New Year's Resolutions

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A lot of us think long and hard on what our New Year’s resolutions will be. Some are significant, some silly, some life altering. Year after year I was one of those hopeful souls vowing to lose weight, stop smoking, sweep more often, exercise more, and so on, each January 1st. Most of us keep our vows for a short time then it’s right back to where we were. Not losing weight, still smoking, lost the broom, lost our sneakers and, well, we just couldn’t do it.

I tried to find a resolution failure rate online but the figures were all over the place because the issues we are attempting to resolve are all over the place. For example, people who vow to lose weight seem to have the highest drop out rate over those who have less lofty goals, say, exfoliating their skin weekly. The more difficult the resolution the more likely it will fail.

I figured that out all by myself years ago and stopped coming up with New Year’s resolutions. Instead, I switched to Monday resolutions. And it worked. Whenever I have something I’d like to change, like stopping smoking, I start on a Monday. It took 260 Mondays but 35 years ago I finally did stop smoking. Each week I tried and each week I failed. Over and over and over. Then one week I made it to the next Monday and I was amazed. The success gratification came quickly rather than waiting for a year to see if I made it. And then I resolved to do it another week and after a few weeks then months I could finally tell myself I was no longer a smoker. That was huge.

Exercise is another Monday resolution that worked for me. The annual resolution to exercise every day always started well and in fact I did better than my nonsmoking resolution but after a few weeks the rest of my life caught up with me and before I knew it I was no longer doing my daily routine. I didn’t even realize it until I got a call from my gym checking up on me. Years after that embarrassing phone call, and around the time I successfully stopped smoking, I started my Monday resolution related to daily exercise. Many small failures but eventually it became habit and the bad weeks started turning into good weeks and soon I was a smoke-free exercising guru.

There are other resolutions I’ve attempted on Mondays (dieting, sweeping, etc.) and it’s all worked so much better than the New Year’s resolutions. [Note about the sweeping: I have pets.] I think psychologically I know that a week isn’t too much and if I do weaken next Monday is not so far away. I know that I can start over again next Monday when I’m not sick with the flu, or I’m not quite as busy at work, or my roof isn’t leaking. I guess the point is, our lives are messy and full of things we need to do and it’s very difficult to suddenly give up our reason for living (chocolate in large quantities) when we have serious issues elsewhere in our lives. But we can make it to Monday to try again. If we just give up and say “oh, well, I’ll try next year” we will be sicker, messier, fatter, and less likely to permanently quit the behavior we are resolving to quit.

I know someone who vowed to call her father more often as a New Year’s resolution. He was a cranky man (he was born that way) and she left home early to get away from him. However, she called so infrequently that entire phone conversations were about her not calling. Each year she vowed to call her father on a regular basis and each year she only did that for a few weeks. I explained my Monday resolution plan and she decided to give it a try. It worked great because she realized she could call him once a week and endure the call without the expectation of calling more than once a week. So her weekly calls became a habit and she even began calling him every Saturday morning and they had coffee together on the phone. He was still a cranky S.O.B. but they were communicating better than they had in years. (Why didn’t he call her, you ask? Beats me.)

Mom occasionally served broccoli when I was a child and I hated it. She was a wise woman and didn’t serve it as often as she would have liked but each time she did serve it she begged me to at least try it. Since it wasn’t crammed down my throat on a daily basis I always did try a small piece. Today I’m a broccoli fiend and in fact served roasted broccoli with minced garlic and pine nuts topped with shredded Parmesan for Christmas.

Some annual resolutions are easier to keep like donating more to charity the coming year, or volunteering more often, or not going out to eat so much or going to church more. Those are not as difficult as trying to break a physical habit (or lack of a physical habit like trying to exercise more). But for the most part I still think Monday resolutions are more realistic as long as we keep trying. 260 Mondays to quit smoking. Whew!

So no New Year’s resolution for me but Monday I vow to take down my Christmas decorations. But if I don't, there’s always the next Monday. Or the Monday after that.

Happy New Year!

www.sharonstrawhandgarner.com

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Are you a crybaby?

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Rep. John Boehner (R) has been called a big crybaby. What a goofy we world we live in. He doesn’t sob and fall down, he simply tears up and slows his speech then he recovers in a few moments. HE RECOVERS. What on earth is wrong with showing emotion and passion? We need more crying, not less. I’ve been a big crybaby my entire life. But I’m the toughest person I know and nothing has gotten me down. I may have cried when faced with challenges but I pushed through and nothing--and I mean nothing--has gotten in my way. And boy, I’ve had challenges and tragedies—and great successes.

It seems there are different standards for men who cry versus women who cry. Another goofy concept. When we lose a loved one it’s expected that we will cry. Men are even allowed limited tears when a loved one dies. When pets die, not so much for any of us. I had to take a few days off from work when my last little dog died. There were some who thought that was strange. Those who love pets didn’t think it was strange and in fact they got a little teary-eyed while talking about it with me.

Some people have been programmed not to cry but it doesn’t mean they don't want to. Men who cry probably had compassionate parents who allowed them to feel everything as they grew up instead of yelling at them to “stop crying.” I observed some parents when raising my own kids admonishing their boys that “big boys don't cry.” And some didn’t say that kindly. They often shamed their kids by saying it in a crowd. I was always heartbroken for those kids and worried how they would grow up.

Yelling at a child and telling them to stop crying is effective for the short term but it can create a life of constipation. It’s all about feelings. If a person cries and then collapses, that’s a problem. But if a person cries while speaking and continues to speak—no problem. Is it any different than screaming or swearing when speaking? No. It’s all emotional. It’s not bad unless it becomes debilitating. Functioning on a high level while crying, like soldiers in battle losing friends left and right, is completely the right thing to do.

After I set up my Christmas tree and decorated the house for the holidays I walked around and looked at all the little things I’ve collected over the years and when I got to the stockings on the fireplace (that I made for the kids when they were very little) the tears came. The “kids” are 38 and 35 now. They are pretty shabby after all these years (the stockings, not the kids) and each year I have to spend a little time doing repair work. I once suggested to my daughter it was time to find new stockings now that they were older and she had a meltdown. They remain.

I watched my “new” dogs (one with me three years and one with me one year) in the yard the other morning when we first got up. I was waiting for coffee and hadn’t made their breakfast yet. They both ran around and found their little areas where they chose to relieve themselves and I cracked up because steam rose from their little puddles. I laughed but then I got teary eyed. It was so cute and I love them dearly and it just got to me. I’m so happy to have these dogs, both rescues, and I know they are happy here and it just happened.

I once watched a wonderful commercial where three little girls were dressed for the beach running down a hallway and it got to me. I had a friend who had small girls about that age and all three of her kids were swimmers and I thought of them and my friend and the tears fell. It was a TV commercial. Every time I saw the commercial the tears formed.

Most books I read make me cry even if they aren’t sad. I might just love them and when I’m done, I cry. I mourned the completion of The Thornbirds for months. A TV series was developed eventually and one weekend a station ran every episode all weekend long. My daughter and I watched the entire series. I don't remember going anywhere or even changing out of my pajamas.

I don't sit and sob but the tears fall. Same with music. (The Thornbirds score was beautiful.) I have a hard time listening to my Beatles collection. And Queen. Freddie Mercury’s sweet yet powerful voice stops me cold when I hear him sing one of the old great songs. I also dance around the house with a lot of music even if I get teary-eyed. Oh, Roy Orbison. I just recalled his name and I got teary-eyed. The list is long. I think I feel tears again.

Birds. I do everything I can to invite birds to my property then I watch them in my beautiful pedestal birdbath (a retirement gift from my coworkers), with little splashes and chirping and then they dry themselves on my fence with lots of wing flapping and the tears come. I could go on but I won’t. I cry when I love things, I cry when I hate things, I cry when I’m angry, when I’m happy, when I’m sad, when I’m frustrated. I’m a big crybaby and I’m so glad that I am.

I’ve known a lot of repressed people in my life. They are so bogged down by their lives they can’t function. Then if something bad happens they cry and can’t stop. Not enough crying prior to the horrible event. I cry when they tell me what’s going on in their lives but they don't until it’s too late then they can’t stop. The difference between them and me is that though I cry I also fight like hell to fix whatever it is that makes me cry. I don't wallow. I’ve never wallowed. I cry and fight and change what needs to be changed. I rarely repeat mistakes, i.e., marriage.

So Rep. Boehner cries. Big deal. I didn’t know much about the man’s personal life until this post and subsequent research, but I did know before this writing that we don't share the same political viewpoint. At all. Not even remotely. I still respect him for showing his emotions.

Boehner was one of twelve children and was raised in a “modest” two-bedroom home he shared with his eleven siblings and parents. He was the first to attend college and it took him seven years. Kids like that work their butts off and don't have the college lives their more affluent friends do. I know because my two worked their butts off getting through college and did not have fun. They worked and went to school and did not participate in college “life.” It took them a while because sometimes they had to work more hours to afford more expensive classes and books. So I know how he went through his early young life and he had to be strong and passionate. Look where he is now. He didn’t get there by being a baby. He got there by being a strong, passionate man.

Lots of public people have been criticized over the years for crying. Some celebrities have cried when they’ve been caught behaving badly, some have cried when they have been charged with criminal behavior. More seem to cry publicly now than I remember through the years. But as long as a person continues to function and doesn’t fall apart, so what? I’d rather be stuck in a trench with an emotional person who cares than someone who is cold and calculating and out for only himself/herself. The crier will want to protect everyone because—they feel.

When my first book was published I went to the mailbox one day and there was a package from my publisher. I opened it outside by the mailbox and there it was. My book. My sister created the cover art and it’s stunning. I stood in the street in front of the world and cried. I couldn’t even move. It was like having a baby. I cried when I had my babies too. A lot.

Crying has been studied but many studies report that laboratory crying isn’t the same as spontaneous crying in real life. It’s easy to show a lab patient a sad film and force them to cry but it’s better to actually study genuine crying based on a true-life event. Not too easy to run around catching people crying when their roast burns and their in-laws are coming for dinner for the first time. Yet much of the research does point to a therapeutic result when folks cry. People often report they feel better.

Often when people visit therapists they cry when telling their stories. Then they say they feel better than they have in years. Sometimes those people had trouble crying spontaneously and needed the setting of a therapist’s office. Generally, the researchers believe we should cry when the feeling hits us rather than suppressing it as long as we remain in control and return to normal behaviors. Tragedies take longer to overcome but eventually even that crying subsides and people carry on with life. If not, professional assistance is required.

I’m a big crybaby and I’m proud of it. It makes me tough as nails. (Speaking of nails, I injure myself a lot when working around the house. Pain can really release the flood.) But mostly, while I’m fighting a non-injury “life” challenge I cry and I turn to steel and fight the good fight. It’s good to cry. Sometimes if I’ve experienced something very sad I cry a bit too long and I have learned to tell myself to “stop.” Amazingly, I do. I allow myself to cry for a while then when I realize I’m not stopping naturally, I just say “stop” out loud. Very effective and then I feel so much better. And I don't have clogged tear ducts.

[I was going to conclude with a sad story to see if I could get anyone to cry but decided against it. It’s Christmas after all.]

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www.sharonstrawhandgarner.com

All I want for Christmas is my two front teeth!

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Remember that fun Christmas song? I just heard it the other day and checked it out and the composer was a teacher who noticed his second graders were all missing a lot of teeth at that age and came up with that song in 30 minutes. I’ve placed it at the end of this post in its entirety because it’s adorable. It got me thinking though. Some bizarre things have happened to my two front teeth over the years. Actually, more than just two I’m sorry to say. And I am NOT writing a song about it!

When I was a teen I ate a steering wheel and lost several of my “front” teeth (after years of orthodontia. I visited the orthodontist a few years after the accident and he was horrified. All that work down the drain). I was lucky my parents found a great oral surgeon and we already had a great dentist so between the two they fixed my poor mouth. I had pallet work and gum work (reconstruction) and then a fancy bridge. My teeth were beautiful at the end of it all. I was very skinny by the time it was all over. I had been a pudgy teen and I’ve often thought of that as the best weight loss plan ever. In fact, over the years when I’ve needed intensive dental work I’ve dropped weight instantly. Dentists should operate dental and weight loss clinics combined.

Ever since that time I’ve become somewhat of a dental care fanatic. I’m not the only one. My 85-year-old mother, who has serious health issues, is still meticulous about the care of her teeth and gums. And it’s not just vanity. (She has a great smile with beautiful teeth.) Bad teeth and gums can lead to scary illnesses and even death.

Years ago I worked with a woman who had a friend who almost died from a preventable dental problem. The man developed some sort of abscess or infection in one of his teeth and it somehow ruptured and the bacteria entered his blood stream and went to his brain! We were all stunned. He was a fairly young man and it came out of nowhere. It was touch and go for him for quite some time. I believe there was an issue with his brain function after that and he was in therapy for quite some time. He survived and I understand he returned to normal, or almost normal, but it took a very long time. Other stories were shared about folks who had dental work and then had a heart attack. My stepdad had dental work (extractions) then suffered a stroke. My uncle years ago had a heart attack after going to the dentist.

I had excellent health and dental insurance through my employer and visited the dentist regularly for many years. I followed fairly ordinary at-home dental care. After the friend’s story about her friend, however, I became unimpressed with my dental routine. I spent time on the Internet to learn the best way to care for teeth at home and consulted my dentist on my next visit. I told him the story of my friend’s friend but he had thankfully never had a patient who developed a life-threatening problem. He was happy to report that though people came to him with horrendous dental problems he caught them in time so that they didn’t develop into something more serious. He suspected my friend’s friend had dental discomfort long before the rupture (not sure that’s the correct term) and had he gone to a dentist at the first sign of a problem he would not have had the horrific problem he eventually experienced.

At the time I talked with my dentist he impressed upon me the importance of taking care of (in particular) senior teeth. I had one area in my mouth that I didn’t do a good enough job on and he and the hygienist gave me lots of tips on how to get into that area. It required hand/arm coordination and contortion skills but I eventually learned how to deal with this tiny area in the very back of my mouth. I knew my mother had a daily routine that was akin to a visit with an oral surgeon but I too knew how important it was so I developed a serious at-home plan. I often read articles about dental care at home and incorporate new things from what I learn into my plan. I could be a dentist.

Pain at the dentist is almost gone these days as far as procedures. Once we get home the pain sinks in but we are usually given medications to help with pain and infection. My current dentist has state of the art everything in a beautiful and comfortable office with music and/or TV and lots of pain medication and happy gas and a cheerful staff and a great chair-side manner. I don't think I’ve ever experienced pain while sitting in that chair. He explains everything and gives painless injections. He’s amazing. Painless injections are the reason I went to him to begin with. A friend of a friend of a friend talked about his method and I left my old dentist flatter than a punctured breast implant and prayed the painless dentist had room for me. His father operated the practice for years and then my dentist joined his dad for a few years before the senior dentist retired.

After all the teen surgery and new bridge they told me that in a few years the bridge would have to be replaced. They estimated five or more years. I had the bridge for twenty years without a problem. Or so I thought. Though I had regular appointments with other dentists during this period (I moved around a lot) none told me that I should have a new bridge. I therefore thought it was fine. In fact, they often complimented the work I had done, especially finding a way to affix a bridge with so few teeth remaining.

One day I was sitting at my desk at work and felt an odd sensation on the left side of my bridge. I thought food had lodged under the bridge and I always had floss and a threader with me for that problem so I went to the rest room to take care of it. As I started threading the anchor tooth dislodged—completely! I was stunned. There was absolutely no warning and no pain. I couldn’t talk because the bridge was dangling and if I opened my mouth to talk it hung down—with the anchor tooth attached. I looked like I belonged in a horror movie. Vampire fangs appeared out of nowhere.

I covered my mouth and slurred to my supervisor I was having a dental problem and called my dentist. He saw me immediately and he determined the anchors of both sides were goners and I would need to anchor an even larger bridge to the remaining teeth. I asked what the odds were of those teeth going too and he said “pretty good” meaning “pretty good” chance I was going to lose all of them. I asked when and he said he had no way of knowing.

Over the next few weeks temporary measures were put into place and finally I received another new bridge. There were a few days when I didn’t talk. That in itself was a miracle. I had severe gum/bone reconstruction problems from the teen accident so it wasn’t easy but he came up with a beauty and I was very happy. That bridge lasted about four years when once again as I sat at my desk, this time thankfully at home, I lost another anchor tooth. Another new dentist (I had moved again) said there were no more teeth strong enough to carry a bridge and I would have to have a denture. He extracted my remaining upper teeth. I was 40 years old.

I had no choice of course but I was very depressed to think I’d have to have a denture. Growing up I knew plenty of people with dentures and did not like how they looked or how they sounded with clicking and sloshing sounds. So many people had ill-fitting dentures and I didn’t want to be one of them. Again, I was lucky to have another great dentist and he fixed me up with a beautiful denture. It didn’t look like a denture and I didn’t make denture noises. I do not put them in a glass at night! They are my teeth and I treat them accordingly. I clean the denture when I clean my “real” teeth. And I don’t have to floss them but I do place them in a foaming fizzy solution while I’m flossing and they come out sparkly!

Years later I had to have that first denture replaced. In fact, I wore it a lot longer than recommended. They do wear down and make chewing difficult for some people but I was happy with it. I think the only reason I ordered a new one is because I was retiring and wanted my insurance to pay for it. [Interestingly, insurance didn’t pay for all of it because it’s considered cosmetic. I guess I was expected to gum my food.] It is also lovely and I’m very happy with it. I can eat anything I want (and I do) and I kept my old one in the event of an emergency. I have just enough vanity to not want to go anywhere without teeth. Not even an emergency trip to the dentist. I once had the flu and ran to the drugstore in my pajamas and a coat and got in an accident. I’d rather be in my pajamas than toothless. Lesson learned.

So my dental routine does not include much with the denture. It’s all about the lower teeth. I’m not sure why I’m so fanatical about the lower teeth since I’ve had such good luck with the upper denture but I understand fitting a lower denture is more problematic and I just don't want any problems so I’m trying to keep what I have left.

But it’s more than that. It’s the health issue of clean healthy teeth and gums. In addition to the aforementioned bacteria attacking that poor man’s brain, bacteria from diseased gums can travel to the heart and cause all kinds of serious trouble. Generally, I have tried to live a healthy life and dental care is extremely important for overall health. Many people cruise along exercising and eating properly then have a heart attack from poor dental hygiene or inadequate dental care.

So here are some tips I found from various places online. I do all of it. I didn’t make any of this up. It’s all out there for those interested in further research. Because I’ve had a somewhat rocky dental history I am determined to keep my remaining teeth healthy and I hope my brain and heart benefit as well!

-Brush three times a day for at least three minutes each time.

-Sometimes if I’m waiting for the clothes dryer or waiting for someone to pick me up or whatever, I spend a little time just dry brushing without toothpaste softly around the gum line, front and back.

-Develop a routine and stick with it. Start with the same part of the mouth every time, always moving from one section to the next in the same order. Habit, habit, habit.

-Don’t brush too hard with the toothbrush. Spend more time gently but thoroughly brushing instead of hard brushing. Move the brush up and down each tooth and gum.

-Using a toothbrush with stiff bristles can damage the sensitive tissue in the mouth. Always use a toothbrush with soft bristles.

-Brush the tongue and the roof of the mouth to remove even more bacteria. Remember, the goal of being a dental fanatic is to remove bacteria.

-Floss every time. Don't whine, just do it. Once the routine kicks in it’s easy.

-Look for tartar-control toothpaste with the American Dental Association Seal of Acceptance or Recognition.

-Most antiplaque rinses and antimicrobial mouthwashes contain alcohol, so be careful if that’s a problem, but they kill bacteria in the mouth. [A coworker kept whiskey in a flask in her purse and “rinsed” frequently throughout the day. She swore it was for her teeth and gums.] Fewer bacteria means less plaque on your teeth. I rinse before I brush/floss to kill as much of the bacteria as possible in the event I floss a bit too hard and allow the little creatures to enter the blood stream. Ew.

I’m doing my best to take care of myself. Since I have more time than I did when I was working I can be fanatical about exercise and visits to my doctor for preventative health care screenings and cooking healthy foods and taking care of my teeth. I want to be a very old senior citizen. I don't want my tombstone to read, “If only she had flossed.”

Every body Pauses and stares at me
These two teeth are gone as you can see
I don't know just who to blame for this catastrophe!
But my one wish on Christmas Eve is as plain as it can be!

All I want for Christmas
is my two front teeth,
my two front teeth,
see my two front teeth!

Gee, if I could only
have my two front teeth,
then I could wish you
"Merry Christmas."

It seems so long since I could say,
"Sister Susie sitting on a thistle!"
Gosh oh gee, how happy I'd be,
if I could only whistle (thhhh, thhhh)

All I want for Christmas
is my two front teeth,
my two front teeth,
see my two front teeth.

Gee, if I could only
have my two front teeth,
then I could wish you
"Merry Christmas!"
By Donald Yetter Gardner (1944)


www.sharonstrawhandgarner.com

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Christmas "Presence"

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This time of year is special to many all over the world. Christmas and its glorious colors and sounds (and tastes) is just around the corner. Hanukah has already come and gone for 2010 but it is celebrated at the same general time of year as Christmas, usually the end of November through the first part of December, eight days of celebrating. Kwanzaa begins after Christmas and is spectacular. When I had a small craft business I made fabulous Kwanzaa cards in bright African colors and they sold out. Each year I had to make more and more as the celebration grew and embraced many cultures, not just African Americans! Winter Solstice is celebrated by many Native Americans and Aboriginal people throughout the world. Buddhists celebrate Bodhi Day in December. Prior to these huge religious/cultural celebrations our country celebrates Thanksgiving, which is religious for some, not for others, and somewhat launches the remaining celebrations of the year through New Year’s. New Year’s isn’t particularly religious except that I think most religions pray for a new year filled with happiness. Id al-Adha (a.k.a. the Feast of Sacrifice or Day of Sacrifice) occurs during the 12th lunar month of the Islamic year. (This year 11/16 through 11/19.) In other words, Christians do not have a lock on this time of year. Humanity worldwide shares this special time of year with many beliefs and traditions. That’s a lot of celebrating!

Because of these special holidays many say “happy holidays” instead of “merry Christmas.” I don't believe it’s meant to demean the Christian Christmas celebrations but it simply means let’s all be happy during this special time of year. At this time of year we come together with our families and friends, some of whom we may not see except at this time of year, and it could be during Thanksgiving or the many celebrations we’ve come to love. So much depends on individual work schedules, geographic home locations, cultural traditions, marriages that mingle holiday traditions, and a myriad of other circumstances that sometimes visiting loved ones during this time of year can involve all of the holidays! Some families are so large they have multiple Christmas celebrations or three or four Thanksgivings as they visit family and friends. It is, for the most part, truly a happy time of year for us. They truly are happy holidays. And so we say “Happy Holidays.”

Deeply devout folks sometimes find it hard to accept that other deeply devout folks celebrate at the very same time of year. Dueling holidays? I hope not. I think there is room for all belief systems and we should all be happy we believe in something that makes us better people. Something that forms us and makes us believe in the good around us and people who embrace and respect the lives and differences around us. We are an amazing planet filled with so many different cultures and ideas. At this time of year most of us seek peace and contentment and appreciate the little things that make life worth living. It’s not a time for fanaticism or hatred or picky attitudes about things we don't understand. It’s all good. It’s all about humanity. It’s all about celebrating so much for so many.

So . . . happy holidays one and all. May the Christmas “presence” turn our hearts to mush and may we truly live in the footprints of that little babe born so long ago. The King of Peace. Remember, he loved us all.

www.sharonstrawhandgarner.com

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Shhhhhhhhh. Don't ask, don't tell.

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Groped At The Airport

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Flying today has become a pain. I now think twice about trips with air travel as part of my vacation planning. For years I trotted off to the airport with not a care in the world and the flight would take me somewhere exotic. Now it’s a pain in the derriere. Pun intended.

It’s not just the current news reports about excessive body searches. It’s the entire experience that has gone from a feeling of luxury and high-end travel to feeling like a porn star on a budget. Many years ago it was an absolute treat to go off on a trip with the airport as my first stop on the way to a fabulous vacation. Vacations are usually planned for quite some time and I’ve always found the time leading up to a vacation almost the best part.

I once traveled with two friends and for weeks we had meetings at coffee shops to discuss our trip and our plans and we brought maps to our meetings and practiced our destination language and by the time we were ready to go we could barely contain ourselves. Rather than take the airport shuttle my son volunteered to drive us to the airport and he spent over an hour listening to three giggling teens. We were all well over 40 (and a couple of us over 50) but we were giggling teens.

But we live in a dangerous world so air travel isn’t what it used to be. In fact, recently I dropped my daughter and her boyfriend off at the airport and as we arrived at the drop off location I barely had time to pull over, open the hatch for their luggage, and shove them off on the pavement before the security officer marched to my window and barked at me to move‑‑‑now. I started to explain we just got there but she had turned from me and had started barking at the kids. They had barely unbuckled their seatbelts. I didn’t even get to hug them. As I pulled away I looked in my rearview mirror hoping for a little wave and they were still in the street gathering their belongings with the security officer looming over them. They couldn’t even stop to look at me and wave.

When they came back two weeks later I arrived at the airport a bit early but didn’t park (we stopped parking years ago) and had to circle the arrival zone three times before they appeared. I had hoped to slow down and stall a bit since we were communicating by cell phone and they were almost at the pick-up point but each time I cruised by the area I was scooted away by a security guard. Finally, they were outside as I drove by and they literally threw their things in the back and jumped in the car and as a security guard approached I sped off. I was tempted to stick out my tongue but I knew that would land me in prison for engaging in an act of terrorism. We mostly use airport shuttles but sometimes they don't work out so we drive.

Check-in is not much better. We used to arrive at the airport an hour before our flight and sometimes we would see others arriving much later than that but still they managed to get on the plane. I remember thinking it was silly to arrive so early since those that arrived late didn’t have any problems. Those days are gone and will never return. I have friends who now spend the night at airport hotels even though they live fairly close because they are terrified of being late.

As to the “mystery” of the airplane’s operation, I had never had a fear of flying (my apologies to Erica Jong and her wonderful book of the same title, albeit a somewhat different topic) in the early years and I always marched along to my plane without a care in the world. In those years we could smoke on planes and I was a smoker and I smoked my way across the planet with not a worry in the world while sipping cocktails! I had great faith in the airplane mechanics, the pilots, the flight attendants, and air traffic control. My smoking habit was much more dangerous than flying.

So without a true fear of flying I just had an occasional annoyance with certain passengers and sometimes on long flights I got a little stir crazy and had to walk around a bit but I never considered these issues a problem. Today I am slightly fearful. It isn’t the thought of what it takes to get those things up in the air, which is absolutely astounding if we think about it too long and it’s not a good idea to do that, but I have that tiny seed of worry about someone on the plane intending to do harm to the passengers and/or the country of origin and/or destination. It’s tiny so far and won’t keep me from flying but I hate that my carefree ride to the airport is now not as carefree. I do feel that little bit of fear. Could be my age? No, it’s terrorism. There. I’ve said it. It’s not the flying I fear, it’s the suddenly not flying caused by an evil entity.

Yet, the security measures that are set in place currently are bizarre. If I have a choice I guess I’d choose the scanner instead of the touching. Some day we’ll have pat downs done by a robot and if it detects a suspicious item it will simply detonate the passenger. Robots will be perfect and never make mistakes. You know, just like our computers.

Recently we’ve all heard that security personnel have gotten a bit heavy handed on the pat downs. In fact, it has now reached the level of out and out groping. And these folks are feeling stress because they believe they are simply doing their job as trained to protect the public then we gripe at them for doing it. There are also sniffing dogs and sometimes they can be a bit exuberant and depending on one’s stature it is akin to pointy nose rape. As to the scanners, I think we now all go to the airport wishing we had lost a few pounds and wondering if we remembered to wear our new underwear. The scanners show all body deficiencies (and holding our stomachs in doesn’t help).

All of it is worrisome but not as worrisome as a plane exploding in mid air so we endure. We gripe and we hate it but we endure. The irony is that all the passenger screenings in the world are not protecting the passengers from disaster because the planes carry cargo that is often unscreened. Is anyone groping the cargo?

Cargo is shipped by the tons every day in the cargo sections of commercial flights for revenue purposes, according to the National Transportation Safety Board. Passengers might undergo invasive crotch groping but the cargo beneath their seats may never have been touched by human hands or by x-rays or sniffing dogs. I just did a few searches and found dozens of articles on the topic of cargo on passenger planes. I’m not a terrorist so that information is safe with me. But I know about it so I think terrorists know about it too and it’s only a matter of time before something happens. It’s a ticking time bomb. Pun intended, again.

Some “officials” claim that every piece of cargo shipped on a U.S. passenger flight has been screened for bombs. Really? Given the number and type of bombs available, especially when the bomb-maker doesn’t need to fear detection since he/she isn’t there, that would mean screening processes of enormous proportions. Can they really claim they have the capability to screen for all possible explosive devices known to exist at every single airport in the world? And through various packaging designs and types that are sealed? I think not. Even in the passenger screenings we missed the shoe bomber and the underwear bomber.

Some of the cargo that makes its way onto passenger flights is loaded in places that don't screen every piece—or screen at all. There are all types and sizes of airports. And things can happen to cargo in hundreds of places on the way to its destination. It could leave clean from its factory and arrive at one airport having been tainted along the way, or land in another airport and something can be attached to it at that location, and then it leaves without screening. Do we really think that every time a plane lands it’s re-screened? An entire planeload of cargo? Nope, I don't think so. Yet the passengers have had close, personal, and invasive encounters with security without so much as a dinner date before boarding. I’m missing the logic there. Is it window dressing to make us feel secure by annoying us with groping so we assume we’re safe? Irritated but secure? Doesn’t work for me.

Years ago there were no security checks per se. Luggage had to be appropriately closed with nothing hanging out and locked securely. Today we can’t lock anything. Carry on items were looked at externally to make sure they were not too big or too unmanageable but were not examined internally. Maybe an occasional peek inside. I used to knit on airplanes. I’d be in big trouble arriving with knitting needles today. There are actually people who fly today who have never flown without walking through a metal detector or guards checking them out. There were no surveillance cameras of the type we have today. If they had them they were looking at traffic flow and thievery not for terrorists and bombs. And our family and friends walked to the departure gates to wave us off and met us at the arrival gates to receive their gifts and hug us.

I don't mind someone groping my body while I’m waiting to board a plane, but I’d like to be handed an affidavit declaring that the cargo was just completely and thoroughly groped as well by the personnel loading the plane. If I could have that piece of paper I think I’d feel better about a body search, with x-rays or hands. Without that guarantee, we’re all being molested for nothing. It probably isn’t a huge surprise to learn the reason the cargo isn’t THOROUGHLY screened is cost. Airlines complain the cost would be exorbitant and would be passed on to the customers who would not like that one bit. So if airlines make that statement (here’s the fun part) how can the aforementioned “officials” say it’s all screened? The airlines say it isn’t, the officials say it is. I hate to be a logical person. It can screw up my day when I hear things like that. There’s a concept problem there. I bet some of us would prefer better cargo screening. Knowing the cargo was cleared might make the passenger groping more tolerable. Then there are x-rays from equipment with questionable safety checks because checking those machines routinely is‑‑expensive.

I still don't fear the flying process itself. Just the bomb part. For those that have never liked to be thrust in the air in a thin metal tube thousands of miles up in the sky, having security reminding them that mad bombers are everywhere, cannot be pleasant for those fearful fliers. I have an aunt who will never fly or take a train. This started years before bombs on planes and trains. We tried to change her mind but we gave up.

So I think I’ll just drive to Yosemite. But wait. There are bears at Yosemite. Maybe snakes. Rabid animals. The beach? No! Sharks! (And hypodermic needles in the sand.) To fly or not to fly. That is the question. (Yeah, my apologies to Shakespeare too.)

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.]

Bully Basics 101

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Bullies come in many forms because bullying is an equal opportunity behavior. The primary function of a bully’s life is to pick on those deemed to provide the least resistance. The kid who pushes another kid into a locker and takes his lunch money is a bully. The teen who taunts and mentally tortures a classmate driving her to suicide is a bully. There have been tragic headlines about cyber bullies as well. There are many ways to create a bully: negligent parenting, school failure, peer rejection, gang affiliation, and sometimes bullies are the victims of mental issues beyond their control requiring intense mental health attention.

I had one bully experience in my life. It was in the third grade. (Early elementary school is often where bullies hone their skills.) We were all on the playground and one of our regular bullies started picking on a small, quiet boy. They were different races but I don't think race mattered to this bully. Race was simply an opportunistic tool he selected from his bag of tricks. A racial slur was spit out at the smaller boy. A few kids gathered around the two boys, the bully spitting and cussing, and the small boy whimpering. I stood in the circle too but I looked around for a teacher. I would not have snitched but I secretly hoped a teacher was out there. I think I was using mental telepathy to get the teachers to look my way. Off in the distance I saw two teachers chatting while watching kids play on the playground equipment and I stared intently at them. We weren’t a large circle of kids and they probably couldn’t see what was happening. We might have been playing marbles for all they knew.

Some of the older kids started urging the two boys on to a fight. Mob rule. I was very young but knew that if the big boy started a fight with the smaller boy, the smaller boy would disappear into dust. I knew both boys but did not play with them because at that age girls and boys didn’t play together much. Part of me wanted to leave but part of me kept dashing desperate looks towards the chatting teachers. About the third time I turned around from glaring at the teachers I heard a “smack” and saw the small boy go down.

I was tall for my age. Taller than most of my classmates. I felt somewhat clumsy and awkward. We all feel that way at times in our development. By seventh grade others caught up with me and I eventually topped off at 5”7’ and I’ve been comfortable with that height. (I’m 5’6” now. Weird.) It gave me then, and it gives me now, a small sense of physical security. I can also produce a nasty “don't bug me” demeanor when necessary. I carry a fondue fork when I walk my dogs and I’m prepared to use it. It’s for off-leash dogs coming after us but there are off-leash humans out there too.

The boy on the ground was no longer whimpering. He was full on crying. The bully started toward him with fists clenched in preparation for a pummeling. I screamed, “Leave him alone!” I do not recall a thought process. I don't remember if I was afraid. To this day I just remember acting and I don't remember thinking. (A character trait in all areas of my life.) The bully turned and came at me like an out of control locomotive. He started calling me names and his face was bright red and he was very sweaty. He was a sturdy fleshy kid about my height. That I do remember—vividly.

The kids had stopped chanting “fight, fight, fight” and stood staring at this new turn of events. He got to about three inches from my face, with his clenched fists, and I knew he was not going to respect the time honored “never hit a girl” code. So I took the heel of my hand and slammed him in the chest with all my might propelling him quite some distance. The combination of his locomotion against my thrust was the end of him. My hand placement was slightly off-center so that he did a rather graceful twirl before he hit the gravel on the side of his face. I heard air escaping when he landed then he skid to a stop. Ouch. The small boy was now on his feet and had stopped crying. He edged himself over in my direction and stood slightly behind me. His savior. Everyone cheered and laughed. The bully cried. I had hurt him. Did my pre‑emptive strike make ME a bully? After all, another popular code in my age group was never hit someone first. It was only acceptable, with limitations, to hit someone after being hit first. I hit the bully first. Oh, crud. I was in trouble.

As it happened this event took place close to my classroom. My teacher must have heard the chanting and came outside just in time to see me slam the bully. She had not been outside to see the entire disaster from the beginning. She was a tall elegant woman and I adored her. She broke through the circle and went immediately to the smaller boy. She looked at his tear-streaked face and checked out his limbs and turned his head left and right looking for injuries then gently told him to go to the nurse’s office. Next, she looked at the now-standing bully and told him in a less than gentle tone (as he picked gravel out of his cheek) to go immediately to the principal’s office and she would be there in a minute. No nurse. She then turned to the crowd and told everyone to disburse and go play a while before the bell rang. I quickly ran off with them attempting to lose myself in the crowd but she caught me. “Sharon! Come back here!” Oh, crap. I was never a fast runner. More of a gymnast.

She put her hand on my shoulder and walked me back to the classroom. She asked if I was okay and did I need to see the nurse. I said I was fine. She looked at me for a few seconds and I noticed a faint smile. She told me to go back outside to get some air while patting me on the shoulder. And that was it.

I’ve thought about that event many times throughout my life when I’ve encountered nasty people. I eventually figured out that the bully had a reputation and the teachers all knew who he was and how he behaved. They also knew the small quiet boy and knew he was not a fighter. And they knew me. I was a fun-loving child, lots of friends, and never created a problem. I lived to play (to the detriment of my academics) and it was probably a miracle I stopped at that circle of kids because usually I was hanging upside down on the jungle gym on the other side of the playground. Or at the top of the large walnut tree obscured from adult eyes. Unfortunately for the bully, I was very strong because of those activities.

I’m sure it was easy for the principal, the teacher, and the bully, in their subsequent meeting, to ferret out what had happened that day and I wasn’t needed. I don't remember seeing the bully again but I do remember seeing the small boy all the way through half of the 8^th grade before my family moved. His name was Bob.

The sad research I did to prepare for this blog didn’t tell me anything new. We all know bullies. And it’s a behavior not restricted to children. We have bullies everywhere. And the term “bully” is very broad and there are defined sub groups for the various types of bullies such as verbal, physical, psychological, and so on. It was also not a surprise to learn that bullies are often mistreated at home. Sometimes it’s by parents but sometimes by older siblings or neighborhood kids (or entire neighborhood dynamics) and the parents/authorities don't or won’t control it. Some parents think kids need to toughen up. That thinking works. It creates little monsters. It also creates victims.

Workplace bullying is alive and well. Sometimes it’s by superiors to subordinates but very often it’s peer abuse. Some literally do fight to get to the top using all manner of behaviors to attain their goals. Believe it or not, the physical abusers are somewhat easier to deal with in society because it’s a clear violation of the law to assault someone. Psychological and verbal bullying is harder to deal with but no less traumatizing to the victim. I was stunned to learn that suicide related to bullying is on the increase. Partly because it’s being reported more accurately and investigated more thoroughly but in the past, even long ago in human history, subordination by bullying has been part of our human evolution. Remember Clan of the Cave Bear? (Reality TV comes to mind as assisting the evolution of bullying by exploiting human degradation, honoring the bully, and feeding it all to the masses.)

Many schools have developed ways to deal with bullies when they are able to spot them. Because we have a strong anti-snitch rule amongst youngsters it isn’t always easy to find the bully and deal with him. I say “him” but certainly girls bully too. Boys just do it physically more often than girls. In statistically larger numbers. Girls are now using more mental forms of bullying via social networking and texting: tech bullies. Malicious little malcontents.

The bully all too often crosses the line from common bully to criminal. If left unchecked a bully learns they can have almost everything they want (cell phone, sneakers, lunch money--attention) by pushing kids around. That loot will not suffice when they reach young adulthood so they graduate to weapons and the general prison population gets new friends. It is not surprising to note that many bullies have image and self-esteem issues. Like the bully in my childhood.

He was a flabby kid, poorly dressed, not terribly healthy looking, not very clean, squinty eyes (I’m not kidding) and I do not recall a single pleasant thing about his appearance or personality. I suspect he was one of those boys who made it through puberty with a diet of snack foods and a body to match. I do not recall whether or not he had a group of kids he hung out with. I, on the other hand, was a curly-haired blond with cute dresses my grandma made for me and a nice fresh one was taken from my closet each morning and I went off to school quite the little princess after having a breakfast of hot chocolate and cinnamon toast usually with my mom and grandma but sometimes my dad too. (Did I mention I was an only child?) What did the little bully have and did his grandma make his clothes? Did he have hot chocolate and cinnamon toast? No. I’m sure he lived a sour life with a sour family. It didn’t make me sad then but it does now.

Though the authorities have come up with hundreds of plans to thwart bullies, the best plan is good parenting. It’s amazing what simple parenting can do. No fancy equipment is needed. Just a loving parent/adult or two (though one works very well) spending as many hours a day as possible with their kids explaining how much they love them, going to all their plays, concerts, and games, and teacher meetings, cooking dinner every night, watching movies with them, talking to them, taking them places even if it’s only to the grocery store (so many leave their kids at home when they grocery shop because they don't want the hassle but it’s a wonderful missed opportunity to communicate and argue about food purchases and whether or not a 14-year-old can go out with his or her older friends who have cars while other shoppers are critiquing our parenting skills), and working hard to provide for them by going to a job every day of the week (which is also a role model thing).

Parents don't have to be rich, they don't have to be educated, and they don't have to be particularly clever or smart. They just have to love their kids and be with them as much as they possibly can every day and treat them kindly and lovingly and firmly and get on them when they screw up. Those homes do not produce bullies. Oh, throw a nice dog or two into the mix, maybe a cat, stir, and instead of bullies you get sweethearts. I did.

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.]