even while I cannot breathe well, Paris and Ireland are still on my bucket list. They might permanently put me in a bucket if I ever try to travel there now.
I wanted to write. Although this little blog is inconsequential to most it may be the best I am ever able to do. Once a long time ago I thought I would like to adopt a child. For many reasons I never did and now find it is most likely best that I didn't. I wanted to have great friendships that would last forever. Well, I had many that did not last, and those that did have changed considerably from what I had hoped they would become. My husband Srini and my friend Eileen have not changed . They are authentically who they are through all the minor and major vagaries of life. For this I am profoundly grateful. Some things and people should never fundamentally change because they are just too good as they are.
I find I really do have a lot more to say about many subjects I have touched on here, but I really am late. I must go to a meeting with destiny, or some such, right now. More later.
I wanted to write. Although this little blog is inconsequential to most it may be the best I am ever able to do. Once a long time ago I thought I would like to adopt a child. For many reasons I never did and now find it is most likely best that I didn't. I wanted to have great friendships that would last forever. Well, I had many that did not last, and those that did have changed considerably from what I had hoped they would become. My husband Srini and my friend Eileen have not changed . They are authentically who they are through all the minor and major vagaries of life. For this I am profoundly grateful. Some things and people should never fundamentally change because they are just too good as they are.
I find I really do have a lot more to say about many subjects I have touched on here, but I really am late. I must go to a meeting with destiny, or some such, right now. More later.
Tuesday, May 7, 2013
Mis-understood communications-social media
One can cast aspersions or doubts with a few words or a simple sentence. It can take a lifetime and hundreds of pages to only begin to dispel a false accusation. Why is that? Are we so full of doubt (or doubtful) that any slight slander will permanently alter our opinions? (IE. where there is smoke there is fire?)
Phooey. In social media, the one who casts the first stone, if only a pebble, is guilty of slander and gross negligence for his cowardly behavior, if he doesn't leave his name and credentials. Slander because without solid credentials the biting remarks are only that. Gross negligence because one cannot tell the state of mind or circumstances surrounding the person or circumstance being commentated on, and the comments could cause unintended harm. Witness the one's who commit suicide after social media bullying. Witness those whose reputations are ruined by innuendos and half truths.
More than for the person or situation being critiqued by the unknown detractor, I am concerned for the person who lacks the guts to make a statement in his or her own name, and who hides behind the authority of an open comments section. (I, myself, welcome comments for they can point out errors and aid in growth. Comments made to insult, belittle and degrade are not welcome. They not only deny growth but also demean the party who has placed his heart and soul out there, under his own name, to provide a service or perhaps lend insight to others. This is harmful to the one commented on and might limit their ability to keep striving.) My concern for the commentator is that he or she has most likely never taken any risks. They do not even dare to say their name. They do not claim their comments and they hide behind anonymity. Thus, they are not sure at all that what they say has any merit. They are afraid to confront directly or to carry on a dialogue which might be helpful to both parties. They are also afraid of repercussion's. In other words their comments have no worth or value even to themselves and are given in a spirit of spitefulness and lack of self worth.
I think I have said enough of this subject. If you are led to comment on the work or way of another please do not hide, Speak your name and ideas proudly and you might be surprised by the positive results you obtain.
Phooey. In social media, the one who casts the first stone, if only a pebble, is guilty of slander and gross negligence for his cowardly behavior, if he doesn't leave his name and credentials. Slander because without solid credentials the biting remarks are only that. Gross negligence because one cannot tell the state of mind or circumstances surrounding the person or circumstance being commentated on, and the comments could cause unintended harm. Witness the one's who commit suicide after social media bullying. Witness those whose reputations are ruined by innuendos and half truths.
More than for the person or situation being critiqued by the unknown detractor, I am concerned for the person who lacks the guts to make a statement in his or her own name, and who hides behind the authority of an open comments section. (I, myself, welcome comments for they can point out errors and aid in growth. Comments made to insult, belittle and degrade are not welcome. They not only deny growth but also demean the party who has placed his heart and soul out there, under his own name, to provide a service or perhaps lend insight to others. This is harmful to the one commented on and might limit their ability to keep striving.) My concern for the commentator is that he or she has most likely never taken any risks. They do not even dare to say their name. They do not claim their comments and they hide behind anonymity. Thus, they are not sure at all that what they say has any merit. They are afraid to confront directly or to carry on a dialogue which might be helpful to both parties. They are also afraid of repercussion's. In other words their comments have no worth or value even to themselves and are given in a spirit of spitefulness and lack of self worth.
I think I have said enough of this subject. If you are led to comment on the work or way of another please do not hide, Speak your name and ideas proudly and you might be surprised by the positive results you obtain.
Monday, May 6, 2013
India mornings
If I don't get up at 4:30AM to write my blog I am done for. I don't have a lot of energy and most of it is in the early morning. Why you might ask? I just don't know. In my NYC single days I'd just be getting home around this time. At least one day a week I stayed out very late and I was a master of sleeping in, especially on weekends. I got a letter from my second job, warning that if I continued to be late I would have no job to be late to. I was never late for work again but I still loved to sleep in. Now however, and for the past 50 years, everything has changed.
I learned to love the very early mornings in India where I couldn't wait to see the street in front of our house wake up. First, one would hear the haunting sound of morning prayers from the temple down the street. It was mystifying and thrilling as man reached out to God, in a voice breaking the stillness just before dawn. Then the feathered ones would start with their morning songs. As I stood near the gate I would see animals, cats and dogs and monkeys, pass silently and individually through the streets and trees and over the tops of buildings. Soon after I would come out, Jaya Auntie from next door, would appear with morning coffee for me. I would stand, smoke, drink coffee and absorb the morning. A few minutes later my dear Mummy, would bring me a second cup of coffee. ( I will tell you more about these two remarkable women later, in another post.) As the morning got started the milk man would come to deliver. In the early days he brought his cow and milked her fresh for each family. In later years he brought heavy plastic bags of milk, pasteurized fresh from the dairy. After the milk delivery the street vendors would come with their carts of every conceivable fruit or vegetable in it's season. Always there would be coconuts, onions, bananas, coriander leaves and tomatoes. The ladies from each house would come down and purchase, when the vendors would call out, what in particular that household needed. The street traffic would then pickup with school children in their uniforms and people walking dogs. People began to race in all directions to hail buses and auto rickshaws. Bicycles, motorcycles and scooters, would begin to fill the streets. Cars, trucks(called lorries), and others, like donkeys, cows, and bullock carts would also join the now overfull narrow streets. Back then there were no sidewalks where we lived so people walked by the road on the footpaths, or in the road, which was of course very dangerous but all too common. It was now time for me to go in the house for breakfast.
India made me love the early mornings and since then I cannot sleep late. I always feel like I am missing so much. 4:30 is still very early though here in Phoenix. If I am writing on the computer, however, I can still see the sun come up through my window, and I still do have my ever present coffee. The magic of the early morning has never left me and I do my best, and perhaps only, work at this time
I learned to love the very early mornings in India where I couldn't wait to see the street in front of our house wake up. First, one would hear the haunting sound of morning prayers from the temple down the street. It was mystifying and thrilling as man reached out to God, in a voice breaking the stillness just before dawn. Then the feathered ones would start with their morning songs. As I stood near the gate I would see animals, cats and dogs and monkeys, pass silently and individually through the streets and trees and over the tops of buildings. Soon after I would come out, Jaya Auntie from next door, would appear with morning coffee for me. I would stand, smoke, drink coffee and absorb the morning. A few minutes later my dear Mummy, would bring me a second cup of coffee. ( I will tell you more about these two remarkable women later, in another post.) As the morning got started the milk man would come to deliver. In the early days he brought his cow and milked her fresh for each family. In later years he brought heavy plastic bags of milk, pasteurized fresh from the dairy. After the milk delivery the street vendors would come with their carts of every conceivable fruit or vegetable in it's season. Always there would be coconuts, onions, bananas, coriander leaves and tomatoes. The ladies from each house would come down and purchase, when the vendors would call out, what in particular that household needed. The street traffic would then pickup with school children in their uniforms and people walking dogs. People began to race in all directions to hail buses and auto rickshaws. Bicycles, motorcycles and scooters, would begin to fill the streets. Cars, trucks(called lorries), and others, like donkeys, cows, and bullock carts would also join the now overfull narrow streets. Back then there were no sidewalks where we lived so people walked by the road on the footpaths, or in the road, which was of course very dangerous but all too common. It was now time for me to go in the house for breakfast.
India made me love the early mornings and since then I cannot sleep late. I always feel like I am missing so much. 4:30 is still very early though here in Phoenix. If I am writing on the computer, however, I can still see the sun come up through my window, and I still do have my ever present coffee. The magic of the early morning has never left me and I do my best, and perhaps only, work at this time
Sunday, May 5, 2013
nothing
Not much to say today. Other things preoccupy me. Does this ever happen to you? One gets sidetracked by other projects and events and what is most important becomes the least urgent. Well, see you soon.
Thursday, May 2, 2013
Angie, the Chihuahua
I want a cat named Musette. My friend had one who recently died. It is a beautiful name but more than that, the little cat was a lovely little being. She was gentle and loving. Not like my Angie, who got her name before I got her. If I were to name her it would be spoiled. She is such a little JAP. This stands for Just A Princess. No, but seriously there is no one like my little Angie.
Angie always takes the high road. She loves to sit on top of pillows or the backs of couches or chairs if they are wide enough. She weighs between 6 and 7 lbs of lean mean doggie machine. Not really mean but very willful. She will not come when called. She simply refuses. She does everything strictly on her own terms. She will come if she hears a bag of food opening, but of course this is her choice, not mine. If I am napping on the sofa when it is time for her to be fed( like all animals she has a built in Rolex watch, which keeps time to the second), she will sit either on the top of the sofa or on my chest and woof at me. She is very demanding in this and the expression on her face and her body language is so funny I just giggle. I have tried to catch these antics on the video portion of my camera but since dropping the camera on my face and causing a bruised mouth, I have given up.
She sleeps most of the day, after her morning walk, on her green velour pillow. Getting her going for her walk is another fun filled time. She will jump down from the couch when she sees we have her little leash and harness. She will come and dance around our feet but when we bend to pick her up she runs away. She will run 10-15 feet, stop and then wiggle and shake until one of us picks her up. She has to have this little ritual of being forced to take a walk.
Angie is a Chihuahua who was actually born in Chihuahua, Mexico. I have her vaccination certificate in Spanish to prove it. We are pretty sure she is an illegal alien because my friend bought her out of the back of a truck with Mexican license plates. We think she barks with a Spanish accent but it is a little hard to tell. Her senses of hearing, sight and smell are all incredible. We can't get away with hiding anything from her. If I have a salted peanut in my hand she can tell from a room away. She is a very good little watchdog and takes her duty very seriously. She only barks if there is someone really there and very quickly calms down if it is a known friend. She will come to bed to sleep sometimes, but only at her fancy. She will insist on burrowing under the covers with her tail facing to me and will rarely stay for the full night. She likes to get petted and will turn on her back under the covers so I can gently pet her little belly. Almost as soon as I fall asleep she leaves me for her pillow on the sofa. I like to think she is putting me to sleep.
Angie is a Service Dog and I have a prescription from my Dr. for her. What service does she perform you ask? Well she really does help keep me calm and centered when I have breathing problems. Holding her, or having her near me to worry about keeps the focus off me and on her. She is a companion and a comfort and a dear little being who is my best animal friend. Through her I can show my love for all the animal kingdom and she is a very good representative. Independent and free, but loving and sweet. She is our good companion and it is a privilege to share a home with her.
Angie always takes the high road. She loves to sit on top of pillows or the backs of couches or chairs if they are wide enough. She weighs between 6 and 7 lbs of lean mean doggie machine. Not really mean but very willful. She will not come when called. She simply refuses. She does everything strictly on her own terms. She will come if she hears a bag of food opening, but of course this is her choice, not mine. If I am napping on the sofa when it is time for her to be fed( like all animals she has a built in Rolex watch, which keeps time to the second), she will sit either on the top of the sofa or on my chest and woof at me. She is very demanding in this and the expression on her face and her body language is so funny I just giggle. I have tried to catch these antics on the video portion of my camera but since dropping the camera on my face and causing a bruised mouth, I have given up.
She sleeps most of the day, after her morning walk, on her green velour pillow. Getting her going for her walk is another fun filled time. She will jump down from the couch when she sees we have her little leash and harness. She will come and dance around our feet but when we bend to pick her up she runs away. She will run 10-15 feet, stop and then wiggle and shake until one of us picks her up. She has to have this little ritual of being forced to take a walk.
Angie is a Chihuahua who was actually born in Chihuahua, Mexico. I have her vaccination certificate in Spanish to prove it. We are pretty sure she is an illegal alien because my friend bought her out of the back of a truck with Mexican license plates. We think she barks with a Spanish accent but it is a little hard to tell. Her senses of hearing, sight and smell are all incredible. We can't get away with hiding anything from her. If I have a salted peanut in my hand she can tell from a room away. She is a very good little watchdog and takes her duty very seriously. She only barks if there is someone really there and very quickly calms down if it is a known friend. She will come to bed to sleep sometimes, but only at her fancy. She will insist on burrowing under the covers with her tail facing to me and will rarely stay for the full night. She likes to get petted and will turn on her back under the covers so I can gently pet her little belly. Almost as soon as I fall asleep she leaves me for her pillow on the sofa. I like to think she is putting me to sleep.
Angie is a Service Dog and I have a prescription from my Dr. for her. What service does she perform you ask? Well she really does help keep me calm and centered when I have breathing problems. Holding her, or having her near me to worry about keeps the focus off me and on her. She is a companion and a comfort and a dear little being who is my best animal friend. Through her I can show my love for all the animal kingdom and she is a very good representative. Independent and free, but loving and sweet. She is our good companion and it is a privilege to share a home with her.
Wednesday, May 1, 2013
To be or not to be good or evil-Is either real.
It has all been said before. Why do I keep regurgitating the same material? Who cares what I think and does it mean anything to anyone? I sit down this morning awaiting my muse. I wonder why I bother. Can what I say or think ever make a difference to anyone or should I still be sleeping? It is so hard to know if what one does makes a difference to anyone. Is it only to myself and my ego that I reach out each morning? What if the voice is silenced forever? Would anyone even care? Why is it that the questions are so much easier than the answers?
Evil keeps marching in a relentless surge forward. It never stops. Sometimes it regroups but then off it goes again. Some people think there is no real evil. It is to them just the absence of good. Everything is on a graded scale. A is the best anyone can be-God, or whatever. Everything then proceeds from there, lower and farther from the ideal, until finally one reaches Z or absolute evil. But for these thinkers there are no real absolutes. Just shades and shades of gray, and we know where that leads. Are there really just shades or degrees of good and evil?
We measure the perfect red, shiny, sweet, crunchy apple high on the tree against the wrinkled, brown rotten apple, full of decay and worms, lying forlornly on the ground. Yet the diseased apple feeds someone or something. Birds peck at it. Ants roll over it and take home tiny bites of it. Maggots invade the decaying tissue, and bacteria thrive. Life benefits from even the most diseased and debased life forms. The Circle of Life and all that.
So, is there no absolute Good or Evil? Are God and the Devil just allegory and metaphor for processes we just do not yet understand? Many brilliant minds believe this.
I, however,have a hard time believing this even while reason appeals to me.
I have experienced goodness and joy and love. I have faced evil and looked into its mad and desolate being. I cannot reason it or explain it, but I know in my own being the differences are real. Even as I write this I keep getting this warning at the top of my page: (an error occurred while you are trying to save or publish this, Do you want to ignore or keep trying?)
Why am I getting this warning? I believe there are no accidents. Is something tying to stop this from getting out? No, it can't be, this is just my fantasy. Then why is an ugly, huge black house fly busing around my keyboard? All I am saying is that God in his Glory and Evil in it's demented state are real. Do not take either for granted. I cannot prove it rationally but I do accept it on Faith and in the core of my very Being, or for lack of a better word Soul.
Evil keeps marching in a relentless surge forward. It never stops. Sometimes it regroups but then off it goes again. Some people think there is no real evil. It is to them just the absence of good. Everything is on a graded scale. A is the best anyone can be-God, or whatever. Everything then proceeds from there, lower and farther from the ideal, until finally one reaches Z or absolute evil. But for these thinkers there are no real absolutes. Just shades and shades of gray, and we know where that leads. Are there really just shades or degrees of good and evil?
We measure the perfect red, shiny, sweet, crunchy apple high on the tree against the wrinkled, brown rotten apple, full of decay and worms, lying forlornly on the ground. Yet the diseased apple feeds someone or something. Birds peck at it. Ants roll over it and take home tiny bites of it. Maggots invade the decaying tissue, and bacteria thrive. Life benefits from even the most diseased and debased life forms. The Circle of Life and all that.
So, is there no absolute Good or Evil? Are God and the Devil just allegory and metaphor for processes we just do not yet understand? Many brilliant minds believe this.
I, however,have a hard time believing this even while reason appeals to me.
I have experienced goodness and joy and love. I have faced evil and looked into its mad and desolate being. I cannot reason it or explain it, but I know in my own being the differences are real. Even as I write this I keep getting this warning at the top of my page: (an error occurred while you are trying to save or publish this, Do you want to ignore or keep trying?)
Why am I getting this warning? I believe there are no accidents. Is something tying to stop this from getting out? No, it can't be, this is just my fantasy. Then why is an ugly, huge black house fly busing around my keyboard? All I am saying is that God in his Glory and Evil in it's demented state are real. Do not take either for granted. I cannot prove it rationally but I do accept it on Faith and in the core of my very Being, or for lack of a better word Soul.
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