What are you thinking? While you are complaining about having to live on a minimum wage of $7.25 per hour, what are you paying the person who does odd jobs for you? Do you realize he worked ten hours on your yard and you paid him $20 total? Ten hours times $7.25 is $72.50 is it not? You get over three times as much as you paid him and you can't live on it? How is he supposed to buy his food and take the bus? Does he not deserve an occasional luxury? Do you wonder why he quit and took his hard work elsewhere? But you can't afford to pay him as much as you make? Then you should do your own odd jobs.
You say you are having a hard time with your bank account this summer. Will he go ahead and do the work now and get paid later? Say what? Your bank account is messed up for the third straight summer? Maybe you had better transplant your own rose bushes.
You've got this wonderful idea. You have that old trailer that he could really use for his lawn care equipment. It's really just a cart, isn't it? A cart for a man that has no car. But you thought of your own needs, not his. You chose to kill two birds with one stone. You got rid of your storage problem and got your work for free.
Same for the man who wants to unload his tractor as a Christmas gift, but wants him to work for free to pay for it. Gift, or wage? How will he buy food and ride the bus to the next job? But you can't understand why he isn't kissing your feet with gratitude.
The barter system cannot work well in this day of unemployment problems. It could work for middle class individuals trading luxury items for other luxury items. But, the hordes of unemployed need cash for work. They have to pay the same amount for food as you do. How will they pay for their rent?
We need to quit using the desperate who want to work for a living as our personal "dumpees". There may come a day that you and I are the desperate ones. How would you want to be treated?
Do unto others . . .
Saturday, December 28, 2013
Monday, December 16, 2013
Not Guilty As Charged
"Maureen laughed loudly. What can I say? I'm not a politician. I'm a counselor. In my work I do what I can to help people discover their own prejudices and to deal with them . . ." Maureen, a character in Changes, a novel by Lou Hough -- published by Jamie Carr Publishing in 2004.
I saw on the news today that another movie describing injustice to people of color is about to hit the big screen. I'd like a word here before it does and before my community gets rapped up at the side of the head -- again. The raps are coming pretty fast these days.
Just as I didn't cut in front of that black chick at the Dollar Tree the other day, I didn't enslave negroes several centuries ago. I didn't make black people use a separate restroom. I didn't make you sit at the back of the bus. I didn't refuse to serve you in a restaurant. Neither did most of the people who live in your city, walk down your street or shop where you shop.
I saw a sound bite one time where Denzel Washington said with great drama, "They enslaved us." Well, no Denzel, they didn't. Unless you are among the ranks of the walking dead it isn't possible. Maybe they enslaved an ancestor, but not you, so the people alive today don't owe you any guilt or apology and they don't deserve your anger. They definitely are not your scapegoats or punching bags for any past trespasses against your race -- real or imagined.
Just as most Americans didn't beat up Rodney King, most of those shop owners didn't deserve to have their stores looted and burned. The entire American public does not deserve to be punished for the acts of a handful of bigots.
The Butler, a movie which focuses on the gross injustice of underpaying the servants at the Whitehouse -- interesting and well done as it was -- has a basic flaw. All those featured on the butler's staff were black. Now, had there been a white butler who had worked the same or less length of time that was paid more than the black butler, then that would have been discrimination.
I'm not saying the serving crowd wasn't underpaid. Most employees are, even in this day and age. I am saying welcome to the club. I never had a job in my life where I was adequately paid for all my hard work. So, I would like to request that the current black population quit blaming the current white population for ancient history.
If you are a supervisor today, do you give equal opportunity to white job applicants? A lot of black supervisors don't. Do you recommend that a white employee receive as big a raise as your favorite black employee? Ummmm-hummmmm! If you provide money for college tuition, do you include white students?
Before blaming white folk for what their ancestors did hundreds of years ago, look to the beam in your own eye. Racism is a two-way street. Are you socially correct yourself? Do you watch what you say about the white folk? Or do you strike out at the first white person to stand in your path after you believe you have been wronged? The American Civil Liberties Union is supposed to be for everyone, not just you. We are not guilty as charged!!!!
I saw on the news today that another movie describing injustice to people of color is about to hit the big screen. I'd like a word here before it does and before my community gets rapped up at the side of the head -- again. The raps are coming pretty fast these days.
Just as I didn't cut in front of that black chick at the Dollar Tree the other day, I didn't enslave negroes several centuries ago. I didn't make black people use a separate restroom. I didn't make you sit at the back of the bus. I didn't refuse to serve you in a restaurant. Neither did most of the people who live in your city, walk down your street or shop where you shop.
I saw a sound bite one time where Denzel Washington said with great drama, "They enslaved us." Well, no Denzel, they didn't. Unless you are among the ranks of the walking dead it isn't possible. Maybe they enslaved an ancestor, but not you, so the people alive today don't owe you any guilt or apology and they don't deserve your anger. They definitely are not your scapegoats or punching bags for any past trespasses against your race -- real or imagined.
Just as most Americans didn't beat up Rodney King, most of those shop owners didn't deserve to have their stores looted and burned. The entire American public does not deserve to be punished for the acts of a handful of bigots.
The Butler, a movie which focuses on the gross injustice of underpaying the servants at the Whitehouse -- interesting and well done as it was -- has a basic flaw. All those featured on the butler's staff were black. Now, had there been a white butler who had worked the same or less length of time that was paid more than the black butler, then that would have been discrimination.
I'm not saying the serving crowd wasn't underpaid. Most employees are, even in this day and age. I am saying welcome to the club. I never had a job in my life where I was adequately paid for all my hard work. So, I would like to request that the current black population quit blaming the current white population for ancient history.
If you are a supervisor today, do you give equal opportunity to white job applicants? A lot of black supervisors don't. Do you recommend that a white employee receive as big a raise as your favorite black employee? Ummmm-hummmmm! If you provide money for college tuition, do you include white students?
Before blaming white folk for what their ancestors did hundreds of years ago, look to the beam in your own eye. Racism is a two-way street. Are you socially correct yourself? Do you watch what you say about the white folk? Or do you strike out at the first white person to stand in your path after you believe you have been wronged? The American Civil Liberties Union is supposed to be for everyone, not just you. We are not guilty as charged!!!!
Monday, December 9, 2013
The Best Christmas Ever
Matthew 2:1
Well, at least it was the best Christmas since the actual birth of Jesus. Had my brother and I been older, we would have been able to read the signs and understand the reason it was special.
The first clue was when Mother took me to the window at Carp's Department Store and had me pick any doll I wanted. She took me in to buy it, but we were told they were all sold but the broken one on display.
Later, I was dust mopping my Mother's bedroom floor and the mop met an obstruction. It was the doll. I didn't tell my parents I had spoiled the lovely surprise by looking in the box. The clerk, a friend of Mother's, had called when someone failed to pick up a lay away. As Christmas approached, my Dad bought chocolate hay stacks, his favorite Christmas candy. He hung a bright red peignoir set on the floor lamp near the tree -- an occasional gift he liked to get for Mom.
Christmas Eve, Bill and Elizabeth came over to play pinochle for match sticks. At the appropriate time, my grandparents and Uncle wandered across the alley with the traditional wicker basket full of gifts. We were sent to bed to wait for Santa.
About 4:00 in the morning, we were awakened by a train whistle running through our bedroom. Two little kids (my Dad and another uncle) were sitting in the bedroom floor playing with the train Santa had left for my little brother.
I wiped the sleep from my eyes and found my doll and her new wardrobe tucked in bed beside me. My Mom and Aunt had been busy making her clothes.
We had our usual Christmas dinner, complete with all the trimmings. It was a very happy day. But, you know what was really best about it? The war was finally over and our family had all come home okay.
Well, at least it was the best Christmas since the actual birth of Jesus. Had my brother and I been older, we would have been able to read the signs and understand the reason it was special.
The first clue was when Mother took me to the window at Carp's Department Store and had me pick any doll I wanted. She took me in to buy it, but we were told they were all sold but the broken one on display.
Later, I was dust mopping my Mother's bedroom floor and the mop met an obstruction. It was the doll. I didn't tell my parents I had spoiled the lovely surprise by looking in the box. The clerk, a friend of Mother's, had called when someone failed to pick up a lay away. As Christmas approached, my Dad bought chocolate hay stacks, his favorite Christmas candy. He hung a bright red peignoir set on the floor lamp near the tree -- an occasional gift he liked to get for Mom.
Christmas Eve, Bill and Elizabeth came over to play pinochle for match sticks. At the appropriate time, my grandparents and Uncle wandered across the alley with the traditional wicker basket full of gifts. We were sent to bed to wait for Santa.
About 4:00 in the morning, we were awakened by a train whistle running through our bedroom. Two little kids (my Dad and another uncle) were sitting in the bedroom floor playing with the train Santa had left for my little brother.
I wiped the sleep from my eyes and found my doll and her new wardrobe tucked in bed beside me. My Mom and Aunt had been busy making her clothes.
We had our usual Christmas dinner, complete with all the trimmings. It was a very happy day. But, you know what was really best about it? The war was finally over and our family had all come home okay.
Saturday, December 7, 2013
Don't Let Them Out Without Their Meds
A friend sent pictures of her Christmas tree when she got it set up. That got me all inspired to decorate my living room just before Thanksgiving. But the mood was doused by gray, gray skies and unseasonably cold air. I don't handle extremes of weather well. Heat gives me fever and cold and gray induce seasonal affect disorder. I just couldn't jumpstart my Christmas shopping spirit.
A news anchor mentioned an activity coming December 15, which she said was next weekend. Whoops! That's the date of my youngest son's birthday. Then, an early Christmas card reminded me I hadn't bought mine yet. Here it was Friday the 6th and I had to go out into the cold, dark world. After I got my laundry finished, I hit the road. It was already 3:30 p.m.
So, with flattened affect, I started my shopping at the Dollar Tree. First aisle in the door, I managed to solve the Christmas card problem. (I'm a really big spender). I continued around the corner where a lady was blocking the next entrance. I skipped to the next one. When said lady hit my aisle, I went back to the other where I surmised correctly I would find candy for another son and the grandson who never thanks me for anything but candy. When said aisle blocker returned there with a smirk of a smile, it became apparent she was attempting to rile me. I eventually figured out ways to avoid her as well as another person who was always in my path. Then I rounded a corner where a lady in a wheel chair was pulling a cart right down the middle. I figured she held all the rights on that aisle, so I tried the next one. Oh sigh, it was the one where people were waiting to check out of the store. I was blocked from going forward or right by a person in the center of the aisle. Said person (black) apparently had just finished an altercation with another person. The lady, white, said to her, "I'm sorry, did I just cut in front of you? I can let you in . . ." The aisle blocker glared her to silence. I was paused there waiting for her to notice and move aside or for a break in the interchange so I could ask her to let me through.
Another black lady rounded from behind me and asked several times if she would let her through. When she didn't respond, the second black lady charged right through, knocking against her so hard her body moved backward. If I had done that with my basket she would have been injured. Don't tempt me, Lord, don't tempt me.
For whatever reason, she didn't want to deal with the original person who caused her ire or the one who almost knocked her arm off. She zeroed in on me. I asked in a quiet voice if she would please excuse me and let me through. She ignored me. I waited. I tried again. I told her about the woman in the wheel chair blocking the other aisle. "May I please get through?" She said, "No, you can just wait there while I pee all over myself." I waited. By now she had at least two feet in front of her where she could have moved out of the way. She stayed. I said, "Ma'am, that lady behind you was polite to you and I am being polite . . ." She cut over me saying, "That's not being polite, saying 'May I please be excused.' You want what you want when you want it. No, you can just stand there and pee and shit all over yourself." By this time, of course, the average lay person was able to tell she was emotionally disturbed.
No telling why I didn't lose my own temper. But, as I said earlier, I was in a state of flattened affect. Then she goes into an attitude of prayer, still blocking the aisle. I said -- to Jesus, not aloud -- you don't mean this evil witch is actually pretending to pray. The standoff continued.
When a clerk announced she was opening another line, said black lady almost mowed down everyone in her path trying to get there. My trip through the store wasn't a total trauma after that. I even found a coffee mug of similar shape and color to a favorite I had recently broken. As I shopped, I laughingly told God He should tell her family not to let her out without her meds.
At the exit, a car pulled up and blocked the sidewalk. I skirted behind it and walked against the traffic to my car. The same car turned in front of me again. The driver, another black, was looking at me and laughing his behind off. The car had a sign on it asking "How is my driving?" Did he really want my answer?
Every leg of the trip, I felt like abandoning the shopping I hadn't wanted to start, but there was a reason I couldn't. I needed K-Mart to buy the birthday boy a gift. Eggs were a lot cheaper at Aldis. I had to go to Price Chopper to buy stamps and get $20 and smokes to pay my older son for work he had done for me.
At Aldis I remembered that just before Thanksgiving, 2012, I had run into another certifiable black lady in that store. All the time I was in the checkout line (about ten minutes) plus another ten while packing my groceries, there had been an empty box on the shelf. When I ran out of space in my own bags, I picked up the box and began using it. I was suddenly blind-sided by an angry black woman screaming "That's my box. You take your stuff out of there right now!" She proceeded to throw my "stuff" out on the counter. That time, I had to pray, myself. "Lord, please help me to handle this well." I turned to her and quietly asked if it were hers, why she had left it abandoned on the shelf the staff uses to provide boxes for us all.
I don't know if she had put the box there. It was in my line of view for at least twenty minutes with nobody touching it, so I don't think she had. I believe she saw it from a distance, decided she was going to use it and would start World War III to get her way. Some healthy appearing young man was carrying groceries for her and driving the car. They were parked in a handicapped slot. When she saw me outside, she began to rant and rave again. The memory of this made me joke to God that there must be a nursing home or halfway house for emotionally disturbed people somewhere in the vicinity. I did a double take. The crazy woman at the Dollar tree, the apparent car service, the crazy lady at Aldis, may mean my joke was instead a truth. What am I God, a giant magnet for the insane?
But, ladies and gentlemen out there, I have thanked the good Lord for putting you in my path today. You see, He knows me well. He expected you would be the topic of my newest blog, where readers in countries across the globe can see the true ugliness of your souls.
Be careful whom you choose taunt. And be careful how you tell this tale. Some of your listeners may actually follow my work. They will see the cowardly woman who chose not to confront the two who committed aggressive acts upon her, but chose instead to verbally assault the one who politely asked her to let her pass so she could finish her shopping. And, oh, you were so sure you were the one in the right! I'm just saying . . .
A news anchor mentioned an activity coming December 15, which she said was next weekend. Whoops! That's the date of my youngest son's birthday. Then, an early Christmas card reminded me I hadn't bought mine yet. Here it was Friday the 6th and I had to go out into the cold, dark world. After I got my laundry finished, I hit the road. It was already 3:30 p.m.
So, with flattened affect, I started my shopping at the Dollar Tree. First aisle in the door, I managed to solve the Christmas card problem. (I'm a really big spender). I continued around the corner where a lady was blocking the next entrance. I skipped to the next one. When said lady hit my aisle, I went back to the other where I surmised correctly I would find candy for another son and the grandson who never thanks me for anything but candy. When said aisle blocker returned there with a smirk of a smile, it became apparent she was attempting to rile me. I eventually figured out ways to avoid her as well as another person who was always in my path. Then I rounded a corner where a lady in a wheel chair was pulling a cart right down the middle. I figured she held all the rights on that aisle, so I tried the next one. Oh sigh, it was the one where people were waiting to check out of the store. I was blocked from going forward or right by a person in the center of the aisle. Said person (black) apparently had just finished an altercation with another person. The lady, white, said to her, "I'm sorry, did I just cut in front of you? I can let you in . . ." The aisle blocker glared her to silence. I was paused there waiting for her to notice and move aside or for a break in the interchange so I could ask her to let me through.
Another black lady rounded from behind me and asked several times if she would let her through. When she didn't respond, the second black lady charged right through, knocking against her so hard her body moved backward. If I had done that with my basket she would have been injured. Don't tempt me, Lord, don't tempt me.
For whatever reason, she didn't want to deal with the original person who caused her ire or the one who almost knocked her arm off. She zeroed in on me. I asked in a quiet voice if she would please excuse me and let me through. She ignored me. I waited. I tried again. I told her about the woman in the wheel chair blocking the other aisle. "May I please get through?" She said, "No, you can just wait there while I pee all over myself." I waited. By now she had at least two feet in front of her where she could have moved out of the way. She stayed. I said, "Ma'am, that lady behind you was polite to you and I am being polite . . ." She cut over me saying, "That's not being polite, saying 'May I please be excused.' You want what you want when you want it. No, you can just stand there and pee and shit all over yourself." By this time, of course, the average lay person was able to tell she was emotionally disturbed.
No telling why I didn't lose my own temper. But, as I said earlier, I was in a state of flattened affect. Then she goes into an attitude of prayer, still blocking the aisle. I said -- to Jesus, not aloud -- you don't mean this evil witch is actually pretending to pray. The standoff continued.
When a clerk announced she was opening another line, said black lady almost mowed down everyone in her path trying to get there. My trip through the store wasn't a total trauma after that. I even found a coffee mug of similar shape and color to a favorite I had recently broken. As I shopped, I laughingly told God He should tell her family not to let her out without her meds.
At the exit, a car pulled up and blocked the sidewalk. I skirted behind it and walked against the traffic to my car. The same car turned in front of me again. The driver, another black, was looking at me and laughing his behind off. The car had a sign on it asking "How is my driving?" Did he really want my answer?
Every leg of the trip, I felt like abandoning the shopping I hadn't wanted to start, but there was a reason I couldn't. I needed K-Mart to buy the birthday boy a gift. Eggs were a lot cheaper at Aldis. I had to go to Price Chopper to buy stamps and get $20 and smokes to pay my older son for work he had done for me.
At Aldis I remembered that just before Thanksgiving, 2012, I had run into another certifiable black lady in that store. All the time I was in the checkout line (about ten minutes) plus another ten while packing my groceries, there had been an empty box on the shelf. When I ran out of space in my own bags, I picked up the box and began using it. I was suddenly blind-sided by an angry black woman screaming "That's my box. You take your stuff out of there right now!" She proceeded to throw my "stuff" out on the counter. That time, I had to pray, myself. "Lord, please help me to handle this well." I turned to her and quietly asked if it were hers, why she had left it abandoned on the shelf the staff uses to provide boxes for us all.
I don't know if she had put the box there. It was in my line of view for at least twenty minutes with nobody touching it, so I don't think she had. I believe she saw it from a distance, decided she was going to use it and would start World War III to get her way. Some healthy appearing young man was carrying groceries for her and driving the car. They were parked in a handicapped slot. When she saw me outside, she began to rant and rave again. The memory of this made me joke to God that there must be a nursing home or halfway house for emotionally disturbed people somewhere in the vicinity. I did a double take. The crazy woman at the Dollar tree, the apparent car service, the crazy lady at Aldis, may mean my joke was instead a truth. What am I God, a giant magnet for the insane?
But, ladies and gentlemen out there, I have thanked the good Lord for putting you in my path today. You see, He knows me well. He expected you would be the topic of my newest blog, where readers in countries across the globe can see the true ugliness of your souls.
Be careful whom you choose taunt. And be careful how you tell this tale. Some of your listeners may actually follow my work. They will see the cowardly woman who chose not to confront the two who committed aggressive acts upon her, but chose instead to verbally assault the one who politely asked her to let her pass so she could finish her shopping. And, oh, you were so sure you were the one in the right! I'm just saying . . .
Thursday, December 5, 2013
Casting Call For Techies
There seems to be a nationwide shortage of people with high-level computer programing skills. How do I know this? I read a lot. I even watch television news and information stories.
Mark Zuckerberg and other technical entrepreneurs need qualified people with such skills to fill positions soon.
It is my opinion that there are many skilled programmers looking for work -- especially recent college graduates. If you have such skills, especially with a college degree from any reputable university, why not check the Websites of some of the California based companies? If you have not already checked the Websites of these firms, why don't you do so to locate vacancies as well as needed credentials and information on how to apply? There may even be national agencies who look for potential employees for these firms.
If you need a job and are not averse to moving, what an opportunity this would be for you. Wouldn't it be nice to leave tornado alley, snow and ice or hurricane seasons for sunnier climes?
There just needs to be someone willing to put the companies and the potential work force in touch with each other. In fact, if there are not enough agencies head hunting in this area, perhaps your future could be to start up such a company.
Good luck to all sides.
Mark Zuckerberg and other technical entrepreneurs need qualified people with such skills to fill positions soon.
It is my opinion that there are many skilled programmers looking for work -- especially recent college graduates. If you have such skills, especially with a college degree from any reputable university, why not check the Websites of some of the California based companies? If you have not already checked the Websites of these firms, why don't you do so to locate vacancies as well as needed credentials and information on how to apply? There may even be national agencies who look for potential employees for these firms.
If you need a job and are not averse to moving, what an opportunity this would be for you. Wouldn't it be nice to leave tornado alley, snow and ice or hurricane seasons for sunnier climes?
There just needs to be someone willing to put the companies and the potential work force in touch with each other. In fact, if there are not enough agencies head hunting in this area, perhaps your future could be to start up such a company.
Good luck to all sides.
Tuesday, November 26, 2013
My Greatest Tourist Experience Ever: A Ghost Story
I don't know what it's like to "see the pyramids along the Nile". I've never visited Ireland, the birthplace of most of my ancestors. Neither have I walked on Roman streets or seen the Tower of London. I still hold out a faint hope to visit the Sydney Opera House (though I'll take a pass on the Outback). You see, I've never even had a passport. But I have had some humdinger vacations in my own country.
During high school, I saw Gatlinburg and Nashville, Tennessee, twice. Once was on chorus tour where we sang at various places en route. The other was with a group of Southern Baptist girls going to a retreat at Ridgecrest, North Carolina.
I got to go on a fishing trip with a college friend. We passed through the "twin cities" before we reached Sal's resort in the north. There I had the best luck fishing of anytime in my life.
While waiting to see the White House, I started remarking how my deceased father, the high school history teacher/guidance counselor, nee coal miner, would have loved to be with us. Then I remembered how he hated standing in line. Same goes for the Library of Congress and the Smithsonian.
Riding the streetcars of San Francisco and watching my older two children talk to Mickey Mouse at Disneyland seemed unbeatable.
As a single parent, tired to the depths from taking care of others, I took a Pressley tour through the south. It culminated in New Orleans where I got to sample Po' Boys and Gumbo, as well as jazz at Preservation Hall. It was wonderful to experience the atmosphere where music, not drink was the point and purpose. No alcohol was served there.
I've made several trips to Florida, especially the Tampa area. I even lived there the better part of a year. Epcot Center was great, as was Mt. Dora where I bought a quilt made in Missouri, a long-term home. Long Boat Key holds a special spot in my heart. It was one of the few places where I actually got to visit the beach. Perhaps Tarpon Springs is my favorite in that area. I like the boats along the coast. I tell myself that it gives a flavor of what a trip to Greece might bring.
We should not negate the fun and rest from many trips to Lake of the Ozarks where, as young marrieds, we owned a literal log cabin. There I found my second best fishing experience.
On Oahu, we did the Circle Island Tour where a native Hawaiian explained to us that we mainlanders couldn't pronounce muumuu. He said the only moo moos on the island were cows. The proper pronunciation, according to Lorne, is "moo oo, moo oo". He treated us to fried chicken breaded with pineapple juice rather than milk (yum) and showed us the best spot for surfing.
We safely skirted Pele's volcano and shopped in the International Marketplace. We bought souvenirs for others. I spent the money I had saved for my own favorite kind of souvenirs. I bought one ring in pink coral and a second made from one of Pele's tears, otherwise known there as the olivine. Here it is called a peridot.
We visited the beach. I heard my husband deliver a research paper to the American Psychological Association. I, as a faculty wife, attended more presentations than that APA member, who took time to visit a local dog handler. Their common bond was Afghan Hounds. I burst into tears in a restaurant upon hearing words of a song, "Baby, baby don't get hooked on me." Not for any normal reason either. My three year old son's rendition was "Baby, baby don't you pick on me." I was homesick for my kids. In fact, when I said I couldn't wait to board the plane and get back to them, one of my husband's colleagues called me a glutton for punishment.
But relating all of these wonderful experiences, there is no event more memorable than the following. We were aboard a tourist charter boat. The people nearest us were a John Wayne look-alike and an elderly lady who just oozed greatness, whoever she was. Her face showed every crack and crevice of a long eventful life. I was fascinated with her.
Yet, suddenly the atmosphere changed. There was a spiritual charge. The feeling was so strong that I felt the very presence of all those souls. The memories began to flood.
I heard an Orson Welles type voice announce, once more, "The Japanese have bombed Pearl Harbor." I saw my parents and grandparents scurrying around, speaking in hushed voices. I listened to President Roosevelt explain what had happened. I was, once again, in Junction City, Kansas, where my Father received his basic training at Fort Riley.
My Mother and brother and I were in that little trailer where we stayed so we could spend what might conceivably be the last minutes we would ever have with my Dad. I saw the landlady who let Mom use her oven to bake a pork roast and a chocolate cake for my little brother's third birthday. I heard the little guy going around the bustling town of Junction City, walking up to strangers saying "Hi. You don't know me. I'se Jimmy." I remembered myself singing Mares-e-doats (Mares eat oats) for a group of soldiers in a large hall; a mess hall, I guess. How could I forget it all in the presence of the souls of all those who lost their lives during that surprise attack so long ago? By this time you no doubt know that we were making our way toward the Arizona Memorial on Pearl Harbor.
December 7 is just around the corner. May we, during the Thanksgiving holiday, remember to thank those souls of World War II for sacrificing their lives in an attempt to protect our country, our values, our freedom. Let us thank all peacekeepers everywhere. For me there has been no greater sight to see or feeling to feel than what I experienced at the Arizona Memorial that day. It was the best tourist site ever.
During high school, I saw Gatlinburg and Nashville, Tennessee, twice. Once was on chorus tour where we sang at various places en route. The other was with a group of Southern Baptist girls going to a retreat at Ridgecrest, North Carolina.
I got to go on a fishing trip with a college friend. We passed through the "twin cities" before we reached Sal's resort in the north. There I had the best luck fishing of anytime in my life.
While waiting to see the White House, I started remarking how my deceased father, the high school history teacher/guidance counselor, nee coal miner, would have loved to be with us. Then I remembered how he hated standing in line. Same goes for the Library of Congress and the Smithsonian.
Riding the streetcars of San Francisco and watching my older two children talk to Mickey Mouse at Disneyland seemed unbeatable.
As a single parent, tired to the depths from taking care of others, I took a Pressley tour through the south. It culminated in New Orleans where I got to sample Po' Boys and Gumbo, as well as jazz at Preservation Hall. It was wonderful to experience the atmosphere where music, not drink was the point and purpose. No alcohol was served there.
I've made several trips to Florida, especially the Tampa area. I even lived there the better part of a year. Epcot Center was great, as was Mt. Dora where I bought a quilt made in Missouri, a long-term home. Long Boat Key holds a special spot in my heart. It was one of the few places where I actually got to visit the beach. Perhaps Tarpon Springs is my favorite in that area. I like the boats along the coast. I tell myself that it gives a flavor of what a trip to Greece might bring.
We should not negate the fun and rest from many trips to Lake of the Ozarks where, as young marrieds, we owned a literal log cabin. There I found my second best fishing experience.
On Oahu, we did the Circle Island Tour where a native Hawaiian explained to us that we mainlanders couldn't pronounce muumuu. He said the only moo moos on the island were cows. The proper pronunciation, according to Lorne, is "moo oo, moo oo". He treated us to fried chicken breaded with pineapple juice rather than milk (yum) and showed us the best spot for surfing.
We safely skirted Pele's volcano and shopped in the International Marketplace. We bought souvenirs for others. I spent the money I had saved for my own favorite kind of souvenirs. I bought one ring in pink coral and a second made from one of Pele's tears, otherwise known there as the olivine. Here it is called a peridot.
We visited the beach. I heard my husband deliver a research paper to the American Psychological Association. I, as a faculty wife, attended more presentations than that APA member, who took time to visit a local dog handler. Their common bond was Afghan Hounds. I burst into tears in a restaurant upon hearing words of a song, "Baby, baby don't get hooked on me." Not for any normal reason either. My three year old son's rendition was "Baby, baby don't you pick on me." I was homesick for my kids. In fact, when I said I couldn't wait to board the plane and get back to them, one of my husband's colleagues called me a glutton for punishment.
But relating all of these wonderful experiences, there is no event more memorable than the following. We were aboard a tourist charter boat. The people nearest us were a John Wayne look-alike and an elderly lady who just oozed greatness, whoever she was. Her face showed every crack and crevice of a long eventful life. I was fascinated with her.
Yet, suddenly the atmosphere changed. There was a spiritual charge. The feeling was so strong that I felt the very presence of all those souls. The memories began to flood.
I heard an Orson Welles type voice announce, once more, "The Japanese have bombed Pearl Harbor." I saw my parents and grandparents scurrying around, speaking in hushed voices. I listened to President Roosevelt explain what had happened. I was, once again, in Junction City, Kansas, where my Father received his basic training at Fort Riley.
My Mother and brother and I were in that little trailer where we stayed so we could spend what might conceivably be the last minutes we would ever have with my Dad. I saw the landlady who let Mom use her oven to bake a pork roast and a chocolate cake for my little brother's third birthday. I heard the little guy going around the bustling town of Junction City, walking up to strangers saying "Hi. You don't know me. I'se Jimmy." I remembered myself singing Mares-e-doats (Mares eat oats) for a group of soldiers in a large hall; a mess hall, I guess. How could I forget it all in the presence of the souls of all those who lost their lives during that surprise attack so long ago? By this time you no doubt know that we were making our way toward the Arizona Memorial on Pearl Harbor.
December 7 is just around the corner. May we, during the Thanksgiving holiday, remember to thank those souls of World War II for sacrificing their lives in an attempt to protect our country, our values, our freedom. Let us thank all peacekeepers everywhere. For me there has been no greater sight to see or feeling to feel than what I experienced at the Arizona Memorial that day. It was the best tourist site ever.
Thursday, November 21, 2013
On Being Thankful
Thank you Father for all the wonderful gifts that you have granted us. As we journey through this next week toward our Thanksgiving celebrations, we want to recognize you, once more, for the gift of life, for stuff and for stuffing.
I appreciate the trip down memory lane through which you have recently guided me. Thanks for the Aunt who came to live with us a while, who provided me with the only "sister" I ever knew. I remember sharing a bedroom with her, the times she took me to see Shirley Temple movies and especially the time she and I both got in trouble because she bought me two banana splits.
Thanks for the two little brothers. I remember how much "GiGi" liked chocolate pie and the way he said ooden, ooden as he ran his cars around the backyard trees. I remember babysitting my baby brother and watching him enjoy Winkey Dink and You on Saturday mornings. I still smile as I "see" him dressed in his Sunday finest going around the church shaking hands with the grownups, and he such a happy little boy.
We also appreciate the uncles who came for visits, and sometimes slept on our couch. Thanks for the one who brought the kewpie dolls and the kaleidoscope for us to enjoy and the one who brought his children for visits.
Thank you for the uncle who saw that I got to attend the concerts of the visiting violinists and pianists, and others. I'm grateful for the grandfather that took us on an outing and cooked pork chops and eggs for my little brother and me. I thank you for the grandfather and great grandmother a couple of hours away and for the occasions when I got to visit with them. I still remember the great grandmother making sugar cookies on a griddle on top of a wood burning kitchen range. Thank you, too, for the grandmother and step grandfather who were constants in my life. They provided so much in the way of emotional support and "stuff" that enhanced a little girl's existence.
I appreciate the cousins and second cousins that I got to meet on those rare occasions of family events. Thank you for Ken and Fran and the excitement they brought with them after the war.
I'm also especially grateful for the childhood friends who have kept in touch off and on over these many years. They remain among my favorite people to this day.
I thank you for Facebook, where we can stay in touch and know what is happening in each other's lives. Will you please bless the people who created this gift for us all?
I appreciate the Christmases, when as we celebrated the birth of Jesus, we got to celebrate each other as well. Thanks for the memories of the grandparents and uncle who used to walk across the alley on Christmas Eve so they could place gifts under our Christmas tree.
Thank you for our trees and flowers. We appreciate the way you provided us with food from many of those trees and from our bushes.
You know, for sure, we appreciate the roof over our heads, the food to eat, our clothes and shoes and the public and private means of transportation we have available.
Thank you for my children, grandchildren and the little great grands.
Thank you for providing Jesus so we could be forgiven for our sins. And thank you, Jesus, for the great sacrifice you made for us.
Thank you also for ending our wars and bringing as many of our babies as you can home to us.
We pray for the health and wellbeing of our family, friends and even our enemies.
Thank you, once more, for all you have provided to each and every individual on earth. May You improve the lot of those who are less well off than we. May you provide us all with peace on earth.
We praise you for your lessons and your gracious presence in our lives.
Amen
P. S. I don't want to leave out Hocker and Bickey, my imaginary friends who got me through a lot of lonely hours. I'll not forget the fun we had when Daddy removed the old baseboards and found my Mother's nail file. Hocker and Bickey had abandoned my gift there when they "moved on down the street" to play with other children. You know my heart and the rest for which I am grateful.
I appreciate the trip down memory lane through which you have recently guided me. Thanks for the Aunt who came to live with us a while, who provided me with the only "sister" I ever knew. I remember sharing a bedroom with her, the times she took me to see Shirley Temple movies and especially the time she and I both got in trouble because she bought me two banana splits.
Thanks for the two little brothers. I remember how much "GiGi" liked chocolate pie and the way he said ooden, ooden as he ran his cars around the backyard trees. I remember babysitting my baby brother and watching him enjoy Winkey Dink and You on Saturday mornings. I still smile as I "see" him dressed in his Sunday finest going around the church shaking hands with the grownups, and he such a happy little boy.
We also appreciate the uncles who came for visits, and sometimes slept on our couch. Thanks for the one who brought the kewpie dolls and the kaleidoscope for us to enjoy and the one who brought his children for visits.
Thank you for the uncle who saw that I got to attend the concerts of the visiting violinists and pianists, and others. I'm grateful for the grandfather that took us on an outing and cooked pork chops and eggs for my little brother and me. I thank you for the grandfather and great grandmother a couple of hours away and for the occasions when I got to visit with them. I still remember the great grandmother making sugar cookies on a griddle on top of a wood burning kitchen range. Thank you, too, for the grandmother and step grandfather who were constants in my life. They provided so much in the way of emotional support and "stuff" that enhanced a little girl's existence.
I appreciate the cousins and second cousins that I got to meet on those rare occasions of family events. Thank you for Ken and Fran and the excitement they brought with them after the war.
I'm also especially grateful for the childhood friends who have kept in touch off and on over these many years. They remain among my favorite people to this day.
I thank you for Facebook, where we can stay in touch and know what is happening in each other's lives. Will you please bless the people who created this gift for us all?
I appreciate the Christmases, when as we celebrated the birth of Jesus, we got to celebrate each other as well. Thanks for the memories of the grandparents and uncle who used to walk across the alley on Christmas Eve so they could place gifts under our Christmas tree.
Thank you for our trees and flowers. We appreciate the way you provided us with food from many of those trees and from our bushes.
You know, for sure, we appreciate the roof over our heads, the food to eat, our clothes and shoes and the public and private means of transportation we have available.
Thank you for my children, grandchildren and the little great grands.
Thank you for providing Jesus so we could be forgiven for our sins. And thank you, Jesus, for the great sacrifice you made for us.
Thank you also for ending our wars and bringing as many of our babies as you can home to us.
We pray for the health and wellbeing of our family, friends and even our enemies.
Thank you, once more, for all you have provided to each and every individual on earth. May You improve the lot of those who are less well off than we. May you provide us all with peace on earth.
We praise you for your lessons and your gracious presence in our lives.
Amen
P. S. I don't want to leave out Hocker and Bickey, my imaginary friends who got me through a lot of lonely hours. I'll not forget the fun we had when Daddy removed the old baseboards and found my Mother's nail file. Hocker and Bickey had abandoned my gift there when they "moved on down the street" to play with other children. You know my heart and the rest for which I am grateful.
Tuesday, November 12, 2013
Seven Wonders of the Ancient World
Of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World, as described by World Book, the Pyramids of Egypt are the only ones visible to the people of our planet today.
Three of the Wonders were destroyed by earthquakes many generations ago. These included the Mausoleum at Halicarnassus, meant to be the tomb of Mausolus, a Persian ruler. The second, The Colossus of Rhodes, a statue that was built to honor Helios, the sun god. The third was the Lighthouse (Pharos) of Alexandria.
The Temple of Artemis was burned to the ground twice. The second time it was burned on purpose by the Goths. The statue of Zeus in Olympia, simply disappeared. (My take on it is that it was probably due to the fact it was made of gold and ivory. Can't you see it in the hands of today's chop shop artists or our copper thieves?)
The exact location of the Hanging Gardens of Babylon has never been solved. It is not possible to identify the remains of this great wonder in our time.
Statues and pieces of some of these beautiful structures can be viewed in the British Museum in London.
Don't you question what will be the great wonders of our time several thousand years from now when this will be viewed as part of the ancient world?
Friday, November 8, 2013
The Seasons
It looked like winter out there today. There was enough of a nip in the air that I should have worn my gloves. The leaves are falling, but they are still beautiful colors.
I suppose all of God's creation has it's gorgeous moments. While my grandson was serving in Iraq, he sent a card with a desert scene on one row, a group of wicker chairs (one holding a sleeping dog) on the next, and a Midwestern farm scene on the bottom. The sentiment says, "Enjoy the little things. You might look back and realize they were the big things". Three scenes of beauty in three separate environments. Usually though, we humans don't see anything as beautiful as fall. I remember one time writing that the scene outside my window looked like it was snowing leaves.
Just when I tell someone Fall is the best, we have an ice storm. Talk about beauty! How can we top that? Then in a couple of blinks, we see a crocus or a tulip break through the snow.
It's a little harder, while breathing in the heat and steam of summer, to see as much to admire. Or is it? We have roses, daisies, hibiscus, on and on . . . And then we get the welcome news that the grass growing has been slowed, as has the need to mow.
I cannot imagine living in a tropical climate every day -- and then I look at that greeting card again. I'm reminded that there is beauty in all God's lands. That includes deserts, tropics, four seasons and more.
Take time to live and enjoy it all.
I suppose all of God's creation has it's gorgeous moments. While my grandson was serving in Iraq, he sent a card with a desert scene on one row, a group of wicker chairs (one holding a sleeping dog) on the next, and a Midwestern farm scene on the bottom. The sentiment says, "Enjoy the little things. You might look back and realize they were the big things". Three scenes of beauty in three separate environments. Usually though, we humans don't see anything as beautiful as fall. I remember one time writing that the scene outside my window looked like it was snowing leaves.
Just when I tell someone Fall is the best, we have an ice storm. Talk about beauty! How can we top that? Then in a couple of blinks, we see a crocus or a tulip break through the snow.
It's a little harder, while breathing in the heat and steam of summer, to see as much to admire. Or is it? We have roses, daisies, hibiscus, on and on . . . And then we get the welcome news that the grass growing has been slowed, as has the need to mow.
I cannot imagine living in a tropical climate every day -- and then I look at that greeting card again. I'm reminded that there is beauty in all God's lands. That includes deserts, tropics, four seasons and more.
Take time to live and enjoy it all.
Thursday, October 31, 2013
The Waiting Period
This morning I was channel surfing when I ran across a morning Bible lesson by Gloria Copeland. The topic was the need to have patience. Well, patience in addition to faith. I used to be really good at waiting. In fact, it seems as if I have spent my life in a perennial state of it. I told God, in a somewhat tongue-in-cheek manner, if this is supposed to be making me better at patience, it's not working. I used to be really good at this, so what has happened?
So what have I had to wait for in my world? The first thing was to get into school. I'm one of those weird kids that actually liked going to the brick schoolhouse to learn. Then there was waiting for my Dad to return from World War II. And how lucky I was that he actually did come home. Graduating from high school was the next big hurdle. Then, getting married and waiting for children to start coming. One of the biggest was waiting for my ex to finish three degrees. That had to happen for "life to begin". At least it felt that way even though I was living large throughout the wait. It's certainly the reason I had to wait for a house.
I may be the world's expert at beauty salon's, dentist's and doctor's offices, auto repair shops. A lady sat down beside me in one shop and began instructing me that she wouldn't wait more than half an hour for them to get her oil change finished. But just put a good book in my hands and I can tune out screaming children, clanking metal and beauty salon gossip. The latter was restricted to my ex's hometown where his cousin owned the shop. I actually knew some of the people mentioned in that small town.
But, still, even in retirement I have had to wait. For what? Today, October 31, 2013, I have waited exactly one month for the place I live to get here for my annual indoor inspection. That shouldn't matter much, should it? One wouldn't think it should. However, it means I have to set the alarm early and get myself groomed and dressed before office hours. Then I am stuck inside the house, also during office hours, for the duration. There are days it feels like they have forgotten I exist, but I guess not. The company they have hired to inspect the furnaces was in the neighborhood yesterday. So I continue to wait and wait and wait.
You might wonder at the insanity of sitting here with "patience exuding" for their arrival, but you probably haven't read my blog if you do. I've come home many times to find drawers standing wide open, closets riffled through and items missing. There were no signs of breaking and entering. They've changed my locks and people still rummage through my stuff. A company employee was actually convicted of pawning items from the apartments. They promised they had taken pass keys away from the staff (well, they actually lied and said they hadn't used pass keys since the days of long keys). Then I witnessed a staff member using a pass key to let a neighbor into her apartment on the weekend. The pilfering and the lying about the pilfering are never ending. I'm certainly not leaving when they actually have legal permission to enter. No knowing what havoc that would create.
Then there is the interim waiting because my son is sick. Bless his sweet soul, he just had to come home and expose me to the flue. He is currently ensconced on my couch, changing my channels if I leave the room and quarreling with me about my choice of programs. I can't take a nap or clean in there until he is well and returns to work. How long, oh Lord?
But God wants me to be patient and wait with faith. So, I'll try once more. Did I mention, one of the things I'm supposed to be patient about I've been waiting for about nine and a half years?
How patient is patient enough for you God? I guess I'm going to learn. And I have faith that all will turn out well in the end.
So what have I had to wait for in my world? The first thing was to get into school. I'm one of those weird kids that actually liked going to the brick schoolhouse to learn. Then there was waiting for my Dad to return from World War II. And how lucky I was that he actually did come home. Graduating from high school was the next big hurdle. Then, getting married and waiting for children to start coming. One of the biggest was waiting for my ex to finish three degrees. That had to happen for "life to begin". At least it felt that way even though I was living large throughout the wait. It's certainly the reason I had to wait for a house.
I may be the world's expert at beauty salon's, dentist's and doctor's offices, auto repair shops. A lady sat down beside me in one shop and began instructing me that she wouldn't wait more than half an hour for them to get her oil change finished. But just put a good book in my hands and I can tune out screaming children, clanking metal and beauty salon gossip. The latter was restricted to my ex's hometown where his cousin owned the shop. I actually knew some of the people mentioned in that small town.
But, still, even in retirement I have had to wait. For what? Today, October 31, 2013, I have waited exactly one month for the place I live to get here for my annual indoor inspection. That shouldn't matter much, should it? One wouldn't think it should. However, it means I have to set the alarm early and get myself groomed and dressed before office hours. Then I am stuck inside the house, also during office hours, for the duration. There are days it feels like they have forgotten I exist, but I guess not. The company they have hired to inspect the furnaces was in the neighborhood yesterday. So I continue to wait and wait and wait.
You might wonder at the insanity of sitting here with "patience exuding" for their arrival, but you probably haven't read my blog if you do. I've come home many times to find drawers standing wide open, closets riffled through and items missing. There were no signs of breaking and entering. They've changed my locks and people still rummage through my stuff. A company employee was actually convicted of pawning items from the apartments. They promised they had taken pass keys away from the staff (well, they actually lied and said they hadn't used pass keys since the days of long keys). Then I witnessed a staff member using a pass key to let a neighbor into her apartment on the weekend. The pilfering and the lying about the pilfering are never ending. I'm certainly not leaving when they actually have legal permission to enter. No knowing what havoc that would create.
Then there is the interim waiting because my son is sick. Bless his sweet soul, he just had to come home and expose me to the flue. He is currently ensconced on my couch, changing my channels if I leave the room and quarreling with me about my choice of programs. I can't take a nap or clean in there until he is well and returns to work. How long, oh Lord?
But God wants me to be patient and wait with faith. So, I'll try once more. Did I mention, one of the things I'm supposed to be patient about I've been waiting for about nine and a half years?
How patient is patient enough for you God? I guess I'm going to learn. And I have faith that all will turn out well in the end.
Tuesday, October 22, 2013
The Real Positive Approach
Perhaps some definitions are the best way to begin this article.
Positive reinforcement is any stimulus or event that follows a behavior that increases the probability that the behavior will occur again.
Negative reinforcement is any stimulus or event that follows a behavior, the removal of which, increases the probability that a behavior will occur again.
Note that reinforcement always increases the behavior. Punishment, on the other hand, always decreases the behavior. So, you want to increase a behavior like having a child put away his toys. With positive reinforcement, you need to apply a consequence that increases the behavior. How do you know what consequence to use? You don't. You may have to try more than one before you find one that brings the increase. There are a few consequences that most children would like well enough to cause a behavioral change, but not all people like the same things.
It is my understanding that Transactional Analysis was the source for the expression "different strokes for different folks", which is sort of similar to saying, "one man's trash is another man's treasure". Since we are not all alike, what is a reinforcer for one may be punishing to another.
This is what is meant as functional definitions. We do not willy nilly apply rewards and reinforcers. We apply consequences to behaviors. We wait to see if that consequence increases, decreases, or has no effect to determine whether it is a reinforcer, punisher or a neutral stimulus. I worked as a tutor/grader in a private summer school. One boy came in and worked really well until he got M & M's for his first assignment. After that he quit working. Instead he played with the M & M's. What was meant as a "reward" decreased work, thus punished working.
When using these methods it is always best to use positive reinforcement to effect change. This would be the real positive approach. Refraining from using negative reinforcement or punishment is more effective and makes a more pleasant environment for all concerned. It also teaches what to do in a faster and more effective manner. The person whose behavior is being modified, as well as all those around, experience less uncertainty and fear from the consequences. From the start, when stating the goal, it is best to state it as a use of positive reinforcement. For instance, it should be stated as the goal is to increase Harry's putting away his toys by following the behavior with candy, stuff or fun events as well as praise. One or more will probably increase the behavior. Eventually the tangibles can be phased out and praise will be enough. Depending on the kid, a clean room might one day keep him working.
Staying positive, then, is a matter of using positive reinforcement, not just walking around with a cheesy smile.
Positive reinforcement is any stimulus or event that follows a behavior that increases the probability that the behavior will occur again.
Negative reinforcement is any stimulus or event that follows a behavior, the removal of which, increases the probability that a behavior will occur again.
Note that reinforcement always increases the behavior. Punishment, on the other hand, always decreases the behavior. So, you want to increase a behavior like having a child put away his toys. With positive reinforcement, you need to apply a consequence that increases the behavior. How do you know what consequence to use? You don't. You may have to try more than one before you find one that brings the increase. There are a few consequences that most children would like well enough to cause a behavioral change, but not all people like the same things.
It is my understanding that Transactional Analysis was the source for the expression "different strokes for different folks", which is sort of similar to saying, "one man's trash is another man's treasure". Since we are not all alike, what is a reinforcer for one may be punishing to another.
This is what is meant as functional definitions. We do not willy nilly apply rewards and reinforcers. We apply consequences to behaviors. We wait to see if that consequence increases, decreases, or has no effect to determine whether it is a reinforcer, punisher or a neutral stimulus. I worked as a tutor/grader in a private summer school. One boy came in and worked really well until he got M & M's for his first assignment. After that he quit working. Instead he played with the M & M's. What was meant as a "reward" decreased work, thus punished working.
When using these methods it is always best to use positive reinforcement to effect change. This would be the real positive approach. Refraining from using negative reinforcement or punishment is more effective and makes a more pleasant environment for all concerned. It also teaches what to do in a faster and more effective manner. The person whose behavior is being modified, as well as all those around, experience less uncertainty and fear from the consequences. From the start, when stating the goal, it is best to state it as a use of positive reinforcement. For instance, it should be stated as the goal is to increase Harry's putting away his toys by following the behavior with candy, stuff or fun events as well as praise. One or more will probably increase the behavior. Eventually the tangibles can be phased out and praise will be enough. Depending on the kid, a clean room might one day keep him working.
Staying positive, then, is a matter of using positive reinforcement, not just walking around with a cheesy smile.
Sunday, October 13, 2013
Awards and Yards
Are any of you mystery buffs? If so, you've probably read one or more stories where a deeply envious neighbor kills off the individual who has won a best yard award for twenty or so straight years. Why? Because the murderer had joined the competition fifteen years earlier and had never won.
There could be a number of reasons why the annual winner held sway over the others. They could have money to hire gardeners and buy plants or have time to do yard work. Perhaps their power and prestige in other arenas weighs heavily with the judges. Perhaps their best friend is the judge. Who knows? The point is, such contests can become cutthroat events.
Before I moved to my neighborhood, I had spent five years in an apartment. I missed my roses, flowering quince and bush honeysuckle. One Sunday morning after the man who held me up at gunpoint came back for a second try, I took the real estate section and prayed for God to show me any listing I could afford where I would be safer. The listing for this apartment almost jumped off the page at me.
You have to have an eye for potential to understand why I bought this share. It was filthy. There were two old, old, cheap kinds of paneling as well as stucco on the living room walls. The floors needed refinishing or anything. The kitchen cabinets were old but paintable and repairable. Dog feces had been walked through so many times that it was hard as concrete and unrecognizable. But that, folks, is what made it my kind of thing -- a fixer upper. While I was still young enough, I loved taking something old and ugly and making it look nice. Not only could I decorate this little townhouse, but it had a yard I could play in, too. To make it even better, there was a maintenance department that was supposed to do the wiring, plumbing, roof and exterior. These are the qualities of an apartment complex and a single family dwelling combined. It took several weeks of stopping by after work to scrape dog do, clean and paint. My goals before moving were total cleaning and then painting, especially one bedroom, the bath and the kitchen. I bought the share August 5 and remember I was laying vinyl tile in the kitchen the weekend of September 21, my daughter's birthday.
As I would get a room ready, I would carry carloads of dishes, towels, sheets, etc., over after work. We moved the furniture on a long holiday weekend -- Columbus day. Needless to say, I didn't get much landscaping done the first year. Just a few bulbs got planted. My welcome to my new neighborhood was someone stealing my mums before I got them in the ground.
By the following spring, I knew which neighbors were vying for yard of the month and which were in line for worst yard ever. As I began the never ending project, I prayed that my yard would bring a sense of peace and serenity to all that saw it. I cared nothing about winning an award.
Shortly after I retired, I received a small inheritance. After I paid off all my bills and bought a good used car, I spent some time and dollars to finish the yard. Lo and behold, within the next year or two, I found a best yard of the month sign out front. I must confess it felt really good. At least it did until I felt the wrath of the neighbor who held best yard as a goal. Then it didn't feel so good anymore.
The best yard contest lapsed for a while When they brought it back, they had three places instead of just first. That was good, because more people could receive recognition for their hard work.
The last time someone placed a sign in my yard, I asked them not to leave it. Why? Well, memories of the ruptured relationship it caused the first time it happened. But, also, because for award programs to really be effective, there has to be a real chance for every individual to reach success. If the same people win or place year after year, there is no point for everyone else to try. Isn't the point of such programs to encourage everyone to keep their landscape beautiful? It certainly used to be the reason for the contests.
So, folks, if you are in charge of yard competitions, make some rules that see the signs are passed around to anyone who does a good enough job. You might also use an application system so that people who want to participate can, but others don't have to do so.
For some people, a yard to play in is sufficient. For some, their goal is serenity for all. Winning all the time just isn't a goal for everyone.
There could be a number of reasons why the annual winner held sway over the others. They could have money to hire gardeners and buy plants or have time to do yard work. Perhaps their power and prestige in other arenas weighs heavily with the judges. Perhaps their best friend is the judge. Who knows? The point is, such contests can become cutthroat events.
Before I moved to my neighborhood, I had spent five years in an apartment. I missed my roses, flowering quince and bush honeysuckle. One Sunday morning after the man who held me up at gunpoint came back for a second try, I took the real estate section and prayed for God to show me any listing I could afford where I would be safer. The listing for this apartment almost jumped off the page at me.
You have to have an eye for potential to understand why I bought this share. It was filthy. There were two old, old, cheap kinds of paneling as well as stucco on the living room walls. The floors needed refinishing or anything. The kitchen cabinets were old but paintable and repairable. Dog feces had been walked through so many times that it was hard as concrete and unrecognizable. But that, folks, is what made it my kind of thing -- a fixer upper. While I was still young enough, I loved taking something old and ugly and making it look nice. Not only could I decorate this little townhouse, but it had a yard I could play in, too. To make it even better, there was a maintenance department that was supposed to do the wiring, plumbing, roof and exterior. These are the qualities of an apartment complex and a single family dwelling combined. It took several weeks of stopping by after work to scrape dog do, clean and paint. My goals before moving were total cleaning and then painting, especially one bedroom, the bath and the kitchen. I bought the share August 5 and remember I was laying vinyl tile in the kitchen the weekend of September 21, my daughter's birthday.
As I would get a room ready, I would carry carloads of dishes, towels, sheets, etc., over after work. We moved the furniture on a long holiday weekend -- Columbus day. Needless to say, I didn't get much landscaping done the first year. Just a few bulbs got planted. My welcome to my new neighborhood was someone stealing my mums before I got them in the ground.
By the following spring, I knew which neighbors were vying for yard of the month and which were in line for worst yard ever. As I began the never ending project, I prayed that my yard would bring a sense of peace and serenity to all that saw it. I cared nothing about winning an award.
Shortly after I retired, I received a small inheritance. After I paid off all my bills and bought a good used car, I spent some time and dollars to finish the yard. Lo and behold, within the next year or two, I found a best yard of the month sign out front. I must confess it felt really good. At least it did until I felt the wrath of the neighbor who held best yard as a goal. Then it didn't feel so good anymore.
The best yard contest lapsed for a while When they brought it back, they had three places instead of just first. That was good, because more people could receive recognition for their hard work.
The last time someone placed a sign in my yard, I asked them not to leave it. Why? Well, memories of the ruptured relationship it caused the first time it happened. But, also, because for award programs to really be effective, there has to be a real chance for every individual to reach success. If the same people win or place year after year, there is no point for everyone else to try. Isn't the point of such programs to encourage everyone to keep their landscape beautiful? It certainly used to be the reason for the contests.
So, folks, if you are in charge of yard competitions, make some rules that see the signs are passed around to anyone who does a good enough job. You might also use an application system so that people who want to participate can, but others don't have to do so.
For some people, a yard to play in is sufficient. For some, their goal is serenity for all. Winning all the time just isn't a goal for everyone.
Thursday, October 10, 2013
It's A Commitment, Not A Magic Button
On "Kiss and Tell With Jenny", a segment of The View, recently, Dan Savage said research has shown that even people involved in "monogamous" marriages will cheat. He said 60% of men as well as 40% of women report infidelities. The reasons, according to Savage, are a need for newness and adventure. (I would suggest it has something to do with not being monogamous chemically).
Savage, a columnist dealing with sexual issues, apparently doesn't get it. Generations of humans have been aware that people can be attracted to others besides their mates. The big deal about monogamy is choice and commitment. There definitely is no magic button to push that tells oneself not to have chemical attractions to others. The choice and commitment are a mental and physical stop sign.
One chooses to stay faithful. One promises to be with nobody else despite temptations. Then, ladies and gentlemen, one remains faithful for spouse and family. At least most women do, even though research apparently shows that most men do not.
The thing I've never fully understood is how many men want their wives to think they are having affairs even if they aren't. There is some kind of sadistic need in some individuals to impress upon their mates that others are anxious to get into their beds. Thus, they cause as much unnecessary stress in the relationship as they can.
But usually the spouse knows when her mate is unfaithful. They also can detect when they are being true. What they can't understand is the need of the other to hurt them by a real or imagined affair.
Savage, a columnist dealing with sexual issues, apparently doesn't get it. Generations of humans have been aware that people can be attracted to others besides their mates. The big deal about monogamy is choice and commitment. There definitely is no magic button to push that tells oneself not to have chemical attractions to others. The choice and commitment are a mental and physical stop sign.
One chooses to stay faithful. One promises to be with nobody else despite temptations. Then, ladies and gentlemen, one remains faithful for spouse and family. At least most women do, even though research apparently shows that most men do not.
The thing I've never fully understood is how many men want their wives to think they are having affairs even if they aren't. There is some kind of sadistic need in some individuals to impress upon their mates that others are anxious to get into their beds. Thus, they cause as much unnecessary stress in the relationship as they can.
But usually the spouse knows when her mate is unfaithful. They also can detect when they are being true. What they can't understand is the need of the other to hurt them by a real or imagined affair.
Sunday, October 6, 2013
The Peeping Toms
Remember the commercial where the father of the bride tells the groom, "I'm watching you"? A babe in arms follows up by saying "I'm watching you watching him." Humorous though that ad may be, watching others is usually no joke. In fact, in my community it's of epidemic proportions.
We have the Neighborhood Watch program, which I've already described to you as being overly aggressive. This organization wants all residents to keep an eye out for the criminal element. Of course we are expected to call the police if we see a stranger walking off with our next door neighbor's front door. It is regrettable, but they also encourage us to call the office and the police for the smallest infraction of neighborhood rules or city and county laws. The 911 officers really love that aspect. It's rare to read a Board Meeting report that some stellar citizen doesn't report a neighbor for toys strewn in the grass or litter on the stoop. It really is about that nit picky. Sometimes it feels like the area has been invaded by WW II Nazis who tattle on everyone else.
Some people accept this as just part of the neighborhood. Others resent every time a homeowner looks out the window while he/she's cooking dinner or pacing the floor.
The really funny thing is why nobody ever questions why these individuals don't want to be watched. On some blocks, there are shareholders who house more than the legal limit of people. Others hide illegals. Some have been known to harbor rapists or murderers. A couple manufacture drugs, including methamphetamine. A few deal drugs out of their homes or their yards. Some hide the drugs/collection site in innocent neighbor's yards. Some casually stroll through a yard and steal bricks, flower pots or Windsor stones. One of these throws the broken pieces back in his victim's yard once he has ruined them. Some even take plants and flowers.
Many work on their cars in the street, parking bays and their yards. Some park their vehicles in the grassy areas. The younger ones are prone to play loud music any time day or night. All of these offenses and more are against the rules of the coop and/or against the law, such as playing loud music day or night is against the law.
Some of them, possibly true voyeurs, literally stand or sit and look in the windows of a neighbor's home. They seem not to know this is a perversion which is against the law and they apparently wouldn't care if they did.
There is a lot of bitching and griping by all of the above rule and law breakers about the behaviors of others -- behaviors which are far less offensive. You see, in this sociopathic world of ours, rules don't apply to everyone. They just apply to people we don't like, never to ourselves.
As Jesus said at one time . . . "let him who is without sin cast the first stone". As you can tell by the above message, there aren't many free of sin.
But then, we should also not let that keep us from doing our part to protect our neighbor's property.
We have the Neighborhood Watch program, which I've already described to you as being overly aggressive. This organization wants all residents to keep an eye out for the criminal element. Of course we are expected to call the police if we see a stranger walking off with our next door neighbor's front door. It is regrettable, but they also encourage us to call the office and the police for the smallest infraction of neighborhood rules or city and county laws. The 911 officers really love that aspect. It's rare to read a Board Meeting report that some stellar citizen doesn't report a neighbor for toys strewn in the grass or litter on the stoop. It really is about that nit picky. Sometimes it feels like the area has been invaded by WW II Nazis who tattle on everyone else.
Some people accept this as just part of the neighborhood. Others resent every time a homeowner looks out the window while he/she's cooking dinner or pacing the floor.
The really funny thing is why nobody ever questions why these individuals don't want to be watched. On some blocks, there are shareholders who house more than the legal limit of people. Others hide illegals. Some have been known to harbor rapists or murderers. A couple manufacture drugs, including methamphetamine. A few deal drugs out of their homes or their yards. Some hide the drugs/collection site in innocent neighbor's yards. Some casually stroll through a yard and steal bricks, flower pots or Windsor stones. One of these throws the broken pieces back in his victim's yard once he has ruined them. Some even take plants and flowers.
Many work on their cars in the street, parking bays and their yards. Some park their vehicles in the grassy areas. The younger ones are prone to play loud music any time day or night. All of these offenses and more are against the rules of the coop and/or against the law, such as playing loud music day or night is against the law.
Some of them, possibly true voyeurs, literally stand or sit and look in the windows of a neighbor's home. They seem not to know this is a perversion which is against the law and they apparently wouldn't care if they did.
There is a lot of bitching and griping by all of the above rule and law breakers about the behaviors of others -- behaviors which are far less offensive. You see, in this sociopathic world of ours, rules don't apply to everyone. They just apply to people we don't like, never to ourselves.
As Jesus said at one time . . . "let him who is without sin cast the first stone". As you can tell by the above message, there aren't many free of sin.
But then, we should also not let that keep us from doing our part to protect our neighbor's property.
Tuesday, October 1, 2013
More About Behaviorism
Perhaps since we can't get people to quit trying to control their fellow men by using behaviorism inaccurately, we can at least teach them some of the basics. If you don't know or care what behaviorism is all about, please check for future articles that may be more interesting to you. This blog is purposefully all over the place.
Really basic operant conditioning techniques were a result of studies with non-human animals. With non humans, basic items like food can be used. In fact, such training methods are still used with dogs on a regular basis. Eventually dogs are weaned from the food rewards and respond most of the time to affection from their owners.
It's harder to use food rewards with humans unless they are dependent children or institutionalized adults. So, the principles of learning from operant conditioning were adapted to use with people. Much of the work was done in mental institutions at first. Nathan Azrin and Ted Ayllon, for instance, learned much from studies that they did at Anna State Hospital in Anna, IL in the '60s.
Based upon findings of such research, some basic premises can be emphasized. In order to control or change others by food or edible treats, it is necessary to already have them in a controlled setting. Even if you thought to control others by presenting a neighbor with fresh-baked breakfast rolls, she or he would probably not thank you. Most adults have to control their diets for weight, heart or diabetic concerns.
So, you are left with control by attention. Uh-huh, try using that in a neighborhood, for instance. Most people are busy with their own families and business concerns. They could care less about their neighbor's attention. All most want from each other is peace and quiet. If you choose to mess with these, the law protects them, not you.
How, for instance, can a neighbor, who has lived on the block for two or three years and bothered to speak to someone once, be expected to have any importance to the other individual. Such neighbors have none, so using them to apply positive or negative consequences is useless.
In a regular neighborhood there are not many individuals who interact with someone. Sometimes only the mail carrier sees them occasionally. What does one want from the carrier? Just accurate and timely delivery of the mail accompanied by no game playing. Now if the carrier should try to monkey with one's mail to control an individual, he or she would be breaking federal law and risking job termination. If he/she were really bad at the delivery, like holding out mail, he would risk incarceration. So, bad idea to use mail carriers.
Then, let's take the example of using people with whom one has interactions already established. Let's say one neighbor was generously sharing her things with another. Then, the controller asks the recipient to report back feedback concerning the person's conversations and behaviors. The controller, a person with a huge mouth, then shares the information with one or two others and they hit one or more of the local grapevines. How many times would the sharing neighbor hear her words repeated by a local gossip before she figured out what the recipient was doing? This is especially true if she were talking only to one individual. The recipient's importance to the sharing individual is immediately dissolved. If you are no longer important to an individual, you have no power to reward or punish, much less to spy and report.
In the busy world in which we live, very few individuals need casual acquaintances enough that they can be of use in modifying other people's behaviors. So, back to the drawing board or risk the possibility of getting the middle finger gesture flipped at you.
It's another form of arrogance, isn't it, to assume that you are of such great worth to mankind that your attention can be used to control another's behavior. Believe me there are very few people outside my own family and close circle of friends -- including many friends from my school years -- that I care if I ever see again. So, take my position as a lesson to reinforce this blog. Be sure you really are a superior being before you mess with others -- that's superior in everyone's opinion, not just your own.
You also need to determine if the person needs people and thrives on attention. Many people at my door on a daily basis would be sheer torture, not a positive "reward". Then build proper rapport before using the techniques so you don't look like a complete incompetent.
Learn that negative consequences are not very effective and don't teach anything positive. Be sure you don't damage someone else's peace just for your own ego trip.
And most importantly, be sure you don't infringe on the rights of others or you may become a target for modification yourself.
Really basic operant conditioning techniques were a result of studies with non-human animals. With non humans, basic items like food can be used. In fact, such training methods are still used with dogs on a regular basis. Eventually dogs are weaned from the food rewards and respond most of the time to affection from their owners.
It's harder to use food rewards with humans unless they are dependent children or institutionalized adults. So, the principles of learning from operant conditioning were adapted to use with people. Much of the work was done in mental institutions at first. Nathan Azrin and Ted Ayllon, for instance, learned much from studies that they did at Anna State Hospital in Anna, IL in the '60s.
Based upon findings of such research, some basic premises can be emphasized. In order to control or change others by food or edible treats, it is necessary to already have them in a controlled setting. Even if you thought to control others by presenting a neighbor with fresh-baked breakfast rolls, she or he would probably not thank you. Most adults have to control their diets for weight, heart or diabetic concerns.
So, you are left with control by attention. Uh-huh, try using that in a neighborhood, for instance. Most people are busy with their own families and business concerns. They could care less about their neighbor's attention. All most want from each other is peace and quiet. If you choose to mess with these, the law protects them, not you.
How, for instance, can a neighbor, who has lived on the block for two or three years and bothered to speak to someone once, be expected to have any importance to the other individual. Such neighbors have none, so using them to apply positive or negative consequences is useless.
In a regular neighborhood there are not many individuals who interact with someone. Sometimes only the mail carrier sees them occasionally. What does one want from the carrier? Just accurate and timely delivery of the mail accompanied by no game playing. Now if the carrier should try to monkey with one's mail to control an individual, he or she would be breaking federal law and risking job termination. If he/she were really bad at the delivery, like holding out mail, he would risk incarceration. So, bad idea to use mail carriers.
Then, let's take the example of using people with whom one has interactions already established. Let's say one neighbor was generously sharing her things with another. Then, the controller asks the recipient to report back feedback concerning the person's conversations and behaviors. The controller, a person with a huge mouth, then shares the information with one or two others and they hit one or more of the local grapevines. How many times would the sharing neighbor hear her words repeated by a local gossip before she figured out what the recipient was doing? This is especially true if she were talking only to one individual. The recipient's importance to the sharing individual is immediately dissolved. If you are no longer important to an individual, you have no power to reward or punish, much less to spy and report.
In the busy world in which we live, very few individuals need casual acquaintances enough that they can be of use in modifying other people's behaviors. So, back to the drawing board or risk the possibility of getting the middle finger gesture flipped at you.
It's another form of arrogance, isn't it, to assume that you are of such great worth to mankind that your attention can be used to control another's behavior. Believe me there are very few people outside my own family and close circle of friends -- including many friends from my school years -- that I care if I ever see again. So, take my position as a lesson to reinforce this blog. Be sure you really are a superior being before you mess with others -- that's superior in everyone's opinion, not just your own.
You also need to determine if the person needs people and thrives on attention. Many people at my door on a daily basis would be sheer torture, not a positive "reward". Then build proper rapport before using the techniques so you don't look like a complete incompetent.
Learn that negative consequences are not very effective and don't teach anything positive. Be sure you don't damage someone else's peace just for your own ego trip.
And most importantly, be sure you don't infringe on the rights of others or you may become a target for modification yourself.
Wednesday, September 25, 2013
Nice Places To Live
Remember high school? Focus on the cliques and the gossip. For some there was bullying. Think how good it was to get out of there into normalcy. Then consider the possibility that you return to such an environment as an adult.
There are a minimum of three grapevines in my community. They take truthful facts and embroider them until the original tidbit is no longer visible (LOL, audible). On a slow day, it is nothing for the perps to make up a story, especially if they don't particularly like the victim. Sounds more familiar all the time, right?
Presentation of the area is a big issue. They actually printed the exact inches that the grass length should not exceed. But do they ever think of helping someone whose lawn is a little out of control? Punishment and threats abound over such situations. Several years ago we had guest speakers at a meeting. They chided us all for complaining about the length of one resident's lawn instead of helping her. Turns out she had cancer. But unbeknownst to these guests, she had always been one of the short grass sticklers who had reported other people.
One social worker type who resides here continually nags that we must all keep our yards clean and free of toys and debris. She says when we fail to present well it attracts crime to the area. She may be quite right, but there is crime here anyway. There was before I came and will be after I leave. One of my neighbors told of a police officer who had lived in my unit. He bought the car of his dreams and parked it out in front of the building. It was stolen overnight. From a police officer?
This neighborhood advertises itself as "A Nice Place To Live". But is it really? Nice places to live are more akin to the age of settlers when neighbors helped each other and were supportive. In that age the social events were focused on fun and friendship. A word about a neighbor was a word of concern, not a critique.
Perhaps if I live here long enough, the Board and Office Staff will realize they are elected and hired -- paid by us to represent us not to tell us what to do. They are here for our agendas, not for their own power trips. It is their responsibility to serve, not their option to dictate.
Nice places to live are not about grounds keeping facades and who can top whom with the latest critique of each other. They are not about people who steal your stuff from your home and yard. They are not about official (legal) and unofficial (illegal) inspections. They are not about lying to the homeowners.
Nice places to live are about loving, caring people who actually give a heck about one another -- not about a sign that is meant to deceive or a yard that is clipped to the nub.
There are a minimum of three grapevines in my community. They take truthful facts and embroider them until the original tidbit is no longer visible (LOL, audible). On a slow day, it is nothing for the perps to make up a story, especially if they don't particularly like the victim. Sounds more familiar all the time, right?
Presentation of the area is a big issue. They actually printed the exact inches that the grass length should not exceed. But do they ever think of helping someone whose lawn is a little out of control? Punishment and threats abound over such situations. Several years ago we had guest speakers at a meeting. They chided us all for complaining about the length of one resident's lawn instead of helping her. Turns out she had cancer. But unbeknownst to these guests, she had always been one of the short grass sticklers who had reported other people.
One social worker type who resides here continually nags that we must all keep our yards clean and free of toys and debris. She says when we fail to present well it attracts crime to the area. She may be quite right, but there is crime here anyway. There was before I came and will be after I leave. One of my neighbors told of a police officer who had lived in my unit. He bought the car of his dreams and parked it out in front of the building. It was stolen overnight. From a police officer?
This neighborhood advertises itself as "A Nice Place To Live". But is it really? Nice places to live are more akin to the age of settlers when neighbors helped each other and were supportive. In that age the social events were focused on fun and friendship. A word about a neighbor was a word of concern, not a critique.
Perhaps if I live here long enough, the Board and Office Staff will realize they are elected and hired -- paid by us to represent us not to tell us what to do. They are here for our agendas, not for their own power trips. It is their responsibility to serve, not their option to dictate.
Nice places to live are not about grounds keeping facades and who can top whom with the latest critique of each other. They are not about people who steal your stuff from your home and yard. They are not about official (legal) and unofficial (illegal) inspections. They are not about lying to the homeowners.
Nice places to live are about loving, caring people who actually give a heck about one another -- not about a sign that is meant to deceive or a yard that is clipped to the nub.
Thursday, September 19, 2013
I Just Didn't Understand, Did You?
During the '60s, I guess I was a baby factory. My three children were born in '62, '66 and '69. My focus was on them, my upwardly mobile husband, work and finishing my B. A. degree.
You talk about segregated schools! I grew up in a segregated community. Lest you don't get this concept, let me explain. I attended school and church, never realizing there was a black/white issue in the world. Why would I? My parents, who taught me to be nice and polite to all individuals, didn't seem to know, themselves, how serious an issue it was. Not until the incident, anyway. My grandparents and uncle attended the local Methodist Church. My Uncle's committee arranged for a guest evangelist to speak. Nobody took note that the church hierarchy had assigned an African American to the task. We finally noticed when the local motel refused to let him have a room. Hard to realize in this day and age, but no negro people were allowed in my hometown after sunset. A room was found for him in the next town north. Everything, but the scar on my soul, went on happily ever after. Well, no doubt the minister's soul was scarred worse.
My next barely escaped learning experience was the summer after my high school graduation. A friend from elementary school invited me south -- to Paducah, KY -- to spend the weekend with his family. I boarded the bus. Being a back of the room kind of person, I headed toward the back of the bus. There were three individuals leaning into the aisle. All were white. Two men, one woman. One was a soldier way too happy to see a girl my age. My usual avoidance mechanism set in, just in time, so that I dropped into the only empty seat in front of them. I sat beside a young black male who did not leave the bus in Paducah. He was headed straight for the south, seated in the front of the bus and I was so segregated that I didn't even know the issue. It was 1956.
From 1963-1965 my husband and I lived in Bloomington, IN. He was a doctoral student and I a secretary at Indiana University.
Three of us girls ate lunch and played cards together at work. I remember being hurt when the African American said to me, in an accusatory tone, that the other white one and I were "so tight". I didn't feel any tighter with one than I did with the other. I still didn't get it.
Just before the ex's graduation, he began job hunting at various universities. We left Indiana during the "worst snow storm in fifty years" and were greeted by daffodils at the Florida state line. The job interviews did not turn out to the ex's liking, so we were in a real hurry to pick up our daughter from the grandparent's home and get back to the land of snow and ice. We decided to take turns driving through the night.
Outside Selma, AL, a place that had been much in the news, my pea sized bladder set up an attack. We drove for miles and miles looking for a filling station or shopping area. Somewhere in the moonless wilderness, we finally came upon a small light. As we pulled in, I noticed a negro man standing in the shadows. A white man approached a screened-in restaurant. The negro man softly called to him. I saw the white man nod and take money from the black man before approaching the restaurant to place an order for both of them. I still didn't get it.
I was directed by signs toward ye olde country outhouses. I was dumbstruck when I stood before three of them. They were labeled "His", "Hers" and "Theirs". I finally got it. No further instructions needed, Lord. From my sheltered, protected, segregated world, it had been hard to understand what the fuss was all about. The memory still causes knots in my stomach.
We got the heck out of Selma at once.
You talk about segregated schools! I grew up in a segregated community. Lest you don't get this concept, let me explain. I attended school and church, never realizing there was a black/white issue in the world. Why would I? My parents, who taught me to be nice and polite to all individuals, didn't seem to know, themselves, how serious an issue it was. Not until the incident, anyway. My grandparents and uncle attended the local Methodist Church. My Uncle's committee arranged for a guest evangelist to speak. Nobody took note that the church hierarchy had assigned an African American to the task. We finally noticed when the local motel refused to let him have a room. Hard to realize in this day and age, but no negro people were allowed in my hometown after sunset. A room was found for him in the next town north. Everything, but the scar on my soul, went on happily ever after. Well, no doubt the minister's soul was scarred worse.
My next barely escaped learning experience was the summer after my high school graduation. A friend from elementary school invited me south -- to Paducah, KY -- to spend the weekend with his family. I boarded the bus. Being a back of the room kind of person, I headed toward the back of the bus. There were three individuals leaning into the aisle. All were white. Two men, one woman. One was a soldier way too happy to see a girl my age. My usual avoidance mechanism set in, just in time, so that I dropped into the only empty seat in front of them. I sat beside a young black male who did not leave the bus in Paducah. He was headed straight for the south, seated in the front of the bus and I was so segregated that I didn't even know the issue. It was 1956.
From 1963-1965 my husband and I lived in Bloomington, IN. He was a doctoral student and I a secretary at Indiana University.
Three of us girls ate lunch and played cards together at work. I remember being hurt when the African American said to me, in an accusatory tone, that the other white one and I were "so tight". I didn't feel any tighter with one than I did with the other. I still didn't get it.
Just before the ex's graduation, he began job hunting at various universities. We left Indiana during the "worst snow storm in fifty years" and were greeted by daffodils at the Florida state line. The job interviews did not turn out to the ex's liking, so we were in a real hurry to pick up our daughter from the grandparent's home and get back to the land of snow and ice. We decided to take turns driving through the night.
Outside Selma, AL, a place that had been much in the news, my pea sized bladder set up an attack. We drove for miles and miles looking for a filling station or shopping area. Somewhere in the moonless wilderness, we finally came upon a small light. As we pulled in, I noticed a negro man standing in the shadows. A white man approached a screened-in restaurant. The negro man softly called to him. I saw the white man nod and take money from the black man before approaching the restaurant to place an order for both of them. I still didn't get it.
I was directed by signs toward ye olde country outhouses. I was dumbstruck when I stood before three of them. They were labeled "His", "Hers" and "Theirs". I finally got it. No further instructions needed, Lord. From my sheltered, protected, segregated world, it had been hard to understand what the fuss was all about. The memory still causes knots in my stomach.
We got the heck out of Selma at once.
Wednesday, September 11, 2013
So You Think You're the One?
Come on folks, let's face it. I'm just not that hot. In fact, I wasn't all that hot when I was young and generally described as cute and sweet. So why in my seventy-fifth summer did I get "hit on" in stores on two consecutive shopping trips? Why does the grapevine keep circulating my name as special friend to someone I've never even met? I don't care if he lives right next door to me, I've never met him. In fact maybe he's looking for my next door neighbor. As far as I know, she's actually looking for someone, cute young widow that she is. She's not all worn out from waiting on a significant other. She'd probably still like a little girl to go with that little boy of hers. At the risk of sounding paranoid, who sent you? Who put you up to this? How high is the bet?
You might think I'm just imagining all this. So, how would you take it if a stranger bent over in front of you, looked up into your face -- not more than a foot away -- and smiled while you were selecting face soap from a bin. No, I'm sure I didn't know him.
Then there is the one I call "Hair". Rude, you say? Since I've never met him either, I don't know what else to call him. He actually shampooed his habitually greasy hair, parted it in the middle and let it flow down past his shoulders. He knew he looked pretty nice. Then, he walked down the street toward his prey -- a look of anticipation and sureness of result on his face. But the result wasn't as anticipated. How confused that made him. Where was his error?
Could it be their goals are different? He, like many men, is pretty casual about the sex thing. If people are attracted to each other, why complicate things with marriage and playing house? Why not get it on and then get on to the next one?
Does she have a say? So you decided she was your summer fling? Does she want a fling? Maybe, unlike you, she wants a long-term relationship complete with white satin and lace? Maybe she really is ready for her 2.3 children and the picket fence. Can she tell by your gait that you are not the permanent kind?
And what happens to her if she agrees to a summer thing? How many of those could she survive before such as you looked askance? Even in this age, they call women sluts if they have more than a couple of summer encounters. How deep does your concern for her go? Is it that you just want to be the one who wins that bet?
Or maybe she has been there and done that. Maybe one longer-term marriage was sufficient for her. Perhaps she is luxuriating in the freedom from a high maintenance dude, an over-controlling parent or a bunch of finally grown kids. Maybe even a summer of fun feels like too much loss of freedom. You can never tell.
Then maybe she fears you are one of those types that requires being married. If she offered you the opportunity to "live in sin" instead of tying her down, what would you say? "No?" Would you express your need to have a helpmate to cook and clean the house while you worked a minimum wage job to support her? Would you promise her she could cater your weekend parties? Would you tell her the names of your future children?
Have you asked her what kind of things she likes to do? Does she like to read? Do you? Does she hate sports, especially those in which you revel? Is she the cerebral type, and you the mechanic who leaves car parts all over the house and yard? What do you have in common? You don't know? Why the heck not?
You mean you've never walked up and introduced yourself? You've never discussed the weather? Yet, you thought to break the ice by getting her into the sack straight away. What ever happened to going out to dinner or a movie? Is that a thing of the past?
Or are you married, looking for something on the side? Maybe she considers herself a coveted entrée, not a side dish. Maybe she deserves a little respect and expects a lot of it. Do you know that in a woman's experience, married men are the number one most likely people to "hit on" a single female? They are said to represent at least one third of the men who subscribe to singles services. Second are young black men hoping to stop by for a while, leave a baby and take off again. Third are young white men less than one third her age. Are you one of these, or are you older than you appear? Perhaps if you knew her age, you would not be interested at all. But did you do anything to find out?
Of course, there is always the chance she is involved already, but did you think to find out? Or maybe she is married, but he is away in the military. Worse, at her age, he may be in a nursing home.
So, nevertheless, you think you're the one. Well possibly you could have been, but probably not. But you'll never know. Why not? Because you presumed that if you decided, it would just be. You didn't go to any effort to find out who she, the person inside of the body, is. You did not talk to her. You did not wine and dine her. She was worth no effort from you other than you deciding you were the one. And once you finally decided, your approach was all wrong. You showed her that you were sure of her. That made it too late.
You might think I'm just imagining all this. So, how would you take it if a stranger bent over in front of you, looked up into your face -- not more than a foot away -- and smiled while you were selecting face soap from a bin. No, I'm sure I didn't know him.
Then there is the one I call "Hair". Rude, you say? Since I've never met him either, I don't know what else to call him. He actually shampooed his habitually greasy hair, parted it in the middle and let it flow down past his shoulders. He knew he looked pretty nice. Then, he walked down the street toward his prey -- a look of anticipation and sureness of result on his face. But the result wasn't as anticipated. How confused that made him. Where was his error?
Could it be their goals are different? He, like many men, is pretty casual about the sex thing. If people are attracted to each other, why complicate things with marriage and playing house? Why not get it on and then get on to the next one?
Does she have a say? So you decided she was your summer fling? Does she want a fling? Maybe, unlike you, she wants a long-term relationship complete with white satin and lace? Maybe she really is ready for her 2.3 children and the picket fence. Can she tell by your gait that you are not the permanent kind?
And what happens to her if she agrees to a summer thing? How many of those could she survive before such as you looked askance? Even in this age, they call women sluts if they have more than a couple of summer encounters. How deep does your concern for her go? Is it that you just want to be the one who wins that bet?
Or maybe she has been there and done that. Maybe one longer-term marriage was sufficient for her. Perhaps she is luxuriating in the freedom from a high maintenance dude, an over-controlling parent or a bunch of finally grown kids. Maybe even a summer of fun feels like too much loss of freedom. You can never tell.
Then maybe she fears you are one of those types that requires being married. If she offered you the opportunity to "live in sin" instead of tying her down, what would you say? "No?" Would you express your need to have a helpmate to cook and clean the house while you worked a minimum wage job to support her? Would you promise her she could cater your weekend parties? Would you tell her the names of your future children?
Have you asked her what kind of things she likes to do? Does she like to read? Do you? Does she hate sports, especially those in which you revel? Is she the cerebral type, and you the mechanic who leaves car parts all over the house and yard? What do you have in common? You don't know? Why the heck not?
You mean you've never walked up and introduced yourself? You've never discussed the weather? Yet, you thought to break the ice by getting her into the sack straight away. What ever happened to going out to dinner or a movie? Is that a thing of the past?
Or are you married, looking for something on the side? Maybe she considers herself a coveted entrée, not a side dish. Maybe she deserves a little respect and expects a lot of it. Do you know that in a woman's experience, married men are the number one most likely people to "hit on" a single female? They are said to represent at least one third of the men who subscribe to singles services. Second are young black men hoping to stop by for a while, leave a baby and take off again. Third are young white men less than one third her age. Are you one of these, or are you older than you appear? Perhaps if you knew her age, you would not be interested at all. But did you do anything to find out?
Of course, there is always the chance she is involved already, but did you think to find out? Or maybe she is married, but he is away in the military. Worse, at her age, he may be in a nursing home.
So, nevertheless, you think you're the one. Well possibly you could have been, but probably not. But you'll never know. Why not? Because you presumed that if you decided, it would just be. You didn't go to any effort to find out who she, the person inside of the body, is. You did not talk to her. You did not wine and dine her. She was worth no effort from you other than you deciding you were the one. And once you finally decided, your approach was all wrong. You showed her that you were sure of her. That made it too late.
Inappropriate Use of Behaviorism
When people like Nathan Azrin and Ted Ayllon and their group began adapting and applying the research of behavioral scientists, such as B. F. Skinner, to humans, there was a great debate. The pros and cons were discussed at depth, much like people had debated the pros and cons of nuclear energy. Like any powerful new phenomenon, "good people" would no doubt use it for the good of mankind, while evil people would use it to control others and exploit their fellow men. Like other such discussions, it is probably still being debated in academic circles on occasion.
Most people familiar with the Principles of Learning from Operant Conditioning and/or the behavioral versions, including the simplistic B-Mod formulas, see the great advantage of using such methods in the home and our schools. As parents and educators responsible for helping young people grow into productive citizens, using the techniques takes the pain out of child rearing. Instead of using the rod to get the desired results, children can be "rewarded" for appropriate behaviors, thus becoming stellar citizens with half the effort and trouble.
It is when people become teenagers and adults that the lines of appropriateness begin to blur. Do we have a right to reward conformity and discourage the uniqueness of teens? Isn't non-conformity how they show self expression and establish themselves as adults?
Humanism, a counseling and psychology point of view, suggests that it is much more humane to enlist the teen or adult to agree to a program that will change specific behaviors. But, what if the person prefers his own self or way to your way? Are you sure your way is right? There are some ways both teens and adults can misbehave that anyone would agree need to be modified. But these areas are few in basically productive individuals.
Let's face it, it takes a pretty arrogant individual to think that he or she has the right way to do something. It takes a very arrogant and self-serving individual to decide to use the Principles of Learning from Operant Conditioning to change others to be like himself. And what self-respecting individual would want to become like a person such as that?
It is a given that control freaks are long on self-service and short on consideration for others. It is into the hands of these individuals that such powerful knowledge should never fall. Fortunately, most people are exposed only to the B-Mod version with it's watered down techniques of rewards and punishments. They don't know the actual functional definitions. They haven't been taught that one man's "reward" can be another's "punisher". They are simple technicians, not knowledgeable planners.
On the whole, behaviorism does not belong in the workplace. Most adults know the fundamentals of being a hard-working, reliable and loyal employee. If anyone does not know this, they don't get much past a short-term trial period anyway. It's not likely someone will work well a few years and then let their work ethic fall apart. Even if they did, the natural consequences of the hire and fire structure would go into effect and remedy the situation.
Any use of reinforcement and punishment beyond salary increases and promotions should be unnecessary. Yet, workplace after workplace has inadequately trained individuals applying B-Mod techniques to well-functioning employees, many of whom are more desirable employees than the modifier. But control freaks will be control freaks, won't they?
It seems an appropriate time to mention that there is a huge problem with applying any control techniques to adults. People just aren't as easy to control as animals. We can think. We can decide. We like our way. We don't want to be a clone of you. We sometimes don't even like you all that much. We frequently have good reason not to think so highly of you.
Businesses need to be wary of trying to change the behaviors of others. If it is totally necessary to do so, never use any employee below the management level. Continually train the individuals used to do this. And remember, most of all, if the employee can tell they are being "modified", that means you don't know what you are doing.
Most people familiar with the Principles of Learning from Operant Conditioning and/or the behavioral versions, including the simplistic B-Mod formulas, see the great advantage of using such methods in the home and our schools. As parents and educators responsible for helping young people grow into productive citizens, using the techniques takes the pain out of child rearing. Instead of using the rod to get the desired results, children can be "rewarded" for appropriate behaviors, thus becoming stellar citizens with half the effort and trouble.
It is when people become teenagers and adults that the lines of appropriateness begin to blur. Do we have a right to reward conformity and discourage the uniqueness of teens? Isn't non-conformity how they show self expression and establish themselves as adults?
Humanism, a counseling and psychology point of view, suggests that it is much more humane to enlist the teen or adult to agree to a program that will change specific behaviors. But, what if the person prefers his own self or way to your way? Are you sure your way is right? There are some ways both teens and adults can misbehave that anyone would agree need to be modified. But these areas are few in basically productive individuals.
Let's face it, it takes a pretty arrogant individual to think that he or she has the right way to do something. It takes a very arrogant and self-serving individual to decide to use the Principles of Learning from Operant Conditioning to change others to be like himself. And what self-respecting individual would want to become like a person such as that?
It is a given that control freaks are long on self-service and short on consideration for others. It is into the hands of these individuals that such powerful knowledge should never fall. Fortunately, most people are exposed only to the B-Mod version with it's watered down techniques of rewards and punishments. They don't know the actual functional definitions. They haven't been taught that one man's "reward" can be another's "punisher". They are simple technicians, not knowledgeable planners.
On the whole, behaviorism does not belong in the workplace. Most adults know the fundamentals of being a hard-working, reliable and loyal employee. If anyone does not know this, they don't get much past a short-term trial period anyway. It's not likely someone will work well a few years and then let their work ethic fall apart. Even if they did, the natural consequences of the hire and fire structure would go into effect and remedy the situation.
Any use of reinforcement and punishment beyond salary increases and promotions should be unnecessary. Yet, workplace after workplace has inadequately trained individuals applying B-Mod techniques to well-functioning employees, many of whom are more desirable employees than the modifier. But control freaks will be control freaks, won't they?
It seems an appropriate time to mention that there is a huge problem with applying any control techniques to adults. People just aren't as easy to control as animals. We can think. We can decide. We like our way. We don't want to be a clone of you. We sometimes don't even like you all that much. We frequently have good reason not to think so highly of you.
Businesses need to be wary of trying to change the behaviors of others. If it is totally necessary to do so, never use any employee below the management level. Continually train the individuals used to do this. And remember, most of all, if the employee can tell they are being "modified", that means you don't know what you are doing.
Sunday, September 1, 2013
My Issues With Paul
As a psychologist, I am well aware that the blindness, as well as the hearing of voices by Saul of Tarsus, could be construed as a break with mental health. The lack of sight would probably be construed as hysteria and the hearing of voices as schizophrenia.
The general public, at least the Christian portion of it, thinks nothing of believing that Saul (Paul) had a genuine religious experience. They believe that God struck him blind on the Road to Damascus and that he called Paul to "turn over a new leaf" and turn to Him. Whatever caused Paul's great guilt complex on that road, he became one of the greatest Apostles of Jesus.
That same Christian part of the general public, however, is among the first to label a fellow human as mentally ill when they say they believe God speaks to them or sends them messages. Well, which way is it? You can't "have your cake and eat it, too."
It is this kind of schizophrenic Christian belief that causes non-Christians to view us as emotional and spiritual lepers -- the unwashed, the unclean, the untouchable. We need to merge our two personalities in this modern world and formulate a new, improved set of beliefs.
One thing we need to keep foremost in our minds is that Paul made a lot of decisions based on an impending end of this world. He did not expect there to be a full planet of Christians and non-Christians in 2013. He did not see beyond a brief lifetime -- probably just his. Now, we should not fault him for this belief. He was simply believing and quoting Jesus, himself.
The problem is, the words of Paul, meant for a short interim between the death of Jesus and the end of the world, are still being used to dictate Christian beliefs and behavior today.
One of my biggest issues is that we read his words not to marry -- at least leaders of Catholic Churches do -- as the gospel truth in this millennium even though Paul stated that his suggestion was due to the impending end. So, generations of religious leaders have lived bereft of a spouse and children. In some, their sex needs have become so great that they preyed on vulnerable little children. Perhaps had they been permitted a hetero or homosexual significant other, there would have been less molestation in the church. I recognize, of course, that there is an illness that causes some adults to prey on little children sexually, and some of these individuals may suffer from that. However, I believe it is possible that many turned to this disgraceful behavior because they could no longer quell their sexual needs and those poor, innocent little kids were handy.
In Women In the Ministry at lousdevotes.blogspot.com, I wrote of the apparent contradictions in scriptures attributed to Paul and his caution to wait until the new Kingdom to follow Jesus' teachings because the end is near.
I'm not suggesting that we "throw out the baby with the bathwater," but I am suggesting that we of the current age at least make note of what issues he raised that he attributed to being because of the impending end.
Paul was writing to the churches he had helped form about real issues of that age. He may have been a prophet, yet do we have evidence of that? His words at that time were pertinent to that time. They may be harmful today.
As example, had all Christians of that age chosen not to marry and reproduce, it would have meant the annihilation of the Christian portion of the human race. Big of Paul to say it is better to marry than to burn. That gave Catholics outside the priesthood a reason for families.
But at the same time, such teachings led leaders of the early church to classify sex as a sin. It is not a sin, it is a gift from God. It is how we exercise that gift in conjunction with God's commandments that renders it good or bad.
The general public, at least the Christian portion of it, thinks nothing of believing that Saul (Paul) had a genuine religious experience. They believe that God struck him blind on the Road to Damascus and that he called Paul to "turn over a new leaf" and turn to Him. Whatever caused Paul's great guilt complex on that road, he became one of the greatest Apostles of Jesus.
That same Christian part of the general public, however, is among the first to label a fellow human as mentally ill when they say they believe God speaks to them or sends them messages. Well, which way is it? You can't "have your cake and eat it, too."
It is this kind of schizophrenic Christian belief that causes non-Christians to view us as emotional and spiritual lepers -- the unwashed, the unclean, the untouchable. We need to merge our two personalities in this modern world and formulate a new, improved set of beliefs.
One thing we need to keep foremost in our minds is that Paul made a lot of decisions based on an impending end of this world. He did not expect there to be a full planet of Christians and non-Christians in 2013. He did not see beyond a brief lifetime -- probably just his. Now, we should not fault him for this belief. He was simply believing and quoting Jesus, himself.
The problem is, the words of Paul, meant for a short interim between the death of Jesus and the end of the world, are still being used to dictate Christian beliefs and behavior today.
One of my biggest issues is that we read his words not to marry -- at least leaders of Catholic Churches do -- as the gospel truth in this millennium even though Paul stated that his suggestion was due to the impending end. So, generations of religious leaders have lived bereft of a spouse and children. In some, their sex needs have become so great that they preyed on vulnerable little children. Perhaps had they been permitted a hetero or homosexual significant other, there would have been less molestation in the church. I recognize, of course, that there is an illness that causes some adults to prey on little children sexually, and some of these individuals may suffer from that. However, I believe it is possible that many turned to this disgraceful behavior because they could no longer quell their sexual needs and those poor, innocent little kids were handy.
In Women In the Ministry at lousdevotes.blogspot.com, I wrote of the apparent contradictions in scriptures attributed to Paul and his caution to wait until the new Kingdom to follow Jesus' teachings because the end is near.
I'm not suggesting that we "throw out the baby with the bathwater," but I am suggesting that we of the current age at least make note of what issues he raised that he attributed to being because of the impending end.
Paul was writing to the churches he had helped form about real issues of that age. He may have been a prophet, yet do we have evidence of that? His words at that time were pertinent to that time. They may be harmful today.
As example, had all Christians of that age chosen not to marry and reproduce, it would have meant the annihilation of the Christian portion of the human race. Big of Paul to say it is better to marry than to burn. That gave Catholics outside the priesthood a reason for families.
But at the same time, such teachings led leaders of the early church to classify sex as a sin. It is not a sin, it is a gift from God. It is how we exercise that gift in conjunction with God's commandments that renders it good or bad.
Thursday, August 29, 2013
Statistical Interpretation
Recently, reporters have been using a variety of statistical terms that some seem not to fully understand. During my education, there was even an article of required reading warning us to look for ways people deliberately manipulate statistics to prove a point.
A former professor of mine, a research teacher, used to refer to the subject as "sadistics". This was his way of expressing the difficulty of understanding the topic, as well as his aversion to it. A lot of people feel the same way.
There are, for instance, three ways of determining the "average" of a set of figures. They are called the mean, the median and the mode.
The median is, literally, the middle number. If you have 61 numbers in your sample or set, you count down the list until you reach the thirty-first number and that is the median. Once again, it is a form of computing the average.
The mode, on the other hand, is the most frequent number. If you have the same 61 numbers, one or two of each value, and the lowest number is repeated several times, then the lowest number is the mode.
The arithmetic mean is determined by adding (computing the sum of) all sixty-one numbers and then dividing the sum by the number of numbers. In our example this is sixty-one.
In the following hypothetical example, let us compute the three different averages and talk abut the results. I have numbered the set of figures for ease in finding the median.
Our Hypothetical Sample
1. 15,000,000 32. 15,000
2. 15,000,000 33. 15,000
3. 5,000,000 34. 15,000
4. 5,000,000 35. 15,000
5. 5,000,000 36. 15,000
6. 5,000,000 37. 15,000
7. 5,000,000 38. 15,000
8. 5,000,000 39. 15,000
9. 500,000 40. 15,000
10. 500,000 41. 15,000
11. 500,000 42. 15,000
12. 500,000 43. 15,000
13. 500,000 44. 15,000
14. 500,000 45. 15,000
15. 500,000 46. 15,000
16. 500,000 47. 15,000
17. 500,000 48. 15,000
18. 500,000 49. 15,000
19. 25,000 50. 15,000
20. 25,000 51. 15,000
21. 25,000 52. 15,000
22. 25,000 53. 15,000
23. 25,000 54. 15,000
24. 25,000 55. 15,000
25. 25,000 56. 15,000
26. 25,000 57. 15,000
27. 25,000 58. 15,000
28. 25,000 59. 15,000
29. 15,000 60. 15,000
30. 15,000 61. 15,000
31. 15,000
In the above example, it is easy to determine the median and the mode. Both of them are 15,000. The arithmetic mean, however, is quite different. This figure is radically skewed higher because of the large figures at the top. The arithmetic mean is 1,077,786.885. Quite a difference, isn't it?
So, let's play with the figures a little. Are you trying to prove that American seniors are about to become the richest age group in the country? Would you use the mean, the median or the mode? The median and the mode would show a low figure, wouldn't they? They are both $15,000. To prove American seniors are rich, one would have to use the arithmetic mean at $1,077,786.88. But would this be a true representation of the wealth of American citizens? Not at all. Most American citizens represented by this figure, have $15,000, not over $1,000,000. In fact, it would take a person with $15,000 a year income over 71 years with no withholding and no spending to accumulate a figure commensurate with this arithmetic mean. You dream the impossible dream.
One of the worst interpretations of statistics is made when interpreting the results of group comparison studies. This kind of study is used a lot in medical research, including the dental plaque compared with heart disease research. A former local news anchor was interpreting the results as plaque on the teeth is causing heart trouble. No can do! The best we can say of correlational evidence is that the two groups "co-relate." We cannot assume a causal relationship from correlational data. It could be the plaque does cause heart trouble. It could be that heart trouble causes plaque on the teeth. It could even be an accidental coincidence.
Remember to check the figures of your reporters, your doctors, your editorialists when making your decisions. All are subject to error. A few intend to mislead. Oh yes, and please check my figures to see if I made any errors when keying in the sample. To err is human, or so the great writer once said.
A former professor of mine, a research teacher, used to refer to the subject as "sadistics". This was his way of expressing the difficulty of understanding the topic, as well as his aversion to it. A lot of people feel the same way.
There are, for instance, three ways of determining the "average" of a set of figures. They are called the mean, the median and the mode.
The median is, literally, the middle number. If you have 61 numbers in your sample or set, you count down the list until you reach the thirty-first number and that is the median. Once again, it is a form of computing the average.
The mode, on the other hand, is the most frequent number. If you have the same 61 numbers, one or two of each value, and the lowest number is repeated several times, then the lowest number is the mode.
The arithmetic mean is determined by adding (computing the sum of) all sixty-one numbers and then dividing the sum by the number of numbers. In our example this is sixty-one.
In the following hypothetical example, let us compute the three different averages and talk abut the results. I have numbered the set of figures for ease in finding the median.
Our Hypothetical Sample
1. 15,000,000 32. 15,000
2. 15,000,000 33. 15,000
3. 5,000,000 34. 15,000
4. 5,000,000 35. 15,000
5. 5,000,000 36. 15,000
6. 5,000,000 37. 15,000
7. 5,000,000 38. 15,000
8. 5,000,000 39. 15,000
9. 500,000 40. 15,000
10. 500,000 41. 15,000
11. 500,000 42. 15,000
12. 500,000 43. 15,000
13. 500,000 44. 15,000
14. 500,000 45. 15,000
15. 500,000 46. 15,000
16. 500,000 47. 15,000
17. 500,000 48. 15,000
18. 500,000 49. 15,000
19. 25,000 50. 15,000
20. 25,000 51. 15,000
21. 25,000 52. 15,000
22. 25,000 53. 15,000
23. 25,000 54. 15,000
24. 25,000 55. 15,000
25. 25,000 56. 15,000
26. 25,000 57. 15,000
27. 25,000 58. 15,000
28. 25,000 59. 15,000
29. 15,000 60. 15,000
30. 15,000 61. 15,000
31. 15,000
In the above example, it is easy to determine the median and the mode. Both of them are 15,000. The arithmetic mean, however, is quite different. This figure is radically skewed higher because of the large figures at the top. The arithmetic mean is 1,077,786.885. Quite a difference, isn't it?
So, let's play with the figures a little. Are you trying to prove that American seniors are about to become the richest age group in the country? Would you use the mean, the median or the mode? The median and the mode would show a low figure, wouldn't they? They are both $15,000. To prove American seniors are rich, one would have to use the arithmetic mean at $1,077,786.88. But would this be a true representation of the wealth of American citizens? Not at all. Most American citizens represented by this figure, have $15,000, not over $1,000,000. In fact, it would take a person with $15,000 a year income over 71 years with no withholding and no spending to accumulate a figure commensurate with this arithmetic mean. You dream the impossible dream.
One of the worst interpretations of statistics is made when interpreting the results of group comparison studies. This kind of study is used a lot in medical research, including the dental plaque compared with heart disease research. A former local news anchor was interpreting the results as plaque on the teeth is causing heart trouble. No can do! The best we can say of correlational evidence is that the two groups "co-relate." We cannot assume a causal relationship from correlational data. It could be the plaque does cause heart trouble. It could be that heart trouble causes plaque on the teeth. It could even be an accidental coincidence.
Remember to check the figures of your reporters, your doctors, your editorialists when making your decisions. All are subject to error. A few intend to mislead. Oh yes, and please check my figures to see if I made any errors when keying in the sample. To err is human, or so the great writer once said.
Thursday, August 22, 2013
A Bully Is Just A Bully
This Week was reduced to a shouting match again the other Sunday. As a result, we've come away with little information of use to this world.
Verbal bully behavior, whether in one's personal life, or on television is regrettable. I don't know why people think that the person who shouts the loudest is the one who is right. By their shouting behavior, apparently a lot of talk show participants do think so. At least they believe they win when they do it.
People just are not always going to agree. That happens to be a good thing, not bad. It's obvious that most discussion programs are set up with representatives from both sides of an issue. But once in a while, more care needs to be taken with the personality types that are mixed together. Some guests of bigger than life standing deserve to be heard, even when we disagree with them. Others, especially the wannabe pundits, can be especially cantankerous. Last Sunday, there was a mix of loud mouths and quiet spoken individuals. When the quiet ones began expressing opinions, they got talked over again and again. Sometimes it is difficult to understand why we are subjected to loud, highly opinionated people who haven't that much to offer.
Being a woman, I'm all for the success of the female gender (I almost want to say species). But get some assertiveness training ladies. Being assertive means getting your points across in a calm, consistent and respectful way. It includes listening to others. It does not mean shouting down someone who disagrees with you just because you are louder and meaner than they.
I'm reminded of my own introduction to assertiveness training which began with the statement that overly aggressive people need assertiveness training just as much as passive people do.
Perhaps discussions such as the Round Table need to formulate some rules for participation similar to those used in debates. Each person might be told they have X seconds or minutes to respond and that they cannot interrupt or shout each other down. Then, stick to the rules.
I imagine most viewers watch these shows to learn, not to witness some brou-ha-ha staged with bullies. After all a bully is just that -- and it doesn't make the bully right.
Verbal bully behavior, whether in one's personal life, or on television is regrettable. I don't know why people think that the person who shouts the loudest is the one who is right. By their shouting behavior, apparently a lot of talk show participants do think so. At least they believe they win when they do it.
People just are not always going to agree. That happens to be a good thing, not bad. It's obvious that most discussion programs are set up with representatives from both sides of an issue. But once in a while, more care needs to be taken with the personality types that are mixed together. Some guests of bigger than life standing deserve to be heard, even when we disagree with them. Others, especially the wannabe pundits, can be especially cantankerous. Last Sunday, there was a mix of loud mouths and quiet spoken individuals. When the quiet ones began expressing opinions, they got talked over again and again. Sometimes it is difficult to understand why we are subjected to loud, highly opinionated people who haven't that much to offer.
Being a woman, I'm all for the success of the female gender (I almost want to say species). But get some assertiveness training ladies. Being assertive means getting your points across in a calm, consistent and respectful way. It includes listening to others. It does not mean shouting down someone who disagrees with you just because you are louder and meaner than they.
I'm reminded of my own introduction to assertiveness training which began with the statement that overly aggressive people need assertiveness training just as much as passive people do.
Perhaps discussions such as the Round Table need to formulate some rules for participation similar to those used in debates. Each person might be told they have X seconds or minutes to respond and that they cannot interrupt or shout each other down. Then, stick to the rules.
I imagine most viewers watch these shows to learn, not to witness some brou-ha-ha staged with bullies. After all a bully is just that -- and it doesn't make the bully right.
Thursday, August 15, 2013
Hackers, Pranksters and Sociopaths
It has long puzzled me why low-lives go to such great lengths to figure out creative methods of stealing from others. On a recent newscast, there was a real pip. A woman asked a man if she could cool off by taking a swim in his pool. She proceeded to strip down to her birthday suit and entertain him. All the while, her partner was ripping off the lascivious gentleman.
There are many scams designed to part others, especially senior citizens, from their cash and belongings. I want to ask all of the above, "Why don't you use that creativity and focus that effort on becoming the next George Washington Carver, Beyoncé, Jimmy Carter or Dr. Dre? Why not use your gifts for the good of mankind and go down in the annals of history as a great American, Greek, Englishman, African, Scot or Russian? Why do you put yourselves on the downward slope toward infamy and prison, or even a violent death?
I read somewhere that a hacker was asked why he spent his time in illegal activity instead of developing hardware or software like Steve Jobs and Bill Gates. Do you know the hacker's answer? "Because I can." That's no news. A lot of people can hack. Some of them use that ability to the benefit of their fellow man as well as their own bank accounts. Why do you suppose that these people choose evil intent? They would make more money working in Silicon Valley, where they actually have job openings, than they can scam out of old people. Old people, with rare exceptions, don't have anything. I don't know where some of these columnists get the figures saying they do. Most seniors receive around $1050 per month or less. If a man has a wife, they don't get the whole amount for both of them. The collective amount is figured downward as close to the poverty level as they can get it.
I don't know if these criminals are just immature pranksters or if they are full-blown sociopaths. Perhaps there are some of both involved.
I wrote an earlier draft of this article a week or so ago. Before that day was over, I had received a computerized phone call telling me my debit card was no longer authorized for use on the internet, but I could fix the problem by calling a certain number. Since I've never used a debit card on the internet, I cut the call off. I called my bank, described the situation and told about hanging up. She told me that was good because it's a scam that is prevalent right now. Another one.
How wonderful this world would be if the scam artists and thieves would use their wonderful creativity for inventions and innovations. Instead, person after person, male and female, young and old, choose to use their creative gifts to scam the old, rob the rich, relieve the poor of their few precious belongings. And then they head for church on Sunday and sing the praises of the good Lord as if they, themselves, have spent the previous week honoring God, their parents and a beloved grandmother.
There is one woman I've encountered in Aldi's stores. When she gets parallel to me in another aisle, a buzzer goes off. I'm talking different Aldi's here. The first time, the buzzer was so loud it startled everyone in the vicinity. The last time, she had quieted it about fifty per cent. I'd think it was some store buzzer, except the woman's appearance is quite distinctive -- tall, attractive, black, fifties or early sixties. When the buzzer goes off, she is there. I've heard there is a way to get someone's credit card number, but I don't know how it is done. Is that what's happening? The local news told a story that this is occurring a lot right now.
This kind of scammer is not alone. Every time there is a major storm, dishonest tree trimmers and roofers come out. People mail letters telling others they have won a prize they can collect by sending in money. Messages are received that a loved one is in trouble in a foreign country, so please send dollars.
Identities are stolen. On-line banking is sabotaged. One Asian man called and told me I had used my credit card to order pizza. Wrong, Mister. They won't deliver pizza to my neighborhood. I get my pizzas out of the freezer section at the grocery store.
If these people wrote a mystery instead of being a mystery, do you suppose they might win a Pulitzer? We've barely scratched the surface of how important they can become. Why would they prefer a prison jumpsuit over the tuxedo they could wear to an awards ceremony if their rap song hit number one?
Wouldn't it be nice if all individuals used their God-given gifts for something other than trying to outwit the vulnerable among us? It can't bring much self-satisfaction to prey on easy targets. A hit song or best-selling book would be much more fulfilling.
There are many scams designed to part others, especially senior citizens, from their cash and belongings. I want to ask all of the above, "Why don't you use that creativity and focus that effort on becoming the next George Washington Carver, Beyoncé, Jimmy Carter or Dr. Dre? Why not use your gifts for the good of mankind and go down in the annals of history as a great American, Greek, Englishman, African, Scot or Russian? Why do you put yourselves on the downward slope toward infamy and prison, or even a violent death?
I read somewhere that a hacker was asked why he spent his time in illegal activity instead of developing hardware or software like Steve Jobs and Bill Gates. Do you know the hacker's answer? "Because I can." That's no news. A lot of people can hack. Some of them use that ability to the benefit of their fellow man as well as their own bank accounts. Why do you suppose that these people choose evil intent? They would make more money working in Silicon Valley, where they actually have job openings, than they can scam out of old people. Old people, with rare exceptions, don't have anything. I don't know where some of these columnists get the figures saying they do. Most seniors receive around $1050 per month or less. If a man has a wife, they don't get the whole amount for both of them. The collective amount is figured downward as close to the poverty level as they can get it.
I don't know if these criminals are just immature pranksters or if they are full-blown sociopaths. Perhaps there are some of both involved.
I wrote an earlier draft of this article a week or so ago. Before that day was over, I had received a computerized phone call telling me my debit card was no longer authorized for use on the internet, but I could fix the problem by calling a certain number. Since I've never used a debit card on the internet, I cut the call off. I called my bank, described the situation and told about hanging up. She told me that was good because it's a scam that is prevalent right now. Another one.
How wonderful this world would be if the scam artists and thieves would use their wonderful creativity for inventions and innovations. Instead, person after person, male and female, young and old, choose to use their creative gifts to scam the old, rob the rich, relieve the poor of their few precious belongings. And then they head for church on Sunday and sing the praises of the good Lord as if they, themselves, have spent the previous week honoring God, their parents and a beloved grandmother.
There is one woman I've encountered in Aldi's stores. When she gets parallel to me in another aisle, a buzzer goes off. I'm talking different Aldi's here. The first time, the buzzer was so loud it startled everyone in the vicinity. The last time, she had quieted it about fifty per cent. I'd think it was some store buzzer, except the woman's appearance is quite distinctive -- tall, attractive, black, fifties or early sixties. When the buzzer goes off, she is there. I've heard there is a way to get someone's credit card number, but I don't know how it is done. Is that what's happening? The local news told a story that this is occurring a lot right now.
This kind of scammer is not alone. Every time there is a major storm, dishonest tree trimmers and roofers come out. People mail letters telling others they have won a prize they can collect by sending in money. Messages are received that a loved one is in trouble in a foreign country, so please send dollars.
Identities are stolen. On-line banking is sabotaged. One Asian man called and told me I had used my credit card to order pizza. Wrong, Mister. They won't deliver pizza to my neighborhood. I get my pizzas out of the freezer section at the grocery store.
If these people wrote a mystery instead of being a mystery, do you suppose they might win a Pulitzer? We've barely scratched the surface of how important they can become. Why would they prefer a prison jumpsuit over the tuxedo they could wear to an awards ceremony if their rap song hit number one?
Wouldn't it be nice if all individuals used their God-given gifts for something other than trying to outwit the vulnerable among us? It can't bring much self-satisfaction to prey on easy targets. A hit song or best-selling book would be much more fulfilling.
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