The Professor & The Sergeant (Part 1 of 1)

[For previous blogs please visit “blog archive” to the lower left of this screen. Click on the small black arrows for a drop down list of all the blogs.

If you are returning from a trip and you are standing at your front door unlocking it with your key and you are suddenly challenged by a police officer, regardless of your respective ancestral lineage, it is likely to make you

1) Frightened knowing suspect shootings can happen (you can be shot by the officer);

2) Angry because it’s your house and the officer doesn’t believe you;

3) confused and disoriented;

4) Enraged by the officer’s behavior and your good judgment goes out the window.

If you are a police officer who finds himself standing in front of a home you believe is under assault by an intruder, regardless of your respective ancestral lineage, it is likely to make you

1) Frightened knowing suspect shootings can happen (you can be shot by the suspect);

2) Angry because the suspect says it’s his house and you don’t believe him;

3) confused and disoriented;

4) Enraged by the suspect’s behavior and your usual good judgment goes out the window.

And that’s exactly what happened. Both men, an honored professor at a university and an honored police officer at the local police department, participated in a pissing contest and everyone lost.

I am a 64-year-old white female, a little older than Professor Gates (58), and quite a bit older than Sergeant Crowley (42) and I’ve been profiled and so has my son. My daughter was involved in a profiling incident though she was not the target.

Incident #1: It was in southern California. You haven’t lived until you have driven in southern California. The density of the traffic is intense. You can be speeding down the freeway with cars so close to your rear bumper and so close to your front bumper that if anyone sneezed it would cause a twenty-car pile up. If you miss your turn, you have to drive miles before getting anywhere near your original destination.

I made an illegal left-hand turn in an old clunker car (apparent dead beat profile). I was in a long line of cars making a turn that would take us to a major freeway onramp, but some traffic went slightly to the right of the freeway onramp then continued south on the heavily traveled boulevard with freeway traffic entering and exiting the interchange by the hundreds.

While lining up to make the turn that I had made hundreds of times, a red light flashed in my rearview mirror. I turned around and made a motion and mouthed, “Who, me?” The police officer nodded his head. I was shocked because I knew that I surely had not committed a traffic faux pas. The clunker, I thought, must have had something hanging off of it and the officer wanted to bring it to my attention.

So when the line started slowly moving, instead of getting on the freeway, which is where I desperately needed to go, I obeyed the direction of the officer now pointing somewhat wildly to the curb area on the opposite side of the busy boulevard. It was difficult to get to the curb on the far right from where I was on the far left and since I was being followed by a police car I didn’t want to get a ticket and so I carefully edged over there, but it took some time.

I could see him waving and pointing from within his car wondering where I was going. Then I heard the “whirp whirp” of the siren and through a loud speaker, “Pull over to the side of the road.”  I pointed and gestured that I was TRYING to accommodate. I remember a shoulder shrug with my hands up as if to say, “What should I do?”

I made it safely over to the curb, turned off the engine, pulled out my driver’s license, and as I looked up smiling with a potential “hello” ready (but not delivered) he lit into me as though he had captured the hillside strangler. He started with, “When a police officer instructs you to get over, you must do so immediately. Were you evading my stop?” Evading his stop? On a huge boulevard with hundreds of cars trying to kill me? (I wanted to say that but I didn’t.) I was so confused and disoriented (like the professor and the sergeant) that I dared to say, “Huh?” This further enraged him and he demanded my driver’s license then whisked it away to his patrol car and investigated whether or not I was personified evil in a stolen car (my clunker).

Having no luck, thereby ruining his chances of cuffing me and hauling me off, he launched into a tirade about my illegal left-hand turn. Most of it I didn’t understand. When I tried to ask a question (opening my mouth) he became red-faced and began gesturing, again, with both hands. At one point, while trying to explain myself (like the professor and the sergeant) he stopped me and with great restraint said, and I’m paraphrasing because I truly have no idea what he actually said but this is what I’ve come to believe over the years, “You were not in the turn lane. You were in oncoming traffic. Every single day you people slide into position way too early because there’s too many of you and then you end up in oncoming traffic. The designated turn lane itself is way the hell up there and you were about five car lengths away from where it begins.”

I, of course, started crying. I wasn’t crying about the damn turn. I was crying because I knew I was dealing with a maniac and I was going to get shot no matter what I said. I knew it, I knew it, I knew it. And so, I said nothing further (unlike the professor and the sergeant). For my family and friends, this came as a shock when I retold the story, but I was truly frightened of this giant man (I was still seated in my car).  The crying somehow defused the situation and instead he snarled, “Why are you crying?” I didn’t respond because I was crying too hard. I believe to this day it woke him up (unlike the professor and the sergeant where nothing woke either of them up).

Several days after the event I concluded he was extremely irritated about that turn lane problem, was probably powerless to change it, perhaps had witnessed terrible accidents, had no doubt complained about it for years, and probably had countless fights with countless people heading into oncoming traffic—FOR YEARS AND YEARS.

And I had no idea I was driving into oncoming traffic. It didn’t appear that way. As we all do when driving, especially repetitive driving we do every day, I never saw that the lane didn’t start where I joined in. I just followed the crowd. But, and this is very important, he did not stop any of the nice cars. He stopped me in my clunker with the windows down because it didn’t have air conditioning and my hair was a swirl of snarls making me look a little psycho.

There were cars BEHIND him too. They were more in violation than I was, being further into the oncoming traffic, because I was almost within the left turn painted lines or at least closer than they were. It was easier to deal with the ditzy blond in the clunker than the slick fella in the BMW who was in front of me. The BMW violated the law first. I was behind him. Why not him? There were even more cars in front of him. The officer had a dozen to choose from but he picked me. Perhaps I fit the profile of a careless wild looking young woman driver in a clunker car who probably wasn’t responsible otherwise she wouldn’t be driving such a car and she’d buy a comb. I was also the path of least resistance, another profile of who I was or might have been.

And so, because I shut up, this horrendous event concluded (with a ticket) and I left. I could barely drive.  We didn’t have cell phones then and I was far from home. As soon as I could make a right turn I pulled over and sat in the car for a while. At this point I had no idea how to return to my original position of attempting to get on the freeway. That lesson was so well learned that I told both children, many times, that no matter what happened in an encounter “with the law” to shut up.

Incident #2: My son and three friends were on the freeway and they were pulled over. They were told to get out of the car at gunpoint by a group of CHP officers. This is a little strong for speeding so being smart young men they knew something was seriously wrong. Sure enough, they fit the profile of men and a car known to have committed a crime involving a teenage girl with long dark hair. One of the boys with my son had long dark hair so he fit the description of the teen girl. There were other factors that made the officers believe these were the suspects and the girl. However, because my son and his friends kept their mouths closed, it didn’t take long for the entire nasty business to conclude with no one getting shot or arrested. It did take the breath out of the boys, but it ended.

Incident #3: My son and two friends met to attend a nightclub to see a particular band they enjoyed in a neighborhood not known for ice cream parlors. They decided to get there early to be first in line to buy tickets and find good seats. They went to the club, sat on the sidewalk, and leaned against the wall near the doorway (the club was not open), and awaited the arrival of the crowd and bouncers. I believe at the time they were dressed in the attire of whatever image they were emulating in that era and it wasn’t a suit and tie.

As they sat there chatting and smoking (cigarettes), police cars pulled up and told them to get up and do a variety of things (spread your legs, lean against the wall, be quiet, the usual TV stuff). They did this without question though I’m not sure why. I can see my son doing it because of my countless admonitions but maybe the others had parents with similar life experiences. Soon the officers left and it was NEVER clear why they were “examined.” Perhaps they fit the profile of loitering malcontents.

Incident #4: My daughter was in her friend’s cute little car out for an evening. My daughter looks like Cinderella (1/2 Danish ancestry) and her friend looks like Jasmine (Latina ancestry).  It’s a Disney thing. The two girls were adorable together and turned the heads of all races. At some point in the evening, they were pulled over by police officers and rudely grilled about the ownership of the car. The lead officer demanded ownership documentation, driver’s license, etc. At one point the officer bent down so he could see the passenger, my Cinderella daughter, and the words out of her sweet mouth were, “What is your name and what is your badge number and why are you pulling us over and we didn’t do anything wrong and why don’t you think this is her car and if I was driving would you have pulled me over” and so on. She also had a trump card. My employment was closely affiliated with the police department and she sort of let it roll off her tongue, “and my mom works for . . .” Within minutes it was over. I was horrified when she told me this story and explained how very badly it could have gone but she was infuriated and mortified for her friend to be treated that way.  And she never listens to me anyway so why was I surprised?

Had her friend been alone or with a Latina friend, how would it have ended? As the girls drove off they discussed the episode and her friend said it happened all the time. Not just to her but to her friends. All of her friends had good jobs and worked hard to buy nice clothes and cars. In the entire time my daughter has been driving she has never once been pulled over and had her vehicle ownership challenged. Nor have I. Nor has my son. Nor has any white person I have known. I had the good fortune to live in Detroit many years ago. I was in the minority and the population in the area where I lived and worked was primarily African-American. I’m white. I should have been pulled over for something but I never was.

So, yes, we have profiling. And the time to try to change our justice system is not at the front door of our home screaming at a cop unless we want to extend our trip and spend the night in jail. And a cop who supposedly teaches sensitivity courses on how to avoid profiling should not be arresting people who have just been profiled. He was angry and used his power.

The professor should have contained his anger, and then the next day contacted the press, his attorney, the ACLU, the president of the United States, and raised a giant fuss. With his prestige he should have taken this problem on in a vigorous intelligent way and gone on TV with his head held high as he fought the good fight.

And the officer should have done likewise explaining that he was only doing his duty and he was simply there to check out a possible robbery and should have offered information on how suspect investigation works. Both of these gentlemen have done this but not in a positive way. They are both defending their positions and not backing down (as of this writing). Someone should put the two of them in a room and lock the door and let them hash it out. Oh, wait. I think President Obama is trying that. In fact, their bad behavior is being rewarded with a private visit with our country’s leader along with a chilled adult beverage.  Maybe if I kick the mailman I can get a private visit with Hillary and a glass of wine.

I heard a legal analyst state on the radio this afternoon that had the professor stayed inside his house he could have continued screaming, but the officers told him to come outside which changed the legal dynamics as they relate to our civil rights. Your rights change somewhat if you are on your porch. The professor no doubt didn’t know about this crack in the system.

Now everyone is lining up and taking sides and it’s creating more divisiveness and distrust between us. Is there any wonder the world is in such conflict? When we watch TV and view programs that promote vicious and outrageous competition driving people to hate each other, for pleasure, why are we in a snit about this recent news event? We just flat out don’t get along very well and we don’t do a lot to try to do better.

And finally, the bottom line is, we have sanctioned law enforcement to have the power. If we want to change it, we must join the hundreds of watchdog groups that investigate these matters, communicate with our political leaders, but mostly, keep our mouths shut when stopped by the police, and be thankful we don’t live North Korea. And if you want to be a bully, move to North Korea. Their training is excellent.

http://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.]

Saying Good-Bye (Part 1 of 1)

[For previous blogs please visit “blog archive” to the lower left of this screen. Click on the small black arrows for a drop down list of all the blogs.

The world has recently and collectively experienced the loss of several amazing celebrities. As we learned of each passing we were immediately hit with yet another death announcement and sometimes that person was of even greater popularity so that the previous person was left without a proper send-off. Or so it seemed. I don’t think we were being cruel but being a celebrity is a popularity game even in death. Karl Malden and Ed McMahon, for example, did not receive the proper send-off they would have had they not been overshadowed by Farrah and Michael. And it just kept coming, most recently as of this writing, Walter Cronkite.

During this same exact period three deaths occurred in my circle of friends. I know that is the case with hundreds of thousands of other people around the world. Our TVs were blaring with the loss bombardment of our great celebrities and at the same time many of us were dealing with the loss of our own family and friends.

Sometimes loss is handled well, as painful as it may be, by those left behind. If loved ones and friends have lived long, full lives, doing what they enjoyed doing, it is sad but manageable for family and friends when their loved ones die. We know that’s the way of life. Those of us with religious beliefs receive some comfort knowing our loved ones are going to a better place—depending on their behavior on the earthly plane (with a last minute request for forgiveness if time allows).

Humans are the only creatures on the planet that know they are going to die. Other animals instinctively try not to get injured but they do not know death is coming. They simply have an instinct to protect themselves. Humans are also a mostly cautious species and we try our best to drive safely, look around when we are out and about for signs of danger, and some of us avoid ladders and black cats. Whatever we do as we go through life, tucked away in the back of our brains is the “warning” light keeping us safe. That light doesn’t work well with terminal illness that creeps up on us, but we do have things we can do even then to prevent some of the nasty illnesses from stalking us like hungry tigers.

Wild animals go through life looking for food and seeking safe shelter. They are aware of death on a very primitive level either caused by them (predators) or they find themselves on the receiving end (prey). Sometimes they observe the death of members of their society. How they process that information is more of a warning about their own safety. Some are distressed at the loss of an offspring or mate because of their strong instinct to maintain the species, perhaps even sad according to some studies. Loss is a powerful emotion. Elephants come to mind as possibly one other species that may understand, to some extent, when it is time to die. I recall a few documentaries about whales as well. Sometimes a wounded or sick animal goes off to hide and die but some theories suggest they go off to recover and/or to be safe when vulnerable.

Over my 64 years I have experienced many deaths of family and friends and celebrities. That daunting experience increases as we age and with each loss we take pause to look at our own lives and wonder about our own mortality. I have always had a realistic and comfortable outlook on my eventual passing, but prefer to be in my 90s, in bed, with a Margarita in one hand and a cigarette in the other.

Blissfully, I believe, a friend of mine recently did die in bed. My grandmother always said that’s what she wanted and at 91 she almost made it but instead she had to be hospitalized and spent an uncomfortable number of months dying and hating being there and begging to go home. This was very difficult for my grandmother and even more difficult for her daughter, my mother. I always hated that she couldn’t have had her wish to die in bed. Don’t we all. But my friend did just that a few weeks ago and we were all weirdly comforted. We thought he might die at work because he loved to be at work and we didn’t want that for him or for his coworkers. We wanted private peace and dignity for him because he was a man of peace and dignity and a great presence in the world.

Next, another friend, who was a dear companion to one of my childhood friends, died away from home and in fact, in another state. He became ill, was taken to a hospital, and died, all within a relatively short period of time, far away from his cozy home. He had a wonderful little place surrounded by trees and shrubs and winding paths here in California. Why couldn’t he have died there? How we end is more painful for our family and friends than the actual passing. A peaceful passing under the right circumstances and in the right place eases mourning to a great extent. My dad was only 38 when he died after a long, agonizing stay in a hospital like my grandmother. No one wants that. 

And finally, the third loss in my life at the very same time as the celebrities and two friends—the passing of a friend’s little dog of ten years. I knew this dog from the time she was a puppy when she joined my friend’s family. For those of us who love and lose pets, it is a painful ordeal. At the beginning, the expectation of fewer years to be with our beloved pets does help a little at the end. We know we will only have them for a few years when we sign on, but sometimes pets are taken too young, just like humans. Ten years wasn’t long enough for this little dog whose life expectancy for her breed is longer than that. However, she succumbed to cancer and it’s hard to beat cancer at any age--for humans too. She was lucky because she was able to die at home with her family and with the kind attention of a mobile veterinarian. Humans are not so lucky.

I’ve spent a lot of time these past few weeks thinking of all of those human and non-human family and friends who have gone before me and I’m sad for all of us. I’ll snap out of it because I have to and because these passings are inevitable. All we can do is live a good life, hug our family, friends, and pets, and when we one day leave them, know we made them happy.

“Let us endeavuor so to live that when we come to die even the undertaker will be sorry.” Mark Twain

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.]

The Fourth Fizzle (1 of 1)

[For previous blogs please visit “blog archive” to the lower left of this screen. Click on the small black arrows for a list of all the blogs.]

When I was a little girl the 4^th of July was magical. My dad always purchased a large quantity of explosives and dozens of sparklers, my personal favorite, and off we’d go into the middle of the street with all the other families. It was exciting to be outside in the dark but the thrill of the fireworks was magical.

My favorite recollection of those evenings was placing a sparkler between each of my fingers, clamping my hands into fists, and then running around the street with all the other kids. We were running with sharp objects pointed at other children of all ages (including toddlers), and these sharp objects were on fire. The little sparks themselves did not hurt but if we were careless, and we always were, we often came in contact with the burning end that produced the pretty sparks and there would be screaming and crying and racing mothers. Most kids only ran with one in each hand but I had figured out my clever finger crevice placement and so I was the sparkler girl of the neighborhood.

Throughout the evening the dads all took turns lighting their little displays. Some of the fireworks were “legal” and some were not. I do not recall the regulatory issues at that time but even then cherry bombs were illegal and I believe firecrackers were illegal. But we had them and many other amazing fireworks that were just beautiful. The older kids often helped their dads set them off and every year we would read in the paper about missing fingers, eyes, hands, and so forth. It never happened in our neighborhood except for the sparkler nubs and one small fire in the orchard across the street. One of the dads put it out quickly and the festivities resumed. We just moved further down the street. You know, away from the orchard but closer to the houses. Made sense at the time. I think.

As time went by that tradition slowly changed. Up until several years ago in my own adult neighborhood I could still see a few neighbors outside their homes with kids doing the “safe and sane” fireworks kits sold at charity booths, but for the last few years I haven’t seen that anywhere near where I live. It’s illegal here for any fireworks but it didn’t stop many families until the last few years. I do hear the occasional cherry bomb or bottle rocket or firecracker (and gun shots), but each year it’s less and less. My first year in this house, fourteen years ago, a few neighbors met outside for a very small display. That’s the last neighborhood display we’ve had.

This past 4^th of July was the most boring of any I have ever experienced. Most municipalities canceled their public fireworks celebrations held in fairgrounds or parking lots due to the expense because of our current economy. For many years with the decline in personal family neighborhood displays we at least had the wonderful fireworks put on by our towns and cities. This year we still had parades, but a few of those were canceled as well due to our sad economy. 

That said, I’m actually relieved. As an adult I have worried about fires from the careless handling of neighborhood displays. And we have all heard the horror stories of homes being destroyed and people being injured or even dying. I know we can’t protect every aspect of our lives and eliminate all things that are fun but as a society we do seem to grow up together and fire prevention is a wise public decision. 

It’s sort of like Halloween. What a joyous event that was as a child. But with the advent of commuting parents, weird people putting stuff in candy, and other activities families are involved in, I see Halloween, as I knew it, disappearing too. Many families have parties now and that seems a fun and sensible way to go. I think.

Yet, each year the week before Halloween I decorate my house and windows with flashing scary lights. Last Halloween I raced home, turned on my monster lights, set up my chair and bowl of candy by the front door, put on my aluminum fright wig, locked my dog and cats in my office, and waited. I didn’t get a single child. Trick-or-Treaters have been coming in smaller numbers for years now and last year not one child. In the past few years the number has gotten so low that I was eating way too much candy over the next few days after Halloween. Last year I wisely bought candy I don’t like and sure enough, no kids. Had I purchased chocolate I’d have gone into diabetic shock.

So Halloween has changed and the 4^th of July has changed. Neither change is necessarily bad. In fact, I look at these changes as evolving into something better. I think.

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.]

MICHAEL JACKSON R.I.P. (1 of 1)

[For previous blogs please visit “blog archive” to the lower left of this screen. Click on the small black arrows for a list of the blogs.]

Around the late ‘50s, early ‘60s, my grandmother learned that Eddie Fisher and Debbie Reynolds were getting a divorce. She was used to celebrity divorces but she was sad because she liked the attractive couple. Soon after the news broke it was learned that the reason for the divorce was: Elizabeth Taylor. In that time period, and before, there was a substantial amount of celebrity gossip available if fans wanted to find it. There were “movie” magazines, newspaper columns by Hedda Hopper and Louella Parsons, and the occasional mention on talk shows and newsreels at the movies before the cartoons. However, most publicists were paid huge sums to keep their clients out of the press when scandals erupted. Scandals of the magnitude of the Fisher/Reynolds/Taylor level could not be “handled.” How much was true and how much was fiction we will never know.

Publicists made up stories about their clients and staged events. Rock Hudson had a marriage forced on him to prevent the public from finding out he was gay. It’s hard to believe today but it worked. No one knew for years about Rock’s secret except Hollywood insiders and fans with tenacious methods for learning about their favorites. The average person didn’t know much except what they learned in the mainstream media. A controlled scandal was much better than an uncontrolled mess. There were certainly plenty of those but unless you were a hardcore fan the average person did not know too much about celebrity dirty laundry. Just the pretty stuff and fancy clothes.

So when my grandmother learned of this terrible divorce, in her opinion caused solely by Elizabeth Taylor, as though Eddie Fisher had nothing to do with it, she announced she hated Elizabeth Taylor. For the remainder of her 91 years she hated Elizabeth Taylor. While reading her morning paper if she came across an advertisement about a movie starring Ms. Taylor, my grandmother would make shocking and rude comments. Some of the comments contained Portuguese profanity so that I wouldn’t understand. Of course, I understood perfectly well having heard her bilingual and oddly endearing diatribes from birth.

As I mentioned in an earlier blog, I try very hard to NOT learn about the personal lives of celebrities. Today, however, it’s almost impossible to totally avoid this gossip. We know so many things about them, true or not, that it’s as though we know them personally. We can literally find out the shoe size of our favorite movie star. We can go to eBay and purchase items they have used (ew). There are entire TV programs devoted to news about celebrities and some are absolutely horrific in detail. TMZ comes to mind as possibly the worst television celebrity “news” program I have ever watched. I had to watch it a few times recently because of research for a future blog on “reality television” I’m preparing. In fact, I’ve had to watch a number of programs that just made me stare into space in disbelief. I almost considered not doing the blog because of the appalling research I’ve had to endure but I’m too far into it now. I’m not sure when it will be ready for posting because the topic of reality (ugh) TV is disgusting. 

When it comes to super stardom, unless we never leave our homes and rid ourselves of our newspapers, magazines, computers, TVs, and radios, we WILL hear about celebrities. It is unavoidable. However, few celebrities ever reach the heights of a Michael Jackson. Some come close in gossip mongering like Jennifer/Brad/Angelina, O.J., Paris Hilton, Britney Spears, etc. But Michael was an entity unto himself.  

Our family was besotted with Michael from the time he was a little boy. Over the years he became more amazing with each new phase of his career. When he entered his Thriller period everyone was blown away with his talent and his continuing shy and sweet demeanor. Even Fred Astaire commented enthusiastically on the talented Michael Jackson.

Click on this wonderful link to see other famous admirers of Michael Jackson. 

http://floacist.wordpress.com/2007/10/11/quotes-on-michael-jackson/

Also take a peek at YouTube’s Smooth Criminal with Fred Astaire’s dancing incorporated into the music via clips from his movies. Fantastic.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RKanPsUjP7w&annotation_id=annotation_211174&feature=iv

Michael went beyond charisma. I remember the first time I saw the Thriller video I immediately purchased a copy of it. It was one of the most remarkable things I had ever viewed. So when I heard of Michael’s passing, I pulled my VHS tape out of the cupboard, popped it in my old VCR player, and that feeling came back again in an emotionally strong way. He was just the most amazing artist of all times in all ways.

He was physically beautiful and flamboyant (until he met with unscrupulous plastic surgeons), a fabulous dancer, a wonderful singer, and a fantastic composer. He was also a generous philanthropist and he was truly loved by millions. My favorite piece by Michael is She’s Out of My Life. For some reason it touched me every time I heard it. I don’t know the story behind the song and I’ve never tried to find out. I love the mystery of it. Just like Michael, a true enigma.

After I watched Thriller a few times I remembered something else. Stuck in the back of a closet, untouched for years and years, was Michael’s red zippered jacket that I bought for my son when he was around 10 years old made by Andre de Leure. My son tried it on but I do not believe he ever wore it except for that one time because he didn’t want anything to happen to it. It’s in pristine condition and I just stood there gaping at it. (No, we are not going to sell it on eBay.) I have a vague recollection that the jacket cost $25. I can’t remember where I bought it. So after the discovery I asked my son what he would like me to do and of course I knew the answer: keep it forever. In fact, we’re going to place it in a special preservative bag or have it framed.

But my grandmother would be horrified by all of this adulation. (Not to mention his friendship with her old nemesis Elizabeth Taylor.) I don’t think Michael’s later eccentric life and change of appearance would have bothered my grandmother, though she would have made astute comments to be sure, but even the hint of child molestation would have actually done her in, true or not. I guess that’s why Congress has decided not to go forward with the resolution they considered honoring Michael’s life. Just the suggestion that Michael could have been involved in such behavior is enough to put Congress’ collective shorts/panties in a bunch. I think it’s because they are all so honorable and chaste and true to their wives and husbands. None of them have ever had relations with teens or young people under their tutelage. Congress, and politics generally, is filled with light and sunshine and there’s not a bigoted, narcissistic, dishonest, spouse-cheating, lying, deceptive, manipulative, pervert in the bunch. We are blessed.

But back to grandma. I remember trying to explain that the information we got on Elizabeth Taylor and her scandal could not be trusted. That “Hollywood” stories were often wrong. How were we to know, really, what happened between the three of them? How were we to know if Eddie and Debbie were separated or having marital trouble prior to Elizabeth entering the picture? It didn’t matter and my grandmother would have hated Michael for any connection with child molestation. She would have assumed that no adult in his right mind would surround himself with children in a bedroom for anything other than ulterior motives. Key words being “in his right mind.”

However, in our society we are innocent until proven guilty. O.J. is innocent, Robert Blake is innocent, and Michael is innocent too. For some reason that works for me with Michael and Robert Blake, but I haven’t been able to process that theory with O.J. even though he is also charming and handsome. [For some reason I sense a sinister creepy vibe with him. I did NOT watch the trial.] I guess I have some of my grandmother in me after all. Phil Spector is a lunatic so he got what he deserved I guess. Often it’s the person who is the most charming, has the most money, and has a clever attorney with great insight into jury selection who gets an innocent verdict, guilty or not. If you look and act like Phil Spector money doesn’t help. If I’m ever arrested I do not want a jury of my peers. I’m neither charming nor rich. It would be Chowchilla for me.

And so this is how I have justified my continued admiration for Michael. A jury of his peers found him innocent. He paid a large sum of nuisance money to the alleged victim, which is routinely done in legal matters with strict covenants to never speak of the matter again or risk losing the settlement. Because everyone lies about their personal lives, including our esteemed political leaders, we can only base our opinions on court decisions, not tabloids. 

Michael was an extraordinary child in a tough adult business. He later became a reclusive man who did not understand boundaries, did not understand that it wasn’t okay to play with young children in his bedroom, and that he would be judged harshly by that behavior. He had mental confusions and conflicts that were not being treated except, perhaps, with drugs. He had a loving but complicated family structure that was unable to direct his personal life (or theirs at times) in a healthy direction. He was also surrounded with friends and attendants who were also at a loss as to how to help him live an adult life with limits, and if he did seek the care of a mental health care provider, that person failed him. All the money and fame in the world could not keep him from his sad spiral into a bizarre death at the hands of more unscrupulous doctors. Everyone loved him and no one could help him. And now he’s out of our lives.

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.]

Bette Davis Eyes & Farrah Fawcett Hair (Part 1 of 1)

[For previous blogs please visit “blog archive” to the lower left of this screen.]

Farrah Fawcett’s incredible journey to the end of her life was reality TV of a courageous caliber. Normally, I avoid anything to do with reality TV because these creations focus on absurd confrontation, excessive and brutal competition, belittlement, demeaning behaviors, and are filled with embarrassing examples of humanity. In fact, when I learned she was video-chronicling her fight against cancer I cringed. However, I underestimated the impact of such a brave production. Farrah did not “go gentle into that good night.”[i]

When most of us first became aware of Farrah it was via the popular TV show, Charlie’s Angels.  As I remember, it was a simplistic format.  During the opening credits it was explained that Charlie’s “angels” were working for “Charlie” as private investigators. Though they had completed tough police academy training, they were given old fashioned, gender-based duties with the police department. Their only option to utilize their training and skills would be with Charlie, a mystery man we never saw. He assigned investigations to these women each week (Farrah Fawcett, Kate Jackson, Jaclyn Smith, and later, cast substitutions of Cheryl Ladd, Shelley Hack, and Tanya Roberts. John Forsythe was the voice of the invisible Charlie and David Doyle portrayed Charlie’s liaison with the lovely investigators). The formula was simple: solve a case, wear beautiful clothes, and set hair trends for millions of women (and a few men).

I recently watched (again) Of Human Bondage [1934] based on W. Somerset Maugham’s novel, with Leslie Howard and Bette Davis. In this wonderful movie Bette goes from a breathtaking beauty to a wretched fallen woman. Even though her appearance deteriorates horribly in the movie, there wasn’t a makeup artist in Hollywood who could change those beautiful eyes. If shown photos of several sets of eyes almost everyone would be able to pick out Bette’s expressive orbs without hesitation. Just like Farrah’s smile and signature hair.

Farrah somehow managed to smile at her doctors when they were inflicting more painful treatments on her ever-weakening body. In the last few months and weeks and days of Farrah’s life, though that smile was still there, we all know that cancer treatments are terribly hard on hair. It bothered her in a very brave way, but not her fans. We will always see her with her beautiful hair.  I know she was more than a smile and hair but what a sweet legacy.

And now I must confess, I had Farrah Fawcett Hair. Years ago I had varying degrees of thick, multi-colored shades of blond hair and with great good fortune was one of the few who could actually copy her magnificent mane. I never managed it as beautifully as she did but I came very close. Almost everyone I knew tried to get their hair to look that way but one needed a very specific type of hair and clever shaping by an expert in a salon. I loved my hair this way, but sadly, I wore this style longer than my stylist’s comfort level. Toward the waning of its popularity he told me it was time to move on because Farrah had!

Sometimes walking down the street one would see dozens of Farrah heads but in some cases what was meant to be a stunning replica was in reality thin and flat and without the proper shaping by a hair stylist. We could spot a “bad Farrah” a mile away. (I should point out that though I was successful in getting my hair to look like Farrah’s, all other similarities stopped there.)

At different times in my life I’ve loved and hated TV, often at the same time depending on the programming (I’m currently in hate mode which will be thoroughly blogged in a few weeks; see paragraph 1 herein). Charlie’s Angels was simple, light entertainment with the primary focus on the amazingly beautiful cast along with fascinating guest appearances as well. It was a pleasant and harmless way to spend an hour and an inexpensive way to pick up all sorts of fashion tips! Men loved this show for obvious reasons, but women were equally enamored. 

The actors were all unique. John Forsythe though never seen (at least I don’t think they ever saw his face though there were close calls) had a beautiful voice. Bosley (David Boyle) had a crusty, raspy, exotic voice and a fun semi-macho persona. Next, Kate, Jaclyn, and Farrah were each special in their individual beauty.  Scripts were designed to enhance their individual styles and personalities. Farrah, however, rose to spectacular popularity because of her smile, her hair, her perfect tan figure and sparkling personality. Posters and interviews and fan magazines went crazy over Farrah. She was electric.

Sometimes when a TV actor/actress is met with such huge success on the small screen they often find transitioning to films and other work difficult. Farrah did not stay long with the angels because she knew she was already typecast and she longed for a more well rounded career. I did a little research which helped me remember that Farrah later went on to do serious work tackling tough subjects. (My personal favorite: Extremities.)  One might never know she had been a somewhat fluffy angel for Charlie (unless a person came from another planet because who on earth did not know about Charlie’s Angels?)

I have always tried very hard to avoid all celebrity gossip. If I see a tabloid while standing in the checkout line at the store I immediately turn in the opposite direction (and end up buying candy). I don’t want to know anything about their personal lives. I’d rather gain two pounds. Sometimes celebrity gossip is unavoidable when mingling with friends and coworkers so I have overheard more than I want to about various celebrities.

Prior to her documentary I knew almost nothing about Farrah’s personal life except for the famous men in her life and that she had a son. I did happen to catch her famous (or infamous) appearance on the David Letterman show but was happily unaware of any particular reason for the unusual appearance. Most of what I know about her now I learned via her own video production of her final struggles with cancer. It was very difficult to watch. 

And so at the end of Farrah’s battle, for some reason, I thought of Bette Davis. Maybe because I had recently watched Of Human Bondage. I noticed the same power in Bette Davis the last time I saw her on The Tonight Show With Johnny Carson. It was 1988 and she died not too long after in 1989. She wasn’t well but was dressed to the nines and the epitome of class. Bette was terribly thin and frail that night and I knew the end was near. But she was feisty and strong-willed, and her eyes were exactly the same. Bette Davis Eyes and Farrah Fawcett Hair. Unforgettable.

---

[i] Do not go gentle into that good night,

Old age should burn and rave at close of day;

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

[Excerpt; Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night, Dylan Thomas]

[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.]

 

Insomnia Is Not Your Friend-Part 3 of 3

[For previous blogs please visit “blog archive” to the lower left of this screen.]

Sleep is so important that we have devoted an entire room in our habitats for sleep. The focal point of this room is the bed. It is usually smack dab in the middle of the bedroom.  This room, unlike all other rooms in a home, is often shrine-like in its use. How many of us come home from a hard day at work and flop face first on the bed, fully dressed, before beginning the evening routine? And on weekends, if we are very lucky and soccer practice days are behind us, how often do we linger under the covers and smile and praise the arrival of Saturday morning so we don’t have to jump out of our bed and leave it with the warmth of our bodies still emanating beneath the covers? How many times have we made our bed after our trip to the bathroom in the morning only to discover it’s still warm? How desperately do we wish we could hop back in? Yes, other activities besides sleep take place in the bed, but that’s for someone else’s blog because this series is all about sleep—or the lack thereof.

I am a fan of the Home & Garden Network and I’ve watched a few shows built around the proper set up of a sleep-inducing bedroom. A little research on the Internet lists thousands of articles on insomnia and they most all describe the perfect setting for a proper night’s sleep in a proper bedroom. And so, like childhood, I have the perfect bedroom for sleep. It doesn’t work, but I have it.

First, I selected dark soothing colors. Next, my bedroom is decluttered. It would not be appealing to a decorator but for someone with insomnia they would know immediately it’s a serious room for sleep. My room contains a bed, a small dresser with a small TV, and a comfy chair and a lamp. That’s it.

Many articles and studies on insomnia recommend that we don’t watch TV in bed. It is considered a possible insomnia irritant. I did not watch TV in my bedroom for many years because of that potential issue. I had enough problems as it was. However, at one point in my life when I had my college kids living with me before they went off to their four-year schools, I would retreat to my bedroom to relax and watch TV leaving the rest of the house to them and their weird schedules of work and school. Now, if I’m having a particularly bad night, I click it on and watch a little and set the sleep timer and it has helped me fall asleep. Primarily because most programs on TV are horrible and boring (see future blog on television) so it’s easy to just listen to the noise it makes, which keeps outside noises from disturbing me. Again, I use it as “white noise” and why it works is a mystery but it does help.

Sleeping pills. Naturally throughout my life I have tried sleeping pills. One of the most disconcerting experiments happened just a few years ago. My doctor prescribed a pill with instructions to take one then if that didn’t work try two the next time, then three, then finally four. Never more than four. Over a four-day period I was up to four and they did nothing at all. I was not even sleepy. I have better luck with Advil PM than that sleeping pill. By the way, I do take Advil PM on occasion when I’ve had many days of particularly bad sleep. It does help me fall asleep but does not keep me asleep. Also, if I take it too often (every night) it loses its effectiveness after three days. So I save it for The Bad Days. (Note (again): I have a terrible time sleeping in anyone’s home. It’s an issue in hotels and motels but not as much as a person’s home. Why? Typical home noises. Hotels and motels are usually much quieter unless you select a super economy motel/hotel.)

Another sleeping pill I tried while living and working in San Francisco worked great but I couldn’t go to my 8 to 5 job until about 10:00 a.m. I kept taking the pill earlier and earlier in the evening to see if I could actually get up earlier but I found I had to take it at 4 p.m. the evening before which meant I was asleep at 5:00 p.m. That wasn’t good because at 5:00 p.m. I was on the bus heading home from work. Sleeping on a bus is very restful but somewhat dangerous.

Depression. One would think that I would suffer from depression because of this disorder. Oddly, I do not. I have experienced situational depression in my life but it never lasts long. I have read countless articles and studies wherein they describe depression and its possible related sleep issues. Sometimes depressed people sleep all the time, sometimes not at all, and sometimes they experience a combination of both. People with depression often require medications to treat their depression and sometimes those medications help them sleep normally. I have explored this possibility with many doctors over the years and we have always come to the conclusion that I do not suffer from depression. In those rare times when I have felt depressed it is always related to a sad development in life like the death of a loved one or some other event of that depth. Most of the time I buzz through life contented (except for a rather unpleasant 16-year period, which I will discuss in a future blog entitled Relationships. Even then I was not depressed but mostly exasperated. My sleep was disturbed more during that period due to parenting situations and babies and all of that but it really wasn’t much different that before babies.)

The cure: there is none. There’s information to help you cope and so I will share what I do.

First, I’m divorced (that helps a lot) and my children are grown and on their own (ditto). That means I have peace and quiet and can have my late-in-the-day relaxing period where I shut myself off from the outside world and start my “cool down.” This involves a nice bath or shower. Bathing before bed for an insomniac is very soothing. After my daily cool down and shower, I climb under the covers in my sleep-inducing bedroom, and relax. I may or may not watch TV or read, depending on what’s going on in the neighborhood. (Note: Relaxing if not sleeping is better than tossing and turning. You can train yourself to relax and rest. Not as good as sleep, but better than hysteria at 3:00 a.m.)  

Next, being a lifelong insomniac, I usually know what is ahead of me. I know if I’m going to have a dozing night, a sleepless night, or any of the others. It’s just an odd feeling. How many times have I said to family and friends that I knew I wasn’t going to sleep. Last night, for example, I had a very comfortable night’s sleep though I didn’t sleep very long. The part of the time I did sleep was comfortable and when I woke up I spent the rest of the night dozing. Not a horrible combination. When I got up I didn’t feel like pounding my skull with a hammer. That was a good night.

Finally, when it’s very bad I have learned to relax and think pleasant thoughts. Sort of a Zen thing. Earlier in life before I got a handle on this problem I’d cry. I never get in that state anymore. I deal with it and I relax. Partly it’s because I don’t have to get up at a certain time and be somewhere in an alert state. But it’s also because if I’m not going to sleep I’m at least going to relax. I have a little clock that has a variety of soothing sounds that often puts me in a relaxed state.  And I occasionally take an Advil PM to help me if I can’t fall asleep.

That’s it. The cure. Relax and don’t worry about it. It is what it is.

When I started this blog series I had no idea it would stretch to three blogs. I now know I could go on and on with this topic but it makes me crazy so I’m stopping. It’s 12:15 a.m. Went to bed, couldn’t sleep, here I am! [Michelle Pfeiffer has insomnia. I’m in good company.]

Next week: Bette Davis Eyes & Farrah Fawcett Hair.

[Good night, sleep tight, don't let the bedbugs bite! And if they do, hit them with your shoe to make them black and blue!]

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.]

Insomnia Is Not Your Friend-Part 2 of 3

[For previous blogs please visit “blog archive” to the lower left of this screen.]

When insomniacs discover each other it’s love at first sight. Usually it happens when a person states to a gathered group, “Oh, sorry everyone. I’m a little goofy today. Haven’t slept well lately.” For noninsomniacs in that conversation pool they gracefully nod and say something comforting to the weary one. For insomniacs in the group we immediately spring into action: “Do you have insomnia?” If the answer is yes, and it most often is, the others disappear into the background as the two insomniacs, possibly strangers moments ago, bond and discuss current sleep issues.

It’s not that we are trying to outdo each other with horror stories, but rather, it’s a fact-finding mission. Sometimes another member of the group joins in. It suddenly occurs to them they have similar sleep problems. Hmmmmmm. Sometimes insomniacs need to be gently coached out of the insomnia closet and often it’s by two or more insomniacs discussing the problem. I have met many people with raging insomnia in total denial. Once I grill them (and I do) they realize they actually do have the problem. Admitting they have insomnia opens the door to possible relief. Slim though that may be. 

So for those who do not think they suffer from insomnia I’d like to describe most of the different types of insomnia that are out there for your nonsleeping displeasure. Maybe you will see yourself in one of these scenarios. I sure hope not.

First, we can’t fall asleep. This is very common and people who do not suffer from insomnia do occasionally end up with sleepless nights like this so you are probably familiar with this one. We are dead tired but we just can’t get into the sleep mode. We toss and turn and get up and go to the bathroom and get water or hot milk or a shot of something 80 proof or take pills or watch TV or read. Whatever we do nothing seems to help. For the noninsomniac this can often be attributed to some sort of stress. Even happy stress like the night before a long planned for vacation. Or a wedding or a new job. Stress is stress and even happy stress can keep you awake. Pain will do it too. As we age we often have creeping aches and pains. We deal.

Next on the list, we fall asleep but wake up in an hour or two never to fall back asleep again that night. This is usually a state reserved for hard-core insomniacs but occasionally “normal” people may suffer this state. Again, maybe we were bone tired, fell asleep but had a stressful dream or there was a loud noise four blocks away and then once awakened we start thinking about the pile of work we have to do in the morning or the surgery our best friend is going to have, etc. True insomniacs experience this type often, but it can be enjoyed by others.

Another fun insomnia state is dozing. We sort of fall asleep then we wake up then we sort of fall asleep then we wake up then we sort of fall asleep then we wake up. If we look at a clock (which I turn to the wall now to avoid driving myself nuts) we’ll see we are sleeping--or more correctly--dozing in 10, 15 or 20-minute intervals all night. This particular form of insomnia is the one I experience 80% of the time. (Note: I almost never dream. If you are not sleeping you are not dreaming. When I do dream it’s a winner.)

Next, and my personal favorite, no sleep at all. We go to bed, we’re tired, drowsy and we almost fall asleep--but we don’t. We NEVER fall asleep. The next morning we feel like we have been run over by a truck and have a hangover. I’m not much of a drinker but I have had a few occasions in life where I’ve had too much alcohol on an empty stomach so I know what a hangover feels like. We feel foggy headed and out of sorts all day after a night of zero sleep.  I have read that if this occurs over a few days it can lead to serious emergency healthy issues. It is also a form of torture—keep the person awake and never let them sleep with the end result being they will divulge government secrets just to get some sleep.  I could never be a spy. After one of these zero sleep nights, about three o’clock in the afternoon the next day, we may even hallucinate. If we drive anywhere we should be arrested.

And after that night’s horror you would think we would fall asleep the next night; right? Nope. We may have another night just like it or one of the other forms of insomnia. Usually after a night of nonsleep I have a night of dozing. Still a zombie the next day.

Another fun insomnia experience is when our schedule changes and for some reason we have to get up earlier than we usually do. Nothing else in our life can be a problem, no stress happy or otherwise, but just changing an insomniac’s sleep routine is enough to keep them awake for hours. Then about an hour before it’s time to get up we fall asleep. Deep sound sleep. When the alarm goes off it’s devastating. (Note: most insomniacs are early risers. By “early” I mean 3:00 a.m., 4:00 a.m., etc.)  

The bathroom. I do not have this problem anymore, but I know many people who can’t sleep because they have to get up many times a night to go to the bathroom. I know some of these problems are related to medical issues but some people just get in the habit of going to the bathroom constantly and it is a form of nervous insomnia. I have had this problem when vacationing and I don’t know why. Maybe I consume more beverages when vacationing than I do normally at home but I have had this problem on vacations and it’s a pain. For me if I have to make a trip to the bathroom regardless of the time of night, that’s the last of my sleeping for the evening. To avoid nocturnal bathroom visits I stop eating and drinking at 4:00 p.m. each day.

Noise. If someone slams a car door even a distance down the block it will wake me up. I’m a very light sleeper, which is also a part of insomnia. In the summer people have their windows open and I can hear them talk and I hear their TVs. Noises like this can wake me up all night even if I’m having a rare decent night’s sleep. (I do not recall a time when I have slept through the night. You know, go to bed, fall asleep, wake up in the morning. What a concept! I must have but I truly do not recall ever doing that. It’s something I see in movies so I know it exists. When I have a dream I know I slept deeply at least for a while. If it was an exciting dream it wakes me up and I can’t fall back to sleep. )

My dad was a first class snorer. He could also sleep through earthquakes, thunderstorms, sirens, and the Ukiah volunteer fire brigade whistle that would sound out at any time of the day or NIGHT calling all the volunteers to fight a fire. He did not hear it. The whistle could be heard throughout the entire town of Ukiah and even beyond depending on prevailing winds. When I first moved there in the late ‘50s and I heard that whistle/siren I thought we were being invaded by Cuba.

His snoring probably was a clue to his subsequent serious health problem and the fact that he consumed large quantities of alcohol. People who do that seem to snore more than others. Especially beer drinkers. But the quality of his snoring was first class. It was thundering and sometimes frightening. The noise was so tremendous that I usually classified the snores on a scale of 1 to 10 while not sleeping in my little dark bedroom. I could also tell when a big one was coming much like we count the seconds from the lightning flash to the sound of its matching clap of thunder. He had a rather unusual snore sequence with a three-snort follow through. Stunning.  

I have a wonderful little fan I keep by my bed and on warm nights rather than open the window I turn on the little fan. It cools me and also provides a little white noise to help cover some outside noises. Some nights it’s dogs, cats, car doors, distance sirens, TVs, talking frogs, crickets, and my neighbor’s sprinkler system.

There are other variant forms of insomnia that all blend together at times and sometimes I’ve been known to experience all or some of the above for several days at time. Some days I would go to work and sit at my desk, usually before anyone else got there, (because I’d been up for hours) and tears would form in my eyes just knowing that I had to be there in a fragile state for many hours before I could go home and collapse. Sometimes a coworker would call in sick because they couldn’t sleep the night before. If I did that I’d have spent my working years living under a bridge. The insomniac can’t call in sick. They need to save their sick time for, you know, when they are sick!

Over the years I attended night school for two separate career goals. One period for three years and one for five years. On class days I knew at the crack of dawn that I would not sleep that night. Self-fulfilling prophecy aside, that’s just the way it is. I’d get home after class, maybe have a light snack (remember, insomniacs have to be careful with food and drink before bed) then watch a little TV or read, go to bed--and stare at the ceiling.

I watched a hilarious Wanda Sykes comedy routine not long ago wherein she described what happens when women go to bed. Many of us cannot turn our brains off and we start thinking of the most outrageous things and the list goes on and on right down to wondering if we have enough birdseed. She didn’t mention the birdseed but I have actually thought of birdseed when going over things I had to do and things I did and things I wanted to do and things I should do and things I shouldn’t do and in no particular order. This seems to happen especially with moms. Especially single moms. Especially single moms financially challenged.

Light. Sometimes throughout my life my bedroom has faced another house and some neighbors have left lights on all night. Usually once I discover this I buy the equivalent of wartime black out curtains and can resolve this one with not too much fuss. But sometimes they do not ROUTINELY turn on the outdoor lights and leave them on but will do so occasionally. If I’m asleep and my neighbor turns on a light that happens to be even remotely close to my bedroom, it wakes me up and I can’t go back to sleep. (Note: years ago wall light switches made a “click” when you turned them off and on. Older homes may still have those light plates. When I was a child I could hear my parents click lights off and on throughout the evening until they went to bed. I remember one of my first apartments was fairly new and when I flipped on the light—it didn’t click! I almost cried.)

Food. As I mentioned above, the insomniac must closely monitor food and beverages. When I hit menopause I found I was sensitive to alcohol, garlic, and chocolate. I gave the first two up but I’m still eating chocolate occasionally. I try to eat it no later than 4:00 p.m. Coffee can also be a problem but I only have one cup a day and that’s usually quite early in the morning. I gave all caffeine up for a year and it made no difference whatsoever in solving my insomnia problem. Sometimes if I go out to dinner and we linger after the meal with coffee and dessert I won’t sleep partly because of the coffee but it’s also because of the entire meal and getting home after a nice evening and not being able to sleep because my routine was changed. If I have garlic I will have hot flashes all night. It’s a girl thing.

Hot flashes. As if my lifelong affliction with insomnia wasn’t enough, when I hit menopause I had horrific hot flashes all day and all night. I was given hormone replacement therapy and the flashes disappeared completely. Then it was deemed to be unsafe so I was taken off of it and have continued to suffer from these nasty flashes. (Hence the little fan.) I’m 64. Is that fair? I think not. They come and go and sometimes I can go days without them but I never know when they will return and that’s somewhat stressful in itself.

Next week, more of the same. I’m tired just thinking about it. (It’s 5:30 a.m. Crud.)

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.]