Amazon

Saturday, October 30, 2010

S-T-R-E-S-S-E-D at Christmas?

[New blogs posted every weekend. For previous blogs please visit “blog archive” to the lower right of this screen. Click on the small black arrows for a drop down list.]

It’s almost Christmas. No, don't gasp in horror. Take a long hard look at the calendar. Count the pay periods. For those who do not celebrate Christmas this posting may seem a bit odd. For those who do celebrate Christmas but do not cook or purchase presents and rely on their wives and moms to do those things, this posting may also seem odd. This post is for those of us who do it all. Year after year after year after year after year. For me it has always been a love/hate relationship. [This blog is about the mechanics of celebrating rather than the religious importance. It’s such a huge event that people all over the world celebrate even if they are not Christian. Talk about an impact one human made on the world!]

The Ghost of Christmas Past (Sorry, Mr. Dickens)

I began my solo adult Christmas season prep at 22 when I married. Prior to that, Christmas meant going out with all my single friends during the holidays, dancing, parties, restaurants, ski trips, then two or three days at home to gluttonize and more presents than would fit in the car and my tiny apartment. Ah, the good ole’ days. I have vague peripheral memories of my mom during my childhood at Christmas. She was a blur in a pretty apron. Sort of like she was caught in a transporter beam and hadn’t quite materialized after being beamed up.

Childhood Christmases at my house were the year’s top event. Nothing came close. Not birthdays nor anniversaries or new babies. Nothing. We were Christmas fanatics. We were Catholic too and the Catholics really do Christmas. And we are Portuguese. For those who haven’t had the pleasure of eating meals prepared by the Portuguese at Christmas, well, there’s nothing like it. (One summer while camping when I was about 10 we found ourselves camped next to another Portuguese family. I’m still not fully recovered and I still haven’t lost the weight I gained from all the food. I’m 65.) I’m not maligning other Christian celebrations or other gene pools but I experienced Catholic Portuguese Christmases and then later Methodist and Presbyterian during marriage. I have to say, by comparison, the Catholics in my group were more intense. And not just the celebration with food and gifts but the religious element was huge.

For the first few years of my married Christmases I did very well. Lots of holiday decorations and nice meals. I invited family to our tiny apartment a couple of times but mostly we went to my sister-in-law’s home because she had a family and a large house. But I eventually had kids and preferred staying home and that’s when my childhood memories took control of my brain and wrung me out year after year. I became a stressed out fanatic. Though we weren’t devout churchgoers, when the kids arrived we made an effort to introduce them to religion and found a couple of churches we liked depending on where we lived. They were not Catholic churches and I found them somewhat tame and, I’m afraid, a little boring. I think that’s because they weren’t Portuguese. I could be wrong.

Each year while the kids were growing up I purchased more and more decorations. Eventually my boxes filled ¼ of our garage. To set up the house properly it took more than a week. Just lugging the boxes inside took a couple of days. Next, I moved things out of the house into the garage for the Christmas season so that I’d have room for all my decorations. So let’s say just preparing the house for decorating with moving in and out took about 2.5 days. More depending on the size of the house we lived in over the years.

Initially I started this about two weeks before Christmas but with Christmas shopping and food planning and grocery shopping increasing in insane amounts each year it never seemed to be enough time so I moved it out to three weeks. Eventually, I started Christmas prep the day after Thanksgiving. While others were out taking advantage of Christmas shopping bargains the day after Thanksgiving I was lugging boxes and furniture all over my house and garage. I decorated the entire house first then did the tree. The kids “helped” me and when they went to bed I took the 10 ornaments they put on one branch and placed them more evenly on the tree. Likewise with tinsel. I took the giant glob they had placed on the tree and spread it out. Years later I learned that tinsel was bad for pets so I told my kids we couldn’t put tinsel on the tree anymore because of our dogs. They were very compliant because they loved our dogs. (I hated tinsel.) By the following weekend the house was done.

Next, shopping. Shopping during the holidays is intense. The crowds, bad weather, stressing about finances, planning, learning about new guests that were coming, placed shopping at the top of my list of things I hated. At that time I did a lot of shopping for a large family. The in-laws, my family, and my stepsiblings. I had gone from a single-child childhood to a large family spread out all over the country. I also had a rather strong make-it-myself vibe and quite often made personalized gifts for each family member. I sent out over 300 Christmas cards and some years made them myself. When I bought gifts for my kids I had two distinct types of gift-wrapping. One would be traditional wrapping paper in various patterns but each year I purchased special foil wrap with special nametags—all from Santa. All the gifts that weren’t from Santa were placed under the tree early on. On Christmas Eve when the kids went to bed I brought out all the foil gifts and placed them sort of sloppily around the front of the tree to look like Santa dropped them there because he was in a hurry. The dogs ate the cookies and drank the milk the kids left for Santa. (Sorry kids.)

Finally, food. I spent a lot of time on menus. Sometimes we had out of state family staying with us which meant many meals. And because it was Christmas season I didn’t want ordinary meals so I always came up with holiday fare I’d find in magazines or recipes from friends. It all had to be special and it had to be cooked from scratch. I never took a short cut though there were plenty out there. I cooked and cleaned and cooked and cleaned and when the big day arrived I was up at dawn and cooked my heart out all day having already put on a huge buffet the night before. The day after Christmas I was unconscious.

One would think that after my divorce I would have pulled back. Nope. I became more fanatical. I think I tried to make up for the loss of our two-parent family so I went berserk. I continued doing the same routine but now with very limited finances. It was a juggling act of major skill and talent to pull great Christmases out of my sorry purse. But I did. Then, like always, the day after Christmas I was unconscious.

There are countless horror stories I could share. One year while working as a single¬ parent with two kids I spent an entire weekend in my pajamas decorating the house and wrapping gifts. I never got dressed. I was so desperate to get it all done that I got up at dawn and stayed up all night. When I drove to work Monday morning I hallucinated. Reindeer were flying over the top of my car. Preparing for the holidays as a crazed mom is a familiar story. There are those reading this who are tired just thinking about it. I’ve read so many articles on Christmas stress and how moms, in particular, experience major depression, horrendous fatigue, massive debt, and the overwhelming responsibility of presentation that this blog pales in comparison. But I think it’s fairly typical of my age group and perhaps younger women coming up are following this trend. Ugh.

The Ghost of Christmas Present

I don't do that anymore. It’s easy for me to pull back now because I’m no longer married and I don't have small children and I don't have grandchildren yet. When I do have grandchildren I hope I don't go crazy and if I do I hope my friends kick me. The last few Christmases have been peaceful events with fires, food (but not of the crazy caliber), visiting, watching great movies, a few simple gifts, and fewer days of celebrating. I still decorate and I still have ¼ of my garage filled with decorations, but that’s the only craziness I’ve allowed to remain. (I stopped sending Christmas cards and that added years to my life expectancy.) I still decorate because I love to see all the lights and colors and I have so many special decorations that were gifts from family and friends and I love seeing them each year. But I cut back on everything else. And I’m retired. No more racing home from work to prepare for the holidays. But even my last few years at work I had cut down on the hoopla and started just enjoying a more peaceful season. I’ve even purchased prepared food at the better stores that make wonderful specialty items for the holidays.

Our lives change over the years. We lose in-laws through divorce or passings, our kids grow up, our parents sometimes are gone, and life evolves. We should evolve too. We should only do Christmas Crazy if we can do it without a meltdown. I still see my mom as a flash of white light from my childhood. She did it all and worked full time. She wasn’t June Cleaver. Later in life she stopped and started really enjoying her Christmases. And now I do too. As someone said long ago—just say no.

www.sharonstrawhandgarner.com

[No part of this content may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author. Blog series began in March 2009.]

Sunday, October 24, 2010

Voting is hard!

[New blogs posted every weekend. For previous blogs please visit “blog archive” to the lower right of this screen. Click on the small black arrows for a drop down list.]

Voting rights around the world are an ongoing disappointment. Through research before this posting I refreshed my memory regarding how problematic voting has been historically (and currently). Our own country only granted voting privileges to African American men (not women of ANY color) in 1870 with the 15th Amendment. 1870 isn’t that long ago for the land of the free. In 1920 women were finally allowed to vote after a huge movement and struggle. 1920. That’s only 90 years ago. President Woodrow Wilson wasn’t too keen on that amendment, but Congress was so we have the 19th Amendment. 1920. How old are you? That just doesn’t seem that long ago to me.

In addition to voting rights still evolving we have voting fraud in many parts of the world. We have armed men standing outside polling places forcing people to vote for a particular “candidate” and their ballots are reviewed to make sure they did. We also have armed men standing outside polling stations keeping people from going inside! It’s 2010. How can that be? And women are excluded in many places from voting at all. Here’s a link on our struggle in the U.S.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Voting_rights_in_the_United_States

With all that said, the concept of voting is hard. And it seems to be getting harder. I have never missed any election in my entire life. In the beginning it seemed so clear and simple. I didn’t spend too much time looking things over and studying the people and issues. Now I spend hours on it and when I finally vote there is usually hair pulling and lots of coffee. Sometimes wine. When did that happen? (Not the wine, the stress about voting.)

Partly it’s because I’m older and wiser. I may have voted carelessly in my youth. I understood the big issues and the big people but I don't recall delving into all of it quite the way I do now, especially local issues and propositions and measures. I’m driven now and I’ve made major changes in how I vote and how I prepare to vote. For one thing, I’ve dumped going to the polling places and I’ve been voting via the U.S. Mail with absentee ballots for many years.

I couldn’t wait for the opportunity to vote. Way back then we had to be 21. To me it was truly when I became an adult. I could vote! The very first time I voted I lived in San Francisco. I got up on the morning of the my first vote and left a little early to arrive at the polling place when it opened to avoid being too late to work. I told my supervisor I was voting for the first time the next morning and he was thrilled and told me to take my time. Voting does that to people. It’s so incredibly special and so, well, American (except before 1870 and 1920).

So I skipped my leisurely morning coffee and walked over to my polling station. It wasn’t far and in fact was on the bus line I needed to continue on to work after voting. When I arrived there was a riot. Not a riot with guns and people running and screaming but a large confused and agitated bunch of people standing in front of a locked garage door. I joined the line and soon learned that the people responsible for opening the garage for voting were not there yet. We didn’t have cell phones in those days so we were all stuck wondering what in the world was going on. Some people knocked on the door of the home and no one answered. I waited 30 minutes then left and decided I’d vote after work.

When I got to work my supervisor was very excited and wanted to know how it went. He was wearing a button that stated in red, white, and blue “I voted! Did you?” He glanced at my chest (looking for the button) but I explained the problem and how disappointed I was. He immediately marched to his office and made several phone calls and shot questions at me and then asked for my address and after a few minutes he came out of his office with a piece of paper and my new polling location. Though volunteers were assigned to the closed location that morning they never showed up. Never. In fact, though I thought I’d be going there after work I was indeed directed to another location because—the poll volunteers never showed up. To this day I wonder how many people didn’t vote that day because of that failed location. My boss tracked down my new location. Did others have supervisors that did that? Polling location mishaps are more common than we like to think. Each election thousands of people are not able to vote for a variety of bizarre reasons. Some reasons are questionable.

After work I had to take a different bus, not as close to my apartment as the first location, and found the new polling place. I stood in line then found myself standing in front of three volunteers. After a painfully long period of time they determined I wasn’t on their list though I explained that fact to them when I arrived. Remember: no computers, no cell phones. Of course I wasn’t on their list. This wasn’t my official polling place! I was on the verge of becoming hysterical when a man approached the check in table and took me aside and we went to a small desk in the house (in the laundry room) where he made a phone call and found me. [Note: recently child molesters were discovered to be living at a few polling places in the Bay Area. Some voters checked the list of convicted molesters and found polling places housing these people. Those locations were then broadcast on the news. Bet that didn’t help voter turnout.] By this time many from my morning riot line had arrived and this poor man must have spent the rest of the evening checking them all in by phone in the laundry room. Very sophisticated voting procedure. The United States of America voting via laundry room authority. I wonder how many didn’t make the cut? Happily, I was allowed to vote and I did. Well, I wasn’t “happy” but it was done. I didn’t get a button that said “I voted! Did you?”

Prior to arriving at both polling places I had a list of people and issues written on a piece of paper clutched in my 21-year-old hand. As I waited for my turn, which took a very long time, I realized I was one of the few voters with a list. Not a single person seemed to have a list of options to take inside their booth. I was in and out in no time. As I put my ballot in a box the volunteer standing there asked “Are you sure you read the entire ballot? It didn’t take you very long.” A gentle scolding for a newbie. I showed him my handwritten list and he shielded his eyes.

Over the years I experienced similar situations but none quite that bad. Many had horrendously long lines with “volunteers” who were less than efficient. Many times I watched voters leave the line to pick up kids or husbands or wives or whatever and wondered if they ever came back to vote. Few brought their sample ballots or notes with them. In addition to that, new voting methods were introduced frequently, which propelled voters into frenzy. Let’s not forget the hanging chads. I read about that again while preparing this post and ended up laughing hysterically. It wasn’t funny. I was truly hysterical.

Shortly after the hanging chad fiasco my son and I came to a miraculous conclusion. Why couldn’t we vote from home on our computers? For many years I’ve been voting via the absentee method but why isn’t there a system for voting from home on our computers? We can pay our income taxes that way. We can pay everything that way. I signed up for Social Security and Medicare online. Certainly no more private or secret than voting. When we shop at a department store our item is input by our sales associate and it immediately inventories the item by numbers and colors and stocked items and the store knows the minute they need to order more of that item and my tax is charged and my credit card accepted and off I go. If I buy 30 items (say 15 candidates and 15 propositions) it’s all taken care of in a matter of a few minutes, possibly fewer than five. Why can’t voting be that way? It can and I believe there are sinister reasons that it isn’t being done. Or incompetent reasons. Either way it’s a mess. And why is voting so wildly different from location to location throughout the country? My computer can run my house and a small business and an airport but I can’t vote online?

I know I’ve said before during the 86 blogs I’ve posted that I’m not a conspiracy theorist but really, why does voting have to be so hard? My vet sends me lab results my dogs online .I get reports from my gynecologist online. That’s a lot more private than voting for my local mayor. And if privacy isn’t the issue, which the “powers that be” claim is a valid reason, then fraud must certainly be out there. Those same “powers that be” are worried about fraud. Guess what? We already have plenty of fraud in voting. Some deliberate and some due to incompetence. Lots of incompetence. [Though the absentee ballot is my preferred method I have some issues with the little packet. It’s insanely “busy” and easy to destroy by accident. A little rip here, a small tear there--and it becomes garbage.] For the folks without computers they could use a family member’s computer or vote at a voting center with volunteers---to assist them. My 85-year-old mother would prefer voting online because she doesn’t get out anymore but is computerized!

So the above diatribe is why I chose long ago to vote via absentee. I’m a permanent absentee voter. I have some acquaintances who enjoy going to their neighborhood polling place. I never once found that an enjoyable experience. Not once. I took both kids to vote when they first voted and we had the same poor experience getting through the line and waiting and waiting and waiting. Perhaps it’s because I mostly vote in urban settings. Maybe if I voted in Yreka it would be a more pleasant experience. (Small town in California.)

All that aside, the problem I have with voting now is I don't like most of the candidates and I don’t trust the issues. So though I’ve resolved polling place nightmares I now face the biggest problem of all: who’s telling the truth? That’s a lot worse than a hanging chad. Our politicians and the people who propose the propositions and measures are not to be trusted. Perhaps they never have been but today I don't believe any of them. So I spend hours and hours and hours and hours ferreting out the truth and the records of the candidates and then I feel like taking my entire ballot and putting it through the shredder. But I won’t and I can’t. I still believe those who fought for my right to vote deserve my respect even if our politicians don’t. So I vote. And it’s hard and it’s painful.

But like changing my polling place options I have now changed my ballot options. I no longer vote for the lesser of two or three evils. If I don't like any of the candidates after my research I do not vote for any of them. I always vote for the measures and propositions even though I get migraines after reading the materials and trying to figure out who’s lying. I still vote for the measures because I want to make sure whoever needs the money, if I believe them, gets it. If I don't like them, I vote against the prop or measure. With candidates it’s so much harder. If we research each candidate it is entirely possible to end up not liking any of them.

Some family and friends have told me I’m wasting my vote by not selecting the least objectionable candidate. I can just see that button: “I voted for the least objectionable candidate! Did you?” Back in May I posted a blog entitled Voting for Dollars. In it I discussed my dislike of the vile advertising that our politicians are allowed to spit at us for millions of dollars. Because I’m 65 I’ve watched it get worse and worse with every election, right down to local elections. There are countless reports on the evening news that depict awful commercials from other parts of the country that are deemed funny or outrageous or even scandalous. Some are absolutely untrue and sometimes the campaigns are sued but the cat is already out of the bag.

I persuaded readers not to vote based on the commercials but rather to read about everything instead. There’s so much information on all these people and the issues that it’s quite easy to find the right vote for each person. Voting for commercials is stupid. We can’t be stupid and we don't have to vote for anyone or anything if we don't want to. But we do have to vote. Especially women. Our sisters of long ago fought hard for us and we must honor them by voting. Even if it makes us sick to our stomachs.

We don't get buttons if we vote absentee. Maybe it’s for the best. How about “I voted but my heart wasn’t in it. Did you?” Or “I voted but only for one proposition. Did you?” Or “I voted only because my foresisters fought so hard for me to vote that I feel guilty if I don't. Did you?” They don't make big enough buttons.

www.sharonstrawhandgarner.com

[No part of this content may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author. Blog series began in March 2009.]

Saturday, October 16, 2010

Stuck in a copper mine with YOUR coworkers?

[New blogs posted every weekend. For previous blogs please visit “blog archive” to the lower right of this screen. Click on the small black arrows for a drop down list.]

Let’s examine our past or present coworkers and supervisors. What would it be like to be trapped with them in a mine for a couple of months? I retired at 62 and started my adult work life at 18. I’ve thought about the various offices I’ve worked in and wondered which of those “teams” would have survived in a mine disaster. I think I would have been dead in two days.

In each of the offices I’ve worked in there have been disappointing coworkers. Some were discourteous and disingenuous on a regular basis and would stomp on the bodies of those in the mine to get the last drop of water. I know that sounds harsh but I had very few coworkers I would trust with my life if stuck in a survival shelter. In fact, Lord of the Flies comes to mind.

In an early job my desk was downstairs in a textile company. One day I went to lunch and when I returned my desk was gone. It had been moved upstairs next to the owner of the company in an isolated part of the factory. He made advances. There were only four women in the company (downstairs) and the rest were men. I left and never went back. With this man’s serious aggression issues I would have had a tough time trapped in a mine with him for two hours let alone two months.

How many TV shows, movies, and books are out there on the topic of working with horrible people? Countless studies have determined that work efficiency can be directly related to the cohesiveness (or lack there of) of a work group. Selecting the right employees is an art form. So many managers failed art class.

Countless times over the years my lunch/beverages disappeared from office refrigerators. Not just a few times but countless times. In one office it happened so often I brought a “surprise” lunch one day with questionable leftovers and wrapped it all up nicely and waited. I suppose it was risky and the thief could have gotten sick but I was so angry I didn’t care. Sure enough, the lunch disappeared. I checked to see if it turned up in any of the lunchroom trashcans, uneaten, but I never saw it again. I believe to this day someone ate that disgusting lunch.

Sometimes the thieves took my sandwich storage containers as well so I switched to foil. I tried using lunch boxes and that didn’t help. Thieves went inside the lunch boxes and took what they wanted and left me with an apple. In one office I started writing the department manager’s name on all my lunches. They were never taken again.

Then there are team “projects.” So many misguided managers think they can encourage minimal workers to come up to speed with a team project when all that happens is the overburdened workers end up with the work in the end. The level of efficiency per person varies tremendously. The expectation that a person can be motivated to complete a project on time when they can’t get to work on time and can’t come back from lunch on time is ludicrous. Yet they need employment, but employment that suits their work style, whatever it may be. Management fails all of us when not providing proper tasks for individual abilities. Everyone can do something. Some can’t do much but can do small tasks well. It’s a management issue.

How many team-building sessions conclude with a return to the office and resumption of our collective complacency as though the team had never gone through a team building session? The team building sessions are fun but I never learned a thing about anyone that I didn’t already know. The same people who griped about everything every day griped at the team building sessions—often about the team building sessions themselves.

This same process was observed at inclusivity training. If one hates a particular group (ethnic, gender, religion, orientation or whatever) and has from birth, it is unlikely they are going to suddenly embrace those coworkers after an inclusivity session. I’ve never witnessed changes of that nature take place. However, when proper behavior is demanded I have noticed people pull in and at least behave civilly but their inner core remains hateful and it’s always on the surface. In a mine shelter it could turn ugly.

I’ve spent some time the last couple of days remembering specific coworkers and tried to place them in the mine. It isn’t a pretty picture. I recall one incident years ago when a sniper appeared on the top of my office building. The building went into lock-down. Most people quietly visited or read. Some continued to work a little to keep their minds off the activities outside. It was a tremendous opportunity to observe people in a scary situation and all the people behaved exactly as I thought they would. Some immediately took charge and told everyone to move away from the windows. They weren’t supervisors, just coworkers who knew instinctively what to do. More than one supervisor closed themselves off in their offices. Later they said it was because they wanted to continue working since their windows were on the opposite side of the sniper location. So they left their subordinates alone to fend for themselves. Pity the miners with those leaders.

A couple of people got a bit too emotional right from the beginning long before we had news about the situation outside. It only takes one emotional person to turn others into jelly. It’s contagious. Some got their lunch out of the lunchroom (probably my lunch). Some griped. There are always those. Others tried to figure out a way to get out of the office through a back exit. We were not allowed to leave the area where we were locked down but some decided they were not going to listen to the experts and therefore possibly put us all in danger by opening a locked door with the potential to allow the gunman inside.

The sniper turned out to be a homeless man with a broom sweeping the roof. As the office returned to normal after we got the all-clear very few of us were able to return to our routine work day. We sat at our desks and pushed papers around but we all talked softly and excitedly about the experience and recalled similar situations we had heard about in the news. Some with tragic endings.

I felt we should have been given the remainder of the day off to go home and relax and take deep breaths and be thankful that it was a broom and not a rifle. But the powers that be wanted their pound of flesh and so we remained. They concluded it was best for us to return to our normal routine. I wanted to go home and hug my kids. Screw the normal routine. Were the miners instructed to mine copper while they were waiting for rescue? No, I don't think so.

Some workers may not be the strongest or most clever or most organized but perhaps they are the strongest in character. People who would eat a tiny bite of cracker and be happy with it so that everyone would have a bite of cracker. (These would not be people who would steal someone’s lunch from a lunchroom.) Quite often it’s the quiet thinkers that get people through the danger, people who assess and think quickly but with common sense. Common sense is a gift. I know very few who have been gifted.

Years ago in a group of social friends, all married couples, we met for cocktails one evening to discuss where to go to dinner. Everyone had a favorite restaurant so I suggested we put all our choices in a bowl then pick one and that would be the place. We did that and a restaurant was selected and everyone griped and complained. I grabbed my purse and was ready to go to dinner but instead an argument ensued and another round of bowl picking began.

Another restaurant came out of the bowl and again an argument commenced. They were about to do this again when I said “forget it” and left with my husband. In the end, everyone left and went to their own restaurant of choice. I liked this group. We had fun together. I was tremendously disappointed that they behaved this way. Initially I blamed it on alcohol but I don't think that was it. I think it was their individual core values and I wouldn’t want to be stuck in a mine with them.

In addition to the sniper event the same building also experienced a bomb threat. It was years after the sniper incident but we all remembered the homeless man with a broom. We were inclined to think it was another hoax. We’d heard a pickup truck had a bomb under it in our parking lot and we were to vacate the building via the opposite exit. Naturally we could not head to the parking lot for our cars so we all took off far away from the scene. There wasn’t too much in the way of assistance for us because the concentration was in the parking lot. We ended up across the street but there were so many fire engines and trucks and police cars we couldn’t see a thing.

Not everyone had cell phones in those days but some borrowed phones from those who did and made calls and had loved ones pick them up. They left for the day. Others without alternate transportation left the area and went to lunch. We didn’t believe there was a bomb. After a comfortable two-hour lunch we went back to the bombsite and most of the fire engines and trucks and cars were gone but a few police officers were standing outside. They said we could go back to our offices and that the bomb had been located and removed. The bomb had been located and removed. There really was a bomb!

For those of us returning to the office it was an uncomfortable afternoon. Much worse than the sniper incident. After the sniper/broom incident we all relaxed and spent the day chatting nervously about the exciting adventure. Because the bomb was real we did not have the same casual carefree attitude. We were serious and concerned. At this point we didn’t know the origin of the bomb or the reason it was planted. None of us were eager to go home that night without inspecting our cars.

About an hour before we left that day word spread that the bomb was planted as the result of a personal dispute between spouses. With that knowledge we all felt relieved it wasn’t an act of terrorism but some of us worried that the spouse could have left other bombs just because he was deranged. The police assured everyone all cars had been checked and it was safe to leave.

The next day those who had left the event and gone home when we vacated the building earlier the previous day were in trouble. They had no authority to leave and they would have to take a vacation day for leaving without permission. So here’s my point: we had zero leadership that day and it was a real bomb. If we find ourselves in trouble without leadership it’s up to us to fend for ourselves in the most reasonable way possible. I probably would have gone home as well but my kids were too young to drive therefore I had no one to pick me up. Those who had rides went home.

This issue was hotly debated for quite some time and it’s my understanding that the employees eventually received regular pay for that day since we didn’t have a bomb threat pay policy. We in fact didn’t have any emergency policy related to pay. We had some safety policies for fire and earthquakes but that was the extent of it. There was also a lot of contentious bickering about the pay the workers received who did stay. The debate was they should have received extra pay because they remained at work in harm’s way. It was all so disgusting. We could have all been killed and the nastiness about pay lingered far longer than it should have. Longer than the memory of the real bomb. Wonder if the Chilean miners have to take vacation pay for their two-month stay in their shelter?

Another romantic disaster incident took place where a boyfriend brought a gun to work to shoot a woman’s boss and/or boyfriend. This happened in another building (same organization) and I’ve never gotten all the details. However, just hearing someone brought a gun to work sent a lot of us into a tailspin. Shooting people in the work place is somewhat commonplace and we all know innocent people are shot all the time when the shooter only meant to shoot one person. Work is scary, copper mine or otherwise.

I’m glad I’m retired. If I have an emergency now it will be just my dogs, my cat, and me. I trust them completely. (There could be cat nibbling I suppose, but no endless childish contentious sniveling money mongering bickering.)

[Here’s a list of fun items on the topic of coworkers, supervisors, and office dynamics. These are my favorites.]

9 to 5 (movie)
The Office (U.K. version and U.S. version, TV series)
Office Space (movie)
Ikiru (movie, Akira Kurosawa)
Mary Tyler Moore (TV series)
The Peter Principle (book, Laurence J. Peter & Raymond Hull)
Dilbert (comic strip)
Desk Set (movie, Spencer and Tracy)
The Firm (novel and movie, John Grisham)

www.sharonstrawhandgarner.com

[No part of this content may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author. Blog series began in March 2009.]

Saturday, October 9, 2010

Growing Up Female


[New blogs posted every weekend. For previous blogs please visit “blog archive” to the lower right of this screen. Click on the small black arrows for a drop down list.]
[This posting was written at the (recent) request of some of my women friends who have looked back on their lives now that they are in their 50s and 60s and older and marvel at their survival and achievements no matter what life dumped on them. We are amazing!]
Where we are born and raised is the most significant factor of our lives, male or female. We either benefit from our birth origins or we suffer. Many of us suffer our entire lives under oppression from government, from parents, from religious doctrines, economic influences, and the lack of any type of civil or personal rights. This applies to both genders but it has always been particularly challenging for women. Where we grow up and how we grow up affects women around the world more than men in what is still a male-dominated planet. And women in industrial societies live under a false sense of equality. Dig around a little and we see we haven’t come as far as we’d like to think. (Yes, I know there are exceptions.)
Most women are physically smaller than men. Right from birth that removes one step of our equal footing. We all know women who can beat the crap out of any man if needed but most of us cannot. And of those who can, the trials and tribulations they have gone through in life to be physically equal to men is often accompanied by a physical structure that lends itself to building strong powerful bodies and the opportunity to go in that direction. My 5’2” mother would not succeed in a battle with a 6’4” man. Yes, there are women who have been trained in martial arts who do a good job in self-defense but women are not routinely trained in the art of self‑protection. We are not raised with aggression as a childhood attribute. It is not part of our overall general culture. Training of this nature is even forbidden in some cultures. It should be provided given the number of brutal rapes and domestic violence that occurs in the world. We are all too often victims at the hands of our larger male counterparts. Especially in war regions where we are the spoils of war (often along with our children). That’s the first separation of male/female equality and it begins at birth. (Yes, I know there are exceptions.)
Western cultures have made great strides in working together as men and women. We have improved our perception of women in the work place, women in politics, and women as mothers are no longer considered inferior to men and their careers. In fact, today many married couples share child raising responsibilities equally and more and more men take time off from work to be with their babies and toddlers while the women return to the work place to provide for the family. But this is a small, enlightened bunch of folks, comparatively, and if we dig deeply into our circle of family and friends we often do not see these couples as much as we do on TV or in the movies. (Yes, I know there are exceptions.)
Women are still the primary caregivers for kids but now they have the added responsibility of bringing in quality paychecks at the same time--but not until they have done the laundry and the grocery shopping and cooked dinner and cleaned up the dinner mess (along with the breakfast mess) and packed the lunches and bathed the kids and helped them with their homework and dropped them off at daycare or school and raced home during work to pick up a sick kid and balanced the family bookkeeping and cleaned the house and wrestled whining kids to bed and countless other duties with traditional expectations that keep them going 24/7 with little sleep, less help, and husbands who expect sex kittens at bedtime because the dads are well rested after dinner, a few beers, and an evening of ESPN. For those who know relationships not in this category, congratulations. For every one relationship not in this category there are thousands that are. (Yes, I know there are exceptions.)
How about education for women? Years ago, in my grandmother’s time, most women didn’t finish high school. A very few with upscale parents went to college and developed careers. How many of our grandmothers in my age group did that? None in my family. None. Some cultures today do not allow their females to go to school. Any school. (Yes, I know there are exceptions.)
My grandmother worked two and three jobs at a time while raising kids. She worked in canneries and as domestic help in wealthy homes. As a child she had to drop out of school in the fourth grade to help her mother raise eight children. When her mother continued to get pregnant again and again my grandmother left home at 15 and never went back. I can only think of a couple in my peer group who had grandmothers who went on to higher education. My grandmother also divorced around 1930. Imagine raising kids alone in that era. Her husband was an alcoholic brute but she received no help whatsoever from anyone including the legal system nor her religious community. She did however have enough inner strength to pull an elephant through a swamp with a rope between her teeth while fighting off men who prey on single women at poverty level. Landlords really do offer free rent for a roll in the hay. Women have often traded sex for rent, car repairs, and food money. My grandmother did not succumb to such sinister arrangements. I pity the fools (borrowed from Mr. T) who attempted to coerce her. (Yes, I know there are exceptions.)
In my mother’s age group more finished high school but did not go to college. I do know a few women in that group who went to college but very few. More than in my grandmother’s time. The women in the group that went to high school in my mom’s age group did not stay home and bake cookies and wear dresses and aprons as depicted in Leave It To Beaver and countless other TV shows. All the women in my family worked. They worked in canneries, as housekeepers, as waitresses, as sales clerks, in factories and in department stores (if they looked good and only if they looked good). (Yes, I know there are exceptions.)
My mother and her friends all laughed at the women depicted in films and TV. True, there were women out there who were homemakers and their husbands provided for the families but for millions of women around the world that was a fairy tale. Most women have always worked. I recently watched a news report about African women. They provide 80% of all agricultural products for Africa. For the entire continent. And that’s down because big agri-business is encroaching on what was traditionally a woman’s enterprise. Much of it is and was subsistence farming but some produce went to market. These women are now losing a foothold in their menial existence and where will they go when their farming income goes to big business (run by men)? Few countries in Africa are doing well, and the overall theme of mistreatment of women is flourishing. (Yes, I know there are exceptions.)
Women in my age group not only finished high school but some went to college. I went to work. Education in my youth was based on family income/status or super high academic success, neither of which did I possess. I came from a modest family income/status and I produced a modest academic record. I was pigeonholed quite early into clerical work. I didn’t question the direction I was given by my high school counselors because no one in my family had gone to college so I didn’t see that in my future. (I did go later in life and obtained an A.A. five years at night while working full time, and right before I was to transfer to get my B.A. my kids caught up with me and were suddenly in college and there wasn’t enough money for three of us to go to college. There wasn’t enough money for two of us in college so we all three worked our butts off to get the two of them educated without any help from anyone.) (Yes, I know there are exceptions.)
And that brings me to divorce. The divorce rate in western cultures is staggering. For all the talk about values we stink at marriage. I have long been an advocate of a complete overhaul of the marriage contract. Reform should be taught in schools beginning in preschool. None of us are prepared for the rigors of a strong marriage and many of us select the wrong mates for the wrong reasons. We are hopeless victims of our hormones and when they calm down and we look at our “soulmates” we are horrified. By then we have children and, as usual, women are the ones with total responsibility. When checking my address book and discussing this topic with family and friends, it is my experience that the women are still taking on the responsibility of single parenting (that sadly includes today’s young women.) No major advances in this category. Some receive better help from ex husbands today only because the courts have finally forced them to be financially responsible, but many dads have found ways to fool the courts. (Yes, I know there are exceptions.)
I know dozens, maybe hundreds of women who have been the sole responsibility of their children after a divorce. Even with child support, most women suffer tremendous loss in lifestyle when left with small children. Women often go from a cute little home in the suburbs to abject poverty living in less than a cute little home in the suburbs. For women who didn’t get to the cute little home in the suburbs to begin with they often end up in squalor. Some women never catch up financially depending on their age and the age of their children at the time of the divorce. Don't believe me? Check out divorce statistics and the fate of women. Divorced women reaching retirement do not do as well as their former husbands at retirement. It’s about catching up. Check out the court system that is overloaded with deadbeat dads. Yes, there are deadbeat moms. I don't know any of them. The women I’ve known throughout my 65 years are pillars of strength. They are typically incredibly strong, self-sacrificing, and able to leap tall buildings in a single bound. (Yes, I know there are exceptions.)
Movies for many years depicted divorced men or widowed men with children being courted by every woman within a mile of their homes. These men always had housekeepers after divorce or death of a spouse. Some men had housekeepers even if they didn’t have children. That’s our fault. My son knows how to cook, sew, clean, grocery shop with a list, and take care of himself. Women hurt other women by not raising men who are capable of self-maintenance. We need to raise men who will be partners in life and not machismo jerks whose contribution to the family is taking the garbage out. (Yes, I know there are exceptions.)
And that’s western cultures. Thanks to modern satellite media reports we all know how women around the planet earth live. Some of it is horrific and for female children deadly. Because there are women in this world in the year 2010 living lives of horror and oppression and fear and starvation and brutality and human trafficking for sex and labor, we look at our own western lives as being perfect. Not true. And it is our responsibility to continue to raise ourselves to a level of equality precisely to help those who have no privileges at all. Not even the rights to manage their own bodies as far as how many children to have, or health care (some cultures refuse to allow women to see health care providers), food (food is often withheld from women when they have misbehaved), and many other misogynistic methods for keeping women “in their place.” Many cultures in the world despise their women because (I love this one) they menstruate and are therefore considered “dirty” and have less value than their livestock. Except for the breeding factor. To have boys not girls. Some cultures want a few girls in their families for bartering purposes. You know, I’ll give you my female if you give me your cow. (Yes, I know there are exceptions.)
Yet, we don't have to look to developing nations to find women living in oppression. There are many levels of subjugation and oppression, and often insidiously difficult to see on the surface in the U.S. It’s in the work place and in politics and in many other areas of daily life. Ever notice how many women behave like men in order to succeed in business and politics? Somewhere along the way they lose that which makes them women and turn into men in dresses. Why is that? Because if they don't become men in those areas they will not succeed. Being male in the world means domination. (Yes, I know there are exceptions.)
I know there are men who are not like that. My son, for one, is not like that. He isn’t a “sexist, egotistical, lying, hypocritical bigot” (borrowed from 9 to 5) and doesn’t have a biased dominating womanizing selfish bone in his body. (Guess why?) Some men have had trouble understanding my son because of his intense respect for women and cultural differences in society and his ability to dig deeply into the psyches of the people he meets and not take them on surface values. What a concept! (Yes, I know there are exceptions.)
I happen to be a white female born in the U.S. I know my non-white sisters have stories to tell that would make our ears burn. In fact, I’ve heard many of them. (Just this week I heard a report that African American women do not receive timely test reports for mammography compared to their white counterparts. Why?) Fortunately, women of color around the world (many “first ladies” from African nations have joined together to help women in their respective countries) are forming groups and writing and making a voice for themselves as women first, and as a particular race second. Regardless of our ethnicity we are women first. If we fight bias at the first level, gender, other areas of our lives will improve including our race, our religion, our sexual orientation, or a myriad of other life semi-institutions. We are women. In the United States we need to continue to bind ourselves to each other to protect those who are not able to. It will spread. It has spread. Whether we like it our not, those of us born in the U.S. must be stronger, tougher, wiser, and more responsible so we can fight for the rights of women in the world with nothing. With absolutely nothing. Not even the trading value of a cow. (Yes, I know there are exceptions.)
Complacency kills. Let’s not take a deep breath and think we are okay. Collectively, we are not. I had planned on closing with a string of obnoxious terms and phrases used to identify “the weaker sex” but decided after that one I couldn’t stomach the thought. We are not the weaker sex. We too can pull elephants through a swamp with a rope in our teeth and then go home and help our kids with homework and do the laundry and pay the bills and go to work and mow the lawn and paint the house and fix broken doors and dig holes to bury beloved family pets and go to night school to make a better life for our kids and ourselves even if it takes five years and read to kids who are struggling in school, and do it all knowing we are not alone. And we need to bring our men along with us starting with our baby boys. We are amazing. (No exceptions.)
'Cause I've got faith of the heart
I'm going where my heart will take me
I've got faith to believe
I can do anything
I've got strength of the soul
And no one's gonna bend or break me
I can reach any star
I've got faith, I’ve got faith---faith of the heart
Faith of the Heart -by Diane Warren
[No part of this content may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author. Blog series began in March 2009.]

Saturday, October 2, 2010

Micro-Singularities--fact or fiction?

[New blogs posted every weekend. For previous blogs please visit “blog archive” to the lower right of this screen. Click on the small black arrows for a drop down list.]
I love all sorts of science fiction, even bad science fiction. But my favorite is science fiction in search of intelligent life in space. (God knows we need it.) Of the space explorations I’ve enjoyed my very favorite is still the Gene Roddenberry collection of fabulous crews and ships and creatures and gadgets. But more than all that visual perfection were the scripts that boldly went where no man had gone before. (“Insufficient facts always invite danger.” -Spock, "Space Seed", stardate 3141.9)
Roddenberry’s creations appealed to millions of people and for millions of reasons. Maybe thousands of reasons. A lot of reasons at any rate. My favorite Roddenberry theme was his belief in inclusivity, galaxies where all lived in harmony and appreciated differences and didn’t fear or hate the differences. (“Blast medicine anyway!  We've learned to tie into every organ in the human body but one. The brain! The brain is what life is all about.” -McCoy, "The Menagerie", stardate 3012.4)

He put this desire to the test over and over, sometimes with dire consequences. Some of the beings/creatures did not like humans and did everything they could to eliminate the crews of the Enterprise, Voyager, et al. Quite often the human crews didn’t like the non-human species they ran into until they learned the truth about them. ("Evil does seek to maintain power by suppressing the truth.""Or by misleading the innocent."- Spock and McCoy, "And The Children Shall Lead", stardate 5029.5.)

Even then, the crews set off over and over again to find new life and put themselves in danger repeatedly. All to conquer fear and ignorance, not the universe. Never once did they explore with domination of assorted galaxies as their goal. They met many cultures that did not feel the same way and they often engaged in battles to foil the plans of an invading species. Some species they encountered were simply afraid of the humans and tried to protect themselves resulting in harm to the Trek crews. Some species were scoundrels like the Feringi, my favorite Roddenberry creations both visually and philosophically. They were all about greed. (“See Brok acquire. Acquire, Brok, acquire!” -Quark, on the children’s books he used to read Nog, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, “Accession”)

Gene Roddenberry wanted us to behave inclusively here on earth. To explore the earth without world domination in mind. Just learning about others in the world and learning to accept the differences. If it can be done with the Feringi (sort of) it can be done with anyone. (“The bureaucratic mentality is the only constant in the universe.” -Dr. McCoy, Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home)

Most difficult encounters with other species were miscommunication errors, many of a complex nature. Once the humans figured out how to communicate with the other species, misunderstandings were resolved and everyone went on their merry way. Not so with some cultures. That was Roddenberry’s point. We don't always meet cultures with our same views of non-planetary domination. Many earth cultures want absolute power. Their way or the highway. (“I like my species the way it is.” -Worf, Star Trek: The Next Generation, “The Best of Both Worlds”)  

The best part about Roddenberry’s mindset is that his characters never gave up. It was the central theme of all his productions. We must keep trying over and over to get along. He also had a deep respect for creatures. It was tied to The Prime Directive: do not interfere with developing (pre-warp) species, just observe and learn. (“Believing oneself to be perfect is often the sign of a delusional mind.” -Data, to Borg Queen, Star Trek: First Contact)

It was mandated that all starships respect all life forms. In the series Star Trek Enterprise (more correctly known as Enterprise) the captain of the Enterprise brought his dog on board. The dog was a Beagle named Porthos (as in the Three Musketeers). Was that intentional? Porthos a.k.a. Snoopy exploring space? I did some research and did not find a reference as to why a Beagle was selected but I can’t help but think Roddenberry planned that cast member slyly. In fact, for those of us besotted with all things Roddenberry there are countless clever references to titillate viewer respect for the scripts. Some references escaped me way back then but when I watched the series or movies again at a more senior age I “got” them and laughed hysterically. (“It is a human characteristic to love little animals, especially if they're attractive in some way.” -McCoy, "The Trouble with Tribbles", stardate 4525.6)

I like to think of myself as a “moderate” Trekkie. Sort of like a “moderate” Republican (heh heh heh). I’m also a 65‑year‑old female computer/technology geek. All I need is a pair of pointy ears. Yet, I haven’t attended Trekkie conventions and I’ve never owned a Star Trek costume. I have, however, watched all of the Star Trek movies and TV shows, multiple times, with the exception of some episodes of Deep Space Nine. I have that series on my list of things to catch up on. It’s a long list of movies and TV shows and books. I went to night school for five years and missed most of Deep Space Nine. I’m very excited that I have that series to look forward to and had planned on preparing this posting after viewing DS9 so that I could say that I watched all the Star Trek movies and series and spinoffs. But I couldn’t wait. (“Curious how often you humans manage to obtain that which you do not want.” -Spock, Star Trek, "Errand Of Mercy)

My list of blog ideas is longer than my list of movies and documentaries and plays and TV series and books so when it popped up on my list this week I decided to go ahead and prepare it for posting. The truth is, I have been dying to write this one because of my deep love and admiration for all things Roddenberry. (“The truth is usually just an excuse for a lack of imagination.” -Garak, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine)

So for all my Trekkie friends out there in space (and some of us are way far out in space) I close with this heartfelt salutation: live long and prosper. (Trekkies know who is responsible for this wonderful quote that was usually accompanied with a hand gesture, a polite hand gesture.)
[Note: Another on my list of future postings is The X-Files series. The truth is out there and I will post something about that in the future.]
[Note: Don't get me started on Stargate SG1, Stargate Atlantis, and Stargate Universe. Yep, watched every episode except for Season 2 of Universe which is sitting in my Netflix queue in “save” mode.]
[Then there’s Star Wars. Oh, help me. I can’t stop.]
[Note: For the curious, a micro-singularity is a microscopic black hole. I learned that from a Vulcan. Fact or fiction? You’ll have to ask T’Pol.]
Okay. I’m done now. Beam me up, Scotty.
www.sharonstrawhandgarner.com
[No part of this content may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author. Blog series began in March 2009.]