My dear dad lived his final days in a beach house which was my mother's great love.She was Irish and being able to hear and smell the ocean was in her DNA. Dad was from inland Pennsylvania, Pennsylvania Dutch and all that implies. He had nothing for the beach, but he got great joy from making Mum happy. Therefore the retirement in Ipswich, MA.
She was dead but he didn't want to leave her house. too many good memories. The thing was, however, that almost all his neighbors went south for the winter and the house got hit pretty hard by storms being on a hill facing northeast.This time, at least, the roof survived, mostly.
About being stubborn, we had plenty of warning but he refused to leave. Even my brother or sister's house would have been much safer. So, I stayed with him and prepared for the worst. I brought up all the firewood I could find. I filled jars and the tub with water, I cooked some things in case the electricity went off, found candles and flashlights. I made a pile of blankets and hammer and nails near the fireplace, thinking that if we had no heat, I could make a tent room to keep him warm. He went about his business. He was around 90. Not too much fazed him. "If I die, I die here." Turned out to be true but not during that storm. My inner self was kind of screaming "What about me?" I wasn't ready to die.
But I almost did. Of cabin fever. How did those wagon train people do it? But the electricity survived and therein came my survival. The storm was plastering all the windows (all four sides) of the house. It was dark inside. We couldn't open any doors. Between the wind and the snow piling up in front of the doors, we were trapped.
This was a week or two before Christmas. I called my son in Seattle to bemoan my fate. He quietly suggested that I open my Christmas present which was sitting under the tree. I did so. It was a big box of Godiva chocolates and a pirate copy which he had bought in Thailand of the unreleased last season of the Sopranos. My life made a 180 degree for the better. I went downstairs to the VCR and had my little orgy.
When a neighbor came by about 30 hours later and noticed that our doors were blocked up to the roof, he dug us out. The snowplow came in a bit and I got my car out with a lot of help from whomever I could find.
I drove home to another seaside town. My house was much more immediately on the water. I had to let down and raise the stairs from my deck to the beach depending on the tides. I knew the tides were going to be wild, and I was excited to get home and watch. The back side of the house had almost no widows, the ocean side, nothing but. The house had been a horse barn for quarry horses for hundreds of years so I never worried about it surviving storms. It always did. I opened the door and was just stepping in exclaiming "Holy Shit" when the mail man tackled me from behind and pulled me away from the house. "What the f***?"
He pulled me along to a protected place where we could view the wild seas. I saw what he was concerned about. In the area next to my house where they used to load the granite on ships bound for England, there were giant stone walls made of such stones. The blocks of granite were 12 feet long and four feet deep. At that moment they were being tossed around, right in front of my deck like beach balls.
I went down the street and drank coffee and chatted the storm stories until things calmed down. There had been some terrific damage done by those granite monsters, fortunately not to my house. Respect.
So, I conclude that there are mysterious means by which God can save me during a blizzard. Firstly with a package from sonly, then by someone shoveling the door open, then by the rude postman who saw grave danger before I did. Sometimes I think I miss the drama and the beauty of nature in New England, then I get ready to go have a swim and think that I don't need that anymore in this life.
Monday, January 26, 2015
Sunday, January 25, 2015
Child Slave Labor in the Walt Disney Company
I read this report when it came out and I have read it and talked to people about it since. We could change the lives of millions of people all over the planet if we asked for and demanded a "No sweat" label on all the stuff we buy. We certainly don't have to worry about the obscene profits of the Waltons or the Disney folks or the iPhone people or the Monsanto crowd or all the insanely profitable corporations.Wal-Mart earned $128 billion in the fourth quarter last year. Apple a measly $10 billion for the same time. What would happen if they paid their workers a few more dollars a day and demanded that a kid must be at least 10 to work his 12 hour days and they made some ventilation and safe and decent sanitary facilities? Would capitalism come to an end? would Joseph Stalin be reborn? I don't think so.
The thing is, even if we have no conscience, even if we don't give a rats ass about the poor sucker who is making our mini mouse doll, even if we don't care at all, most people have some bit of self preservation. This is all coming home to roost, just like our foreign police is. Now we are searched and killed and under scrutiny all the time. Now our President orders assassinations of US citizens when he wants. Now we have essentially slave labor in prisons. Now we have farm workers exposed to up to 16 dangerous chemicals a day. Who eats that food? Who even knows that the person to whom they are speaking about their VISA card could be a .20$ and hour lifer in some for profit prison.
I know that if we all took a few minutes to walk up to the service counters at stores or Disneyland and asked "Is this product sweat free?" word would quickly get back to the big wigs..And if we took it one step further and said we would come back and buy it if were sweat free, things could change rapidly. And we could call ourselves 'human' instead of 'socialist.'
by Frederick Kopp
November 2005
For decades people around the world have associated "Disney" with innocence, imagination, and purity. However, behind the scenes of this gigantic company there are human rights violations being committed daily around the world. In factories workers are being paid staggeringly low wages. These factories not only pay their employees minute amounts, but they provide dirt-poor conditions as well. This issue is a problem not only for the third world nations, but for Americans also.
The small Caribbean island of Haiti is the most glaring example of an inhumane Disney sweatshop. Workers there stitch Aladdin t-shirts for 28 cents an hour (Haiti). Surprisingly, this is by far highest wage of the three sweatshops cited in this report. However, food can actually be as expensive in Haiti as it is in the United States. After taxes, a Haitian sweatshop worker will have 15-20 dollars a month. Everything is put into perspective when it's noted that it costs 20 dollars a month to rent a one-room shack with no running water. Simply put, a single individual would find it difficult to survive on these means, let alone someone with children.
Most of the world's slave labor in the past ten years has taken place in Asia. In Vietnam, the Walt Disney Company runs a sweatshop that produces those plastic toys that accompany many fast food meals. Employees of this factory work seven days a week, for ten hours a day. That is almost double the average American's work week. However, these people make only 17 cents an hour. Three years ago, 200 women of this factory has to be hospitalized due to being exposed to acetone, a toxic substance. The factory refused to make any changes in the ventilation system or health code.
It isn't difficult to understand the injustices taking place here. The solution isn't necessarily full blown Socialism. However, when a Disney sweatshop worker in Burma is paid six cents a day for tedious labor, that figure stands in stark contract to Disney CEO Michael Eisner's income of about 102,000 thousand dollars an hour. Sadly, the demand for jobs at such a low wage only reiterates that whole nations are extremely needy. The issue becomes whether or not it is morally wrong to pay so little when a company can easily afford more.
Wages are only one of the negative aspects of these Disney sweatshops. Besides the Megatex factory in Haiti, there is no tolerance for worker's rights. When reading quotes from Disney sweatshop employees worldwide, one uniform theme was that any worker suspected of organizing for grievances would be fired immediately. The Code of Conduct that is upheld in every other Disney operation seems to never be enforced in the Asian sweatshops.
Besides poor conditions, another constant among these sweatshops is that the workforce is comprised almost entirely of women and children. Most workers are between the ages of 10 and 30. Women are encouraged not to get pregnant because they usually get fired. There are also numerous accounts of supervisor's selecting mistresses out of their workforce. The worker is left to choose between complying and losing her job, devastating when she is living in dire poverty. These barbaric conditions are prevalent throughout most of the Asian sweatshops.
Although these people may not be physically enslaved, financially they usually are. No one has savings accounts, and everyone works paycheck to paycheck. Living quarters are rented, and the rent requires almost all of the wages earned. So many people in these countries are unemployed that losing one's job means having to look long and hard for a new one. When one has children this is not always an option.
One problem that arises from this issue is that unfair fines are frequently handed out. They can range from 60 cents to 35 dollars. Petty grounds for giving fines include forgetting to turn the lights off and showing up to work late. A fine that can cost up to two months of pay devastates many already poor people. Sometimes employers give constant fines so the woman or child can not quit before paying. In essence this is slavery because the employee can not effectively quit.
Recently people have begun to encourage Disney to take responsibility for the quality of their overseas factories. Shirley Slesinger Lasswell, husband of the late Stephen Slesinger who acquired the rights to Winnie the Pooh in the 1930's, has taken a stand. When, at a news conference, she heard of the beatings, 14 hour days, and poor wages at Disney's Dhaka sweatshop, she began tearfully pleading for better conditions. The National Labor Committee has taken her side in the fight to improve Disney production facilities worldwide.
With the Walt Disney Company in particular, Congress has taken a stand. Rather than bettering conditions in Haiti, Disney contractor H.H. Cutler attempted to move the plant to China. In China they would be able to pay their workers even lower wages, and maintain an even lower standard of humane treatment. The US government decided to write a personal letter to CEO Michael Eisner encouraging him to stay in Haiti and improve conditions for his workers. Eisner never responded and Cutler moved the plant from Haiti to China shortly thereafter.
These child sweatshops can not receive all of the blame for their treatment of the workers. They are required to produce a given amount of merchandise with a given amount of funds. If they pay their employees any more, they will end up losing money. It all starts at the top of the ladder with the executives at the Walt Disney Company. If they pay people higher in the chain, it will filter all the way down to the sweatshops. All of the areas in between have to be held accountable for paying responsibly.
In conclusion, these sweatshops that Disney funds are very real. The US Government can not take significant action because these operations are not on their soil. Organizations such as the National Labor Committee are focused on the issue and do their part in protesting and bringing the issue to attention. Despite their efforts, the same conditions continue every day in China and other parts of Asia for overseas factory workers.
The thing is, even if we have no conscience, even if we don't give a rats ass about the poor sucker who is making our mini mouse doll, even if we don't care at all, most people have some bit of self preservation. This is all coming home to roost, just like our foreign police is. Now we are searched and killed and under scrutiny all the time. Now our President orders assassinations of US citizens when he wants. Now we have essentially slave labor in prisons. Now we have farm workers exposed to up to 16 dangerous chemicals a day. Who eats that food? Who even knows that the person to whom they are speaking about their VISA card could be a .20$ and hour lifer in some for profit prison.
I know that if we all took a few minutes to walk up to the service counters at stores or Disneyland and asked "Is this product sweat free?" word would quickly get back to the big wigs..And if we took it one step further and said we would come back and buy it if were sweat free, things could change rapidly. And we could call ourselves 'human' instead of 'socialist.'
Child Slave Labor in the Walt Disney Company
November 2005
For decades people around the world have associated "Disney" with innocence, imagination, and purity. However, behind the scenes of this gigantic company there are human rights violations being committed daily around the world. In factories workers are being paid staggeringly low wages. These factories not only pay their employees minute amounts, but they provide dirt-poor conditions as well. This issue is a problem not only for the third world nations, but for Americans also.
The small Caribbean island of Haiti is the most glaring example of an inhumane Disney sweatshop. Workers there stitch Aladdin t-shirts for 28 cents an hour (Haiti). Surprisingly, this is by far highest wage of the three sweatshops cited in this report. However, food can actually be as expensive in Haiti as it is in the United States. After taxes, a Haitian sweatshop worker will have 15-20 dollars a month. Everything is put into perspective when it's noted that it costs 20 dollars a month to rent a one-room shack with no running water. Simply put, a single individual would find it difficult to survive on these means, let alone someone with children.
Most of the world's slave labor in the past ten years has taken place in Asia. In Vietnam, the Walt Disney Company runs a sweatshop that produces those plastic toys that accompany many fast food meals. Employees of this factory work seven days a week, for ten hours a day. That is almost double the average American's work week. However, these people make only 17 cents an hour. Three years ago, 200 women of this factory has to be hospitalized due to being exposed to acetone, a toxic substance. The factory refused to make any changes in the ventilation system or health code.
It isn't difficult to understand the injustices taking place here. The solution isn't necessarily full blown Socialism. However, when a Disney sweatshop worker in Burma is paid six cents a day for tedious labor, that figure stands in stark contract to Disney CEO Michael Eisner's income of about 102,000 thousand dollars an hour. Sadly, the demand for jobs at such a low wage only reiterates that whole nations are extremely needy. The issue becomes whether or not it is morally wrong to pay so little when a company can easily afford more.
Wages are only one of the negative aspects of these Disney sweatshops. Besides the Megatex factory in Haiti, there is no tolerance for worker's rights. When reading quotes from Disney sweatshop employees worldwide, one uniform theme was that any worker suspected of organizing for grievances would be fired immediately. The Code of Conduct that is upheld in every other Disney operation seems to never be enforced in the Asian sweatshops.
Besides poor conditions, another constant among these sweatshops is that the workforce is comprised almost entirely of women and children. Most workers are between the ages of 10 and 30. Women are encouraged not to get pregnant because they usually get fired. There are also numerous accounts of supervisor's selecting mistresses out of their workforce. The worker is left to choose between complying and losing her job, devastating when she is living in dire poverty. These barbaric conditions are prevalent throughout most of the Asian sweatshops.
Although these people may not be physically enslaved, financially they usually are. No one has savings accounts, and everyone works paycheck to paycheck. Living quarters are rented, and the rent requires almost all of the wages earned. So many people in these countries are unemployed that losing one's job means having to look long and hard for a new one. When one has children this is not always an option.
One problem that arises from this issue is that unfair fines are frequently handed out. They can range from 60 cents to 35 dollars. Petty grounds for giving fines include forgetting to turn the lights off and showing up to work late. A fine that can cost up to two months of pay devastates many already poor people. Sometimes employers give constant fines so the woman or child can not quit before paying. In essence this is slavery because the employee can not effectively quit.
Recently people have begun to encourage Disney to take responsibility for the quality of their overseas factories. Shirley Slesinger Lasswell, husband of the late Stephen Slesinger who acquired the rights to Winnie the Pooh in the 1930's, has taken a stand. When, at a news conference, she heard of the beatings, 14 hour days, and poor wages at Disney's Dhaka sweatshop, she began tearfully pleading for better conditions. The National Labor Committee has taken her side in the fight to improve Disney production facilities worldwide.
With the Walt Disney Company in particular, Congress has taken a stand. Rather than bettering conditions in Haiti, Disney contractor H.H. Cutler attempted to move the plant to China. In China they would be able to pay their workers even lower wages, and maintain an even lower standard of humane treatment. The US government decided to write a personal letter to CEO Michael Eisner encouraging him to stay in Haiti and improve conditions for his workers. Eisner never responded and Cutler moved the plant from Haiti to China shortly thereafter.
These child sweatshops can not receive all of the blame for their treatment of the workers. They are required to produce a given amount of merchandise with a given amount of funds. If they pay their employees any more, they will end up losing money. It all starts at the top of the ladder with the executives at the Walt Disney Company. If they pay people higher in the chain, it will filter all the way down to the sweatshops. All of the areas in between have to be held accountable for paying responsibly.
In conclusion, these sweatshops that Disney funds are very real. The US Government can not take significant action because these operations are not on their soil. Organizations such as the National Labor Committee are focused on the issue and do their part in protesting and bringing the issue to attention. Despite their efforts, the same conditions continue every day in China and other parts of Asia for overseas factory workers.
Saturday, January 24, 2015
Saying that I'm an "American" shows disrespect.
Should we from the United States be called "United Statesians", or United Statans", or United Statesans"? I don't know and I guess I haven't got it right because Spell Check is going wild. In Spanish we are "Estados Unidos". Abbreviated that is "E.U.". That's is potentially confusing. The thing is, as you all know, that from Canada to the tip of Argentina, for some misguided reason everyone thinks they are Americans. They do, actually, live in America; SA, CA, NA.
So, when, as always, someone from the US says they are American, they get that look. That "It must be nice to be the center of the universe" look. Well, that is how we come across. I heard a woman last night giving a lofty opinion that the Nicaraguan poor ought to stop robbing tourists because we are the most important thing in their economy. How has that worked in the USA? The poor here, as in much of the third world, have a pretty clear idea about the robbery we commit as a nation. A peasant in his banana patch can tell you more about NAFTA than most of us at home can. An illiterate Mayan on her milpa can give you the history of the United Fruit company and the infamous Dulles brothers.
They lived it. They are living it. I am back on my high horse about all the conversations I overhear, often from very nice, well intentioned people, about how the Nicas should learn sustainable farming. We have that dialed in in the USA, don't we? How we should teach forestry here. My hand to God, I hear conversations about the health care system being unfair here. Of course it is true, but from what righteous mountaintop are viewing this?
Maybe we could come to learn. We could learn so much about thriving in spite of adversity. We could learn so much about strong families. We could learn so much about being content and happy if everyone has food and a place to live.
I have so much to learn. One of my favorite phrases which I hear from Nicaraguan friends in "SI Dios quiere." After you make a plan, agree upon it, you acknowledge that anything could happen between now and the planned event. It has taken me many years to partially learn that I am not the boss of me, that all sorts of things (earthquake, stomach ache, iphone not working, losing my keys) can come at any second of any day. Nicaraguans often have a grace in their attitude towards life that I want to learn.
So, when, as always, someone from the US says they are American, they get that look. That "It must be nice to be the center of the universe" look. Well, that is how we come across. I heard a woman last night giving a lofty opinion that the Nicaraguan poor ought to stop robbing tourists because we are the most important thing in their economy. How has that worked in the USA? The poor here, as in much of the third world, have a pretty clear idea about the robbery we commit as a nation. A peasant in his banana patch can tell you more about NAFTA than most of us at home can. An illiterate Mayan on her milpa can give you the history of the United Fruit company and the infamous Dulles brothers.
They lived it. They are living it. I am back on my high horse about all the conversations I overhear, often from very nice, well intentioned people, about how the Nicas should learn sustainable farming. We have that dialed in in the USA, don't we? How we should teach forestry here. My hand to God, I hear conversations about the health care system being unfair here. Of course it is true, but from what righteous mountaintop are viewing this?
Maybe we could come to learn. We could learn so much about thriving in spite of adversity. We could learn so much about strong families. We could learn so much about being content and happy if everyone has food and a place to live.
I have so much to learn. One of my favorite phrases which I hear from Nicaraguan friends in "SI Dios quiere." After you make a plan, agree upon it, you acknowledge that anything could happen between now and the planned event. It has taken me many years to partially learn that I am not the boss of me, that all sorts of things (earthquake, stomach ache, iphone not working, losing my keys) can come at any second of any day. Nicaraguans often have a grace in their attitude towards life that I want to learn.
Thursday, January 22, 2015
Catching up with my pool friends.
This year I didn't come to Nica until after Christmas. I got a kick out of being with the grandsons and my friend Ron and my charming daughter and so on for the Holidays. I left right after Christmas and got away from the cold and damp of Portland, Oregon just in the nick of time. I missed the sleet and freezing rain and snow. When I got set up at the pool, my friends from Saskatoon, Canada were missing. They arrived today with a tale of woe about how they were delayed three months.
A bad fall, cracked vertebrae, tremendous suffering. We caught up with news of health, kids, the dropping Canadian dollar, all the stuff one catches up on. They had a miracle story about their daughter. We shared that joy. Then we got down to politics. Canadians I meet are mostly appalled with what we put up with in the US. They can't understand why we don't ask for and get a lot more from our taxes. You know like free health care, free high quality education for everyone at all levels, and on and on. I have to remind my dear Canadian friends that we have a much more important job to do here than feeding and housing our children and other soft stuff like that. We have to maintain 900 or so military bases around the planet in 150 or so countries and wage so many wars. Drones and bombs don't come cheap. We have to bring prosperity and freedom and safety to all these places. We have to do the Vietnam, Cambodia, Sri Lanka, El Salvador, Nicaragua, Iraq, miracle over and over. It isn't easy being us.
They spoke about their pride in their daughter's work in Guatemala, being a voice for the women in mining villages and bringing their struggle out into the light of day.
I ended up telling them a story involving my nieta which I already told on FB. Isabella was so ready for first grade. She knew that it was the big show. Preschools and kindergarten were fun but now she was in a GRADE. She was straight and walking tall and so happy to meet her first class.
When she came home, it was even better. She had learned something important and they were going to study more about it. "What did you learn?" I asked. "Economics." "Huh?" "Economics is the exchange of goods and services for money." She was perfect. She even had the tone of a teacher when she shared this wondrous news.
Marin County, California. Marin is, I guess, the northern suburbs of San Francisco. It is blessed with beautiful nature and weather. It is expensive but mostly not too showy. Like most bedroom communities, there can be a pretty serious commute for many who work. One of the malls is called "The Towne Center". That says a lot to me.
But this curriculum floored me. My memory of the first day of first grade was being in a circle and going around and introducing yourself and giving off an important bit of information like "I have a kitten", or "I have a big brother" and "I like to play soccer". Then the teacher would pass out a few supplies and tell us about the lunch room and then we would play a few games. We would often get the bit about team work and respecting your neighbor and being polite and raising your hand with a question. But studying ecomomics. Never.
A bunch of things are going through my mind. The next four weeks, the teacher was very creative and they made stores and had a lot of fun and learned a lot. I am all for that. When I mentioned that I was shaken by the crassness of this being the leading lesson, I was slammed by a bunch of people. Yes, I could have learned a lot from this lesson at some point in my life. Yes, money is important. Yes, the kids enjoyed it. But, for the 7 1/2 months I spent in Marin, I also saw the toll the keeping up with the Jonses was taking on a lot of people. I saw stress and competition and jealousy and tons of people on antidepressants. Nothing wrong with any of that, But I guess I am still shocked that what I would call the higher value things didn't take the lead. Compassion, peace, acceptance of differences.
I am not worried about my grand daughter because she has a great big heart and a lot of compassion. I am concerned about the direction my country is taking over and over again and what might be a counter force to that direction.
A bad fall, cracked vertebrae, tremendous suffering. We caught up with news of health, kids, the dropping Canadian dollar, all the stuff one catches up on. They had a miracle story about their daughter. We shared that joy. Then we got down to politics. Canadians I meet are mostly appalled with what we put up with in the US. They can't understand why we don't ask for and get a lot more from our taxes. You know like free health care, free high quality education for everyone at all levels, and on and on. I have to remind my dear Canadian friends that we have a much more important job to do here than feeding and housing our children and other soft stuff like that. We have to maintain 900 or so military bases around the planet in 150 or so countries and wage so many wars. Drones and bombs don't come cheap. We have to bring prosperity and freedom and safety to all these places. We have to do the Vietnam, Cambodia, Sri Lanka, El Salvador, Nicaragua, Iraq, miracle over and over. It isn't easy being us.
They spoke about their pride in their daughter's work in Guatemala, being a voice for the women in mining villages and bringing their struggle out into the light of day.
I ended up telling them a story involving my nieta which I already told on FB. Isabella was so ready for first grade. She knew that it was the big show. Preschools and kindergarten were fun but now she was in a GRADE. She was straight and walking tall and so happy to meet her first class.
When she came home, it was even better. She had learned something important and they were going to study more about it. "What did you learn?" I asked. "Economics." "Huh?" "Economics is the exchange of goods and services for money." She was perfect. She even had the tone of a teacher when she shared this wondrous news.
Marin County, California. Marin is, I guess, the northern suburbs of San Francisco. It is blessed with beautiful nature and weather. It is expensive but mostly not too showy. Like most bedroom communities, there can be a pretty serious commute for many who work. One of the malls is called "The Towne Center". That says a lot to me.
But this curriculum floored me. My memory of the first day of first grade was being in a circle and going around and introducing yourself and giving off an important bit of information like "I have a kitten", or "I have a big brother" and "I like to play soccer". Then the teacher would pass out a few supplies and tell us about the lunch room and then we would play a few games. We would often get the bit about team work and respecting your neighbor and being polite and raising your hand with a question. But studying ecomomics. Never.
A bunch of things are going through my mind. The next four weeks, the teacher was very creative and they made stores and had a lot of fun and learned a lot. I am all for that. When I mentioned that I was shaken by the crassness of this being the leading lesson, I was slammed by a bunch of people. Yes, I could have learned a lot from this lesson at some point in my life. Yes, money is important. Yes, the kids enjoyed it. But, for the 7 1/2 months I spent in Marin, I also saw the toll the keeping up with the Jonses was taking on a lot of people. I saw stress and competition and jealousy and tons of people on antidepressants. Nothing wrong with any of that, But I guess I am still shocked that what I would call the higher value things didn't take the lead. Compassion, peace, acceptance of differences.
I am not worried about my grand daughter because she has a great big heart and a lot of compassion. I am concerned about the direction my country is taking over and over again and what might be a counter force to that direction.
Tuesday, January 20, 2015
"I like this country, not many Blacks or Arabs here." I almost dropped dead.
So, the foreigners, especially the United Statesians, are a weird bunch here in Nica. There are the "I had to get away from the cold." folks who don't add "to a inexpensive place that I can afford." There are the creepy old men who want the cheap young girls and the cheap booze, there are great people of all ages who happen to love Nicaragua and her warm, open people, there are CIA people, (still!), there are the surfers, there are the travelers, there are the church people (never forget the Mormons), there are the volunteers building schools, there are people who can't go back to their own countries for numerous reasons, there are romantic people who remember the faded dream of the revolution, and there are the Tea Party people who hate the USA because of "big government" and President Obama and are looking for their next big chance. And lots more.
I like Nica very much. I can afford to be warm and well fed here. I strongly supported the revolution and wonder often what might have come of it had my country not killed it before it was fully birthed. Everyone has a story, and I from my lofty Buddhist perspective understand that everyone is making her own karma.
But this dude at the pool today flipped my shit. I was talking to this French guy, well, he was talking to me. Kind of talking big. He was born in Cameroon. His parents still lived there running a furniture factory, he said. He didn't see a future in Africa because of the Chinese. OK. He moved back to France somewhere in the Loire Valley. Got restless. Came to Costa Rica but the people he met there weren't that interested in his big money making ideas. Read "It was too expensive there." So Nica seemed like a great place for him. He has been here 2 days.
Just then my English friend Sue came and she can spot a phoney faster than anyone. She was a professor at the London School of Economics. She has met her share of phonies. I took off to beg the bar guy to turn down the disco music and order my frozen limeade. When I came back Sue was freezing this guy out. I didn't care. I can't give a 2 year old advice on starting a business. He soon left and she mentioned that when I was away he had said the he rather liked this country because there weren't too many Blacks or Arabs here.
I am glad I missed it because of my pledge of nonviolence, but I can't get it out of my mind. What is going on in this world? My grand daughter, grade one, told me that she had no school because it was King's birthday. I asked her what she had heard about Martin Luther King. She said he wanted love and peace. Then she told me the big news that he was dead. I said he was still alive for me because I remember his dream and what he wanted. She got excited and said she did too.
I like Nica very much. I can afford to be warm and well fed here. I strongly supported the revolution and wonder often what might have come of it had my country not killed it before it was fully birthed. Everyone has a story, and I from my lofty Buddhist perspective understand that everyone is making her own karma.
But this dude at the pool today flipped my shit. I was talking to this French guy, well, he was talking to me. Kind of talking big. He was born in Cameroon. His parents still lived there running a furniture factory, he said. He didn't see a future in Africa because of the Chinese. OK. He moved back to France somewhere in the Loire Valley. Got restless. Came to Costa Rica but the people he met there weren't that interested in his big money making ideas. Read "It was too expensive there." So Nica seemed like a great place for him. He has been here 2 days.
Just then my English friend Sue came and she can spot a phoney faster than anyone. She was a professor at the London School of Economics. She has met her share of phonies. I took off to beg the bar guy to turn down the disco music and order my frozen limeade. When I came back Sue was freezing this guy out. I didn't care. I can't give a 2 year old advice on starting a business. He soon left and she mentioned that when I was away he had said the he rather liked this country because there weren't too many Blacks or Arabs here.
I am glad I missed it because of my pledge of nonviolence, but I can't get it out of my mind. What is going on in this world? My grand daughter, grade one, told me that she had no school because it was King's birthday. I asked her what she had heard about Martin Luther King. She said he wanted love and peace. Then she told me the big news that he was dead. I said he was still alive for me because I remember his dream and what he wanted. She got excited and said she did too.
Monday, January 19, 2015
Please Use Some Common Sense!
This was my plea to a Canadian woman the other day. I am sometimes perceived as a risk taker. I am sometimes thought to be courageous. I can be a space shot from time to time. That being said, I know I actually, when everything is functioning normally, have a lot of common sense.
The other day I ended up talking to a woman who frustrated me. She was a nice woman from Canada who is here in Nicaragua working on a schools project. We were walking along the lake on a Sunday afternoon. Hundreds of people come to this area to escape the heat of Managua. Huge family groups spend all day chatting, eating, drinking beer and smoothies. It is a lovely scene.On Sundays that is. It is completely deserted the rest of the week. Well, this Canadian woman said proudly that she goes there every morning for her walk. I told her that was a bad idea, especially if she was alone and came at a regular time.
She looked at me as if I were crazy. I mentioned that it was unsafe to do so. She said it was fine. She had done it for five days in a row. I said it was a bad idea. She said a lot of gringos seemed to be paranoid. I didn't take up the challenge. I mean she was shutting me down, shutting me up. I held back from telling her why it was a bad idea. Any idiot could sort that one.
We walked and talked intermittently . It was hard to talk much over the waves of the lake and the blaring of disco music from the bars.Then she asked me where I went swimming up at the Laguna. The Laguna is a spectacular volcano crater filled with heavenly pure warm water. I told her that now that my friends have a house there I go to their place. I used to go to The Monkey Hut where you pay a few bucks and have guards and bathrooms and cold drinks. She said she wouldn't pay money to swim where all the people are on a lake with many miles of easy access and no people. I said that was a bad idea. Really bad. She seemed to think that anyone who would go to the Monkey Hut was an idiot.
OK, so I started to tell her that perhaps there was a very good reason that everyone did that like being a rich gringo (anyone who can afford a plane ticket), a woman, alone, vulnerable and so on might prove a temptation for barefoot, hungry, local thugs. Again with the "You are so paranoid" look. So, my question to myself was, "Should I paint the picture?" My answer to myself was "Start to and take your cue from her."
The cue was that she knew best.
I hope she doesn't become one of the stories I never told her.
Several incidents in my now distant past came to mind. One was the time about 30 years ago when I went to a shack on a quiet beach in Costa Rica to rent boogie boards for my kids. The guy said the boards were 1$ a day, but he needed 100$ deposit on each one. Huh? "Because when they drown, I never get my boards back." We left. My kids thought I was uptight.
Then there was the time when we hired a taxi to take us to a beautiful beach in Mexico. We couldn't believe it was empty and people were swimming at a much inferior beach. Randomly, as we arrived, my son asked the taxi man what the name of the beach was. "Shark beach." We left.
Then there was the time in Guatemala when we were cramming ourselves onto a chicken bus and I told the bus driver where I wanted to be dropped off. This was during the war. He looked down, and then caught my eyes with a nearly imperceptible shake of his head,"No." I asked him where to go and he told me another village. Later we found out that there was a terrible incident (massacre) happening in the direction we were heading and he saved us.
No one is foolproof. I can be too thick or distracted or frazzled to take a warning, but I am not too stubborn like that Canadian lady. A little bit of common sense goes a long way.
The other day I ended up talking to a woman who frustrated me. She was a nice woman from Canada who is here in Nicaragua working on a schools project. We were walking along the lake on a Sunday afternoon. Hundreds of people come to this area to escape the heat of Managua. Huge family groups spend all day chatting, eating, drinking beer and smoothies. It is a lovely scene.On Sundays that is. It is completely deserted the rest of the week. Well, this Canadian woman said proudly that she goes there every morning for her walk. I told her that was a bad idea, especially if she was alone and came at a regular time.
She looked at me as if I were crazy. I mentioned that it was unsafe to do so. She said it was fine. She had done it for five days in a row. I said it was a bad idea. She said a lot of gringos seemed to be paranoid. I didn't take up the challenge. I mean she was shutting me down, shutting me up. I held back from telling her why it was a bad idea. Any idiot could sort that one.
We walked and talked intermittently . It was hard to talk much over the waves of the lake and the blaring of disco music from the bars.Then she asked me where I went swimming up at the Laguna. The Laguna is a spectacular volcano crater filled with heavenly pure warm water. I told her that now that my friends have a house there I go to their place. I used to go to The Monkey Hut where you pay a few bucks and have guards and bathrooms and cold drinks. She said she wouldn't pay money to swim where all the people are on a lake with many miles of easy access and no people. I said that was a bad idea. Really bad. She seemed to think that anyone who would go to the Monkey Hut was an idiot.
OK, so I started to tell her that perhaps there was a very good reason that everyone did that like being a rich gringo (anyone who can afford a plane ticket), a woman, alone, vulnerable and so on might prove a temptation for barefoot, hungry, local thugs. Again with the "You are so paranoid" look. So, my question to myself was, "Should I paint the picture?" My answer to myself was "Start to and take your cue from her."
The cue was that she knew best.
I hope she doesn't become one of the stories I never told her.
Several incidents in my now distant past came to mind. One was the time about 30 years ago when I went to a shack on a quiet beach in Costa Rica to rent boogie boards for my kids. The guy said the boards were 1$ a day, but he needed 100$ deposit on each one. Huh? "Because when they drown, I never get my boards back." We left. My kids thought I was uptight.
Then there was the time when we hired a taxi to take us to a beautiful beach in Mexico. We couldn't believe it was empty and people were swimming at a much inferior beach. Randomly, as we arrived, my son asked the taxi man what the name of the beach was. "Shark beach." We left.
Then there was the time in Guatemala when we were cramming ourselves onto a chicken bus and I told the bus driver where I wanted to be dropped off. This was during the war. He looked down, and then caught my eyes with a nearly imperceptible shake of his head,"No." I asked him where to go and he told me another village. Later we found out that there was a terrible incident (massacre) happening in the direction we were heading and he saved us.
No one is foolproof. I can be too thick or distracted or frazzled to take a warning, but I am not too stubborn like that Canadian lady. A little bit of common sense goes a long way.
Sunday, January 18, 2015
"Who Are You Wearing?"
So, the question of the day to the actors on the award shows is "Who are you wearing?" Because of the east-west time difference, we get to see the actors in full evening dress in the afternoon sunshine. That's weird to me. It also seems weird to me that the focus is on the designer of the dress or tux. My guess is that in a few years the question will be "How much did your dress cost?" Everyone who is in the know can calculate easily such info from any given designers name. Everyone else must feel a little out of it. Back in my day (ahem) one recognized a Channel suit because Channel had a signature look, not because you asked. "Who designed that suit?" That would have shown ignorance which no one wants to show. Am I right?
Back in my day, you didn't have to have your people call every one's people to find out whether you would be wearing the same dress. A designer designed for you alone and the designer had a say in what worked on your body. That simply can not be true anymore.
That question aside, dressing up is a chance for an actor to be themselves, make their own costume choices and project their own character for a minute. That must be a little exciting. Are they the aging actress trying to look fifteen? Are they the actress who can't walk in her dress? Is that one the princess she seems to be?
My perception is that we all do this all day everyday. Certain conditions cage us in or give us more freedom. I can awake in the morning and decide whether I will be sporty, or hippie, or Yankee preppy, or sweat pants depressed or any number of options. I hate shopping and I own very little but I can be a lot of characters with what I have. In a kind of way we aren't much different from any previous era. You can almost always tell a Seattle person by his bicycle pants, a Marbleheader by the tennis skirt, a Parisian by her shoes and so on. In England, not so long ago, a banker wore a Bowler hat, a judge wore a wig, a country person wore tweeds and practical shoes. We dress as the character we are playing at.
My sense is that the real question that could be asked on the red carpet and to most people at any given time is "Who are you today?" and better yet, "Is your inside happy with your outside today?"
I am not dismissing the "fake it 'til you make it" approach. Nothing lightens life faster than answering "Great!" when asked "How are you?" But, there must be a better question than "Who are you wearing today?" Really.
Back in my day, you didn't have to have your people call every one's people to find out whether you would be wearing the same dress. A designer designed for you alone and the designer had a say in what worked on your body. That simply can not be true anymore.
That question aside, dressing up is a chance for an actor to be themselves, make their own costume choices and project their own character for a minute. That must be a little exciting. Are they the aging actress trying to look fifteen? Are they the actress who can't walk in her dress? Is that one the princess she seems to be?
My perception is that we all do this all day everyday. Certain conditions cage us in or give us more freedom. I can awake in the morning and decide whether I will be sporty, or hippie, or Yankee preppy, or sweat pants depressed or any number of options. I hate shopping and I own very little but I can be a lot of characters with what I have. In a kind of way we aren't much different from any previous era. You can almost always tell a Seattle person by his bicycle pants, a Marbleheader by the tennis skirt, a Parisian by her shoes and so on. In England, not so long ago, a banker wore a Bowler hat, a judge wore a wig, a country person wore tweeds and practical shoes. We dress as the character we are playing at.
My sense is that the real question that could be asked on the red carpet and to most people at any given time is "Who are you today?" and better yet, "Is your inside happy with your outside today?"
I am not dismissing the "fake it 'til you make it" approach. Nothing lightens life faster than answering "Great!" when asked "How are you?" But, there must be a better question than "Who are you wearing today?" Really.
Friday, January 16, 2015
Do you ever forget to star in your own movie?
I met a man at a party last night who is clearly the star in his own movie. He had that certain, je ne sais quoi, that great people famous or hidden all seem to have. In this case he was handsome, rich, funny, and seemed to be full of himself in a good way. No, I am not in crush. I fall for mostly priests and monks. I really do. I rather like the more anonymous men, those dedicated to a 'higher' calling. I am not talking about self righteous do gooders. For instance, I think the Dalai Lama is one of the sexiest men alive.
I like people who are not floundering about their identity and wondering what the meaning of this life is. I think that is alluring. I don't often get my man.Well, that might be an understatement. The thing is that if I can captivate a man's interest, my interest dwindles. Dr. Freud, are you having fun yet?
I don't know why I am going on about this except this man, William made a very strong impression. He was captivating to talk with because he put the focus on the other person, listening as though the whole world depended on the other. Really, I was watching. Whether he is an ass hole or a drug dealer or just a charming man, he reminded me that it is much more appealing to be fully in the moment and put your best foot forward. This sounds dumb like a hackneyed old line from "How to Win Friends and Influence People" but what I experienced and watched other experience was that he seemed to bring out the best in other people. That is cool. You didn't really want to whine about your septic system in that context. And believe me, I have been to expat parties where whining was the sport of the day.
I might be giving this William a lot more credit than he deserves. There were a lot of utterly accomplished people from many countries at this gathering. There was a good purpose to the party. These people are working to get the electric transformers covered so that hundreds of monkeys don't get electrocuted every year. Dude.
But I am grateful that I was reminded that we are not only the star, but the writer, producer, director of our lives. I can't control anything, that is obvious. If I could there would be no GMO foods, no wars, no sick people. But, I can eliminate scenes that don't serve. I can choose the tone. I can invite great people in. I can do better.
I like people who are not floundering about their identity and wondering what the meaning of this life is. I think that is alluring. I don't often get my man.Well, that might be an understatement. The thing is that if I can captivate a man's interest, my interest dwindles. Dr. Freud, are you having fun yet?
I don't know why I am going on about this except this man, William made a very strong impression. He was captivating to talk with because he put the focus on the other person, listening as though the whole world depended on the other. Really, I was watching. Whether he is an ass hole or a drug dealer or just a charming man, he reminded me that it is much more appealing to be fully in the moment and put your best foot forward. This sounds dumb like a hackneyed old line from "How to Win Friends and Influence People" but what I experienced and watched other experience was that he seemed to bring out the best in other people. That is cool. You didn't really want to whine about your septic system in that context. And believe me, I have been to expat parties where whining was the sport of the day.
I might be giving this William a lot more credit than he deserves. There were a lot of utterly accomplished people from many countries at this gathering. There was a good purpose to the party. These people are working to get the electric transformers covered so that hundreds of monkeys don't get electrocuted every year. Dude.
But I am grateful that I was reminded that we are not only the star, but the writer, producer, director of our lives. I can't control anything, that is obvious. If I could there would be no GMO foods, no wars, no sick people. But, I can eliminate scenes that don't serve. I can choose the tone. I can invite great people in. I can do better.
Sunday, January 11, 2015
If You Don't Have a Sense of Humor, You Are Fucked.
What is this sweet little old lady getting at? Firstly, I can't see how political correctness has improved the situation for any group. Hidden prejudice seems to fester more than overt. I am not sure I am right about this, but racial problems couldn't be worse right now, the world over. I suspect that the young people need to be our saviors here. In the USA, younger people just can't work up the terror, anger, righteousness about gay marriage that older people have been freaking out about forever. That's a good thing in my little world. Hopefully, soon we can put that issue to rest as we put my generation to their eternal rest. That along with many others.
One thing fundamentalists of any stripe seem to have in common is a complete lack of humor about themselves. And, really, pretty much every religion is by its very nature pretty funny. I am a Catholic of sorts, but I could see a lot of humor in having a birds and the bees talk with a teenager and then throwing in the Virgin Birth and explaining that. I can see a lot of humor in soldiers over thousands of years claiming to follow Judaism and talking their way out of the "Thou Shall Not Kill" problem. Christians of all ages have wiggled their way out of Jesus' ideas about "Love Your Neighbor As You Love Yourself." There is a lot of wiggle room there. Oh my God, take any page in the Bible and take it literally and you could die laughing.
But, the literalists don't see the humor. I think most of the creation stories I have read are beautiful, evocative, and real. They are real to me in that they offer another inspired picture of how we got here. But I am not going to kill someone because they don't believe that God is an ear of corn (although I like food images a lot). I am not going to kill anyone anyway but especially not for not believing that eating meat on Friday is a sin. I do not like the art work in Charlie Hebdo, never have. I do not like racism, but I suspect that I probably have some unconscious dirty little knee-jerk crap that could surprise me. But, although I take my spiritual life seriously, especially when things aren't going my way, really it is pretty bizarre when taken literally or dissected.
For me, today, the issues are very muddled. What is religious hatred (should those words even sit together?) and what is racism and what is political economic maneuvering and what is nationalism? Nothing quite makes sense. I mean are Arabs even a race? The name Iran stands for Aryan. That is confusing. I am very confused and I am sad. I am sad if we are launched to replay the Crusades, the Holocaust, the extermination of Indigenous Peoples the world over.
Lama Marut says the best way to get rid of an irritating person is to see what bad karma they are making for themselves and generate compassion. An irritating person can be someone who is cutting into the line at the super or someone pointing a gun at you. Same thing. It is impossible to love and hate at the same time. I have tried it. I think it helps to look at myself and have a good laugh and then step off my high horse. I have even tried this with Sarah Palin. In reality, I am as rediculous as she is. Tina Fey where are you when I need you?
One thing fundamentalists of any stripe seem to have in common is a complete lack of humor about themselves. And, really, pretty much every religion is by its very nature pretty funny. I am a Catholic of sorts, but I could see a lot of humor in having a birds and the bees talk with a teenager and then throwing in the Virgin Birth and explaining that. I can see a lot of humor in soldiers over thousands of years claiming to follow Judaism and talking their way out of the "Thou Shall Not Kill" problem. Christians of all ages have wiggled their way out of Jesus' ideas about "Love Your Neighbor As You Love Yourself." There is a lot of wiggle room there. Oh my God, take any page in the Bible and take it literally and you could die laughing.
But, the literalists don't see the humor. I think most of the creation stories I have read are beautiful, evocative, and real. They are real to me in that they offer another inspired picture of how we got here. But I am not going to kill someone because they don't believe that God is an ear of corn (although I like food images a lot). I am not going to kill anyone anyway but especially not for not believing that eating meat on Friday is a sin. I do not like the art work in Charlie Hebdo, never have. I do not like racism, but I suspect that I probably have some unconscious dirty little knee-jerk crap that could surprise me. But, although I take my spiritual life seriously, especially when things aren't going my way, really it is pretty bizarre when taken literally or dissected.
For me, today, the issues are very muddled. What is religious hatred (should those words even sit together?) and what is racism and what is political economic maneuvering and what is nationalism? Nothing quite makes sense. I mean are Arabs even a race? The name Iran stands for Aryan. That is confusing. I am very confused and I am sad. I am sad if we are launched to replay the Crusades, the Holocaust, the extermination of Indigenous Peoples the world over.
Lama Marut says the best way to get rid of an irritating person is to see what bad karma they are making for themselves and generate compassion. An irritating person can be someone who is cutting into the line at the super or someone pointing a gun at you. Same thing. It is impossible to love and hate at the same time. I have tried it. I think it helps to look at myself and have a good laugh and then step off my high horse. I have even tried this with Sarah Palin. In reality, I am as rediculous as she is. Tina Fey where are you when I need you?
Friday, January 9, 2015
Je suis Charlie! Where can the healing begin?
As an ignorant bystander, I still have a voice. My gut feeling is that prejudice has roots that are so deep that many layers of the onion need to be peeled off. One layer which is particularly stubborn is our ignorant perception that there is not enough. In the USA today this is cause for concern. Many of us have too much of everything or at least too much of the wrong things. We are drowning in stuff. In many places second hand stores and Goodwill Industries can't even accept new donations. They are buried. Self storage places are filled o the gills and many are not even bothering with small units anymore. The demand is for huge units. So much shit to keep. It would be hard to argue that fat isn't a huge problem. OK so much of it is high fructose corn syrup and not really food but while suffering the diseases of junk food, we still endure the hunger and pain of millions of kids who have nothing. We cut food stamps. We fear immigration because the newcomers will take away from what we have. I may be one of the people paying billions a year to get rid of fat, but I will not share my food with a hungry child especially if she has a darker skin color.
If we could pray once a day Lama Marut's favorite mantra, "I have enough." we might start to feel a shift. Every religion has some ingredient that boils down to "Give and you shall receive." It makes sense.
We could practice finding happiness in the well being of others. This little practice can generate a lot of happiness which is what we crave, isn't it? Must we always think that distraction gives happiness, especially if we can fool ourselves into thinking it makes us special? One genius of Steve Jobs was to give a billion iPhone users to conceit that they we uniquely special to own this device. Or as Disney Land gets pricier, even as millions go, you get the illusion of privilege from the idea that millions can't do it. Never mind that Disney is up there with with worst labor exploiters on planet earth. I can have my day of distraction standing in line and it is better because others can't have it.
I am not a Communist or even a Socialist. I don't think we have hit upon an "ist' that works yet. One reason is that our deep down inner attitude is deeply flawed. We have to be better than someone to feel better about ourselves. This doesn't make sense.
I suspect that the place to start to heal the nightmare that is currently unfolding in Paris, in Australia, in the USA, in Syria, In Yemen, in Afghanistan, in Iraq, and so on, would be to make a change in the Palestinian/Israeli situation. That seems to be the microcosm of the macrocosm. It is not impossible. It can be done. It is probably simple. I fear that nothing on the world stage can get better until this tiny piece of geography is resolved. That should be the shining light on the hill, the beacon that leads others to finding peace. I vote for Jesus, Mohammed, and Moses to all land at the same moment and put some common sense in front of the intransigent humans. If we want happiness we are going about it in the wrong way. If that isn't obvious to everyone, then we are in deeper trouble than I can imagine. "I have enough."
If we could pray once a day Lama Marut's favorite mantra, "I have enough." we might start to feel a shift. Every religion has some ingredient that boils down to "Give and you shall receive." It makes sense.
We could practice finding happiness in the well being of others. This little practice can generate a lot of happiness which is what we crave, isn't it? Must we always think that distraction gives happiness, especially if we can fool ourselves into thinking it makes us special? One genius of Steve Jobs was to give a billion iPhone users to conceit that they we uniquely special to own this device. Or as Disney Land gets pricier, even as millions go, you get the illusion of privilege from the idea that millions can't do it. Never mind that Disney is up there with with worst labor exploiters on planet earth. I can have my day of distraction standing in line and it is better because others can't have it.
I am not a Communist or even a Socialist. I don't think we have hit upon an "ist' that works yet. One reason is that our deep down inner attitude is deeply flawed. We have to be better than someone to feel better about ourselves. This doesn't make sense.
I suspect that the place to start to heal the nightmare that is currently unfolding in Paris, in Australia, in the USA, in Syria, In Yemen, in Afghanistan, in Iraq, and so on, would be to make a change in the Palestinian/Israeli situation. That seems to be the microcosm of the macrocosm. It is not impossible. It can be done. It is probably simple. I fear that nothing on the world stage can get better until this tiny piece of geography is resolved. That should be the shining light on the hill, the beacon that leads others to finding peace. I vote for Jesus, Mohammed, and Moses to all land at the same moment and put some common sense in front of the intransigent humans. If we want happiness we are going about it in the wrong way. If that isn't obvious to everyone, then we are in deeper trouble than I can imagine. "I have enough."
Tuesday, January 6, 2015
Hola amigos y amigas! Are old people invisible?
Lots of stuff on my mind. One thought, feeling, intuition, that comes to mind goes something like this: You know how we often, insensitively, call homeless people "the homeless"? Well, I don't yet know whether it is good or bad, but "old people" or "retired folks" feels like a similar grouping. Looking at homeless people as "the homeless" gives us an out from real engagement. They are not Louisa or Mark. If they were, we would have to greet them, hear their stories, be involved, however fleetingly. As an aging woman, I have been feeling that my life and my past and my joys and sorrows are for the most past not of interest or at least not accessible to others.
This is not a moan or a bad thing, nor is it to say I am in anyway ignored or marginalized by my friends and family. It is something else I am trying to get at. Firstly, in the USA we tend to start every new encounter with the question, "What do you do?". Answers like, "I go where it is warm." or "I take my granddaughter for walks." or "I volunteer at Greenpeace." are excellent conversation stoppers. You never even get to "I invented the MRI machine" or "I saved a village in Guatemala." or "I painted the Sistine Chapel." let alone "We stopped the building of the second Seabrook NH nuke and that stopped all nuclear power construction in the US up to now.
For an initial negative observation, most young people know no history. Sorry. But this is true. Remember the nice young lady with a Masters Degree from an outstanding college who informed me that the USA was not just the first but the only democracy in the world and where had I been if I didn't know this. On my side, I am slower and back off from rhapsodic talk about new phones or tablets or the joys of fancy brands. I am kind of done with stuff. I also have to work hard to be interested in non-action complaints. If you don't like something do something to make it better or at least stop buying it. So, I am probably a bit more rigid than I was when I was younger. Yes, I am most definitely.
I am bumbling here, trying to make sense of life at a new stage. There is a tremendous freedom in being nobody. I don't have to keep up any image and there is no hustle to impress. There is a peaceful anonymity. But there is also a rather uncomfortable invisibility. I am convinced that a lot of really great people were humble. I would like to be humble, but it is a little like squeezing the genii back into the bottle to let go of that ego rush of the past.
Just saying...
This is not a moan or a bad thing, nor is it to say I am in anyway ignored or marginalized by my friends and family. It is something else I am trying to get at. Firstly, in the USA we tend to start every new encounter with the question, "What do you do?". Answers like, "I go where it is warm." or "I take my granddaughter for walks." or "I volunteer at Greenpeace." are excellent conversation stoppers. You never even get to "I invented the MRI machine" or "I saved a village in Guatemala." or "I painted the Sistine Chapel." let alone "We stopped the building of the second Seabrook NH nuke and that stopped all nuclear power construction in the US up to now.
For an initial negative observation, most young people know no history. Sorry. But this is true. Remember the nice young lady with a Masters Degree from an outstanding college who informed me that the USA was not just the first but the only democracy in the world and where had I been if I didn't know this. On my side, I am slower and back off from rhapsodic talk about new phones or tablets or the joys of fancy brands. I am kind of done with stuff. I also have to work hard to be interested in non-action complaints. If you don't like something do something to make it better or at least stop buying it. So, I am probably a bit more rigid than I was when I was younger. Yes, I am most definitely.
I am bumbling here, trying to make sense of life at a new stage. There is a tremendous freedom in being nobody. I don't have to keep up any image and there is no hustle to impress. There is a peaceful anonymity. But there is also a rather uncomfortable invisibility. I am convinced that a lot of really great people were humble. I would like to be humble, but it is a little like squeezing the genii back into the bottle to let go of that ego rush of the past.
Just saying...
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