The Execution

She awakened.  Had it happened already?  She peeked out from under the covers, pushing the disheveled greying hair from her face.  The house was quiet, the village to east and the city to the north still at peace.  She reached over and picked up her charging cell phone, the numbers big enough for unfocused eyes and not quite awake brain cells to read.  It was 11:54.  She hadn’t missed the execution.

She wandered down to the kitchen and got out a Coke which had been chilling for the occasion.  Not that she should have caffeine at this hour, but it was the best celebratory drink she had.  She took out a piece of her best stemware and placed it next to the bottle.  A cat wandered in, thinking that if the mistress of the house was up that it surely meant there was going to be something other than dry kibble to nibble.  She petted the cat and acquiesced, pouring a little cream for her friend before heading outside to await the signal that the death had occurred.

The night air was frigid and she wouldn’t stay outside any longer than she had to.  Her coat was warm around her as she sat down and put her feet up in the two lawn chairs which were perpetually on her porch.  She didn’t see any of her neighbors outside, but most had porches and patios which were out of her line of sight.  But, they were likely anticipating the moment as well.  It was 11:58.

As she waited the last two minutes, she thought about the significance of this death.  It meant freedom for so many, including herself.  So many things were wrong with this regime master, one who had held such promise in earlier days but turned vicious and almost tyrannical with time.  Oh, some liked this beast, having done well under its rule, but most just wanted it gone.  It was 11:59 and the countdown to the killing had begun.

She poured the soda into the goblet and listened, silently but happily ticking down the seconds with the rest.  Suddenly, chaotic joy could be heard.  Fireworks, church bells, horns blaring, people shouting.  It was over.  She raised her glass in a solo toast to the air.  “Goodbye, 2013, you bastard,” she quietly said and took a drink of the effervescent liquid.  She listened for a few more moments to the happiness in this midnight hour, then went back inside and headed back to bed.

Happy New Year, Everyone. 

Final Words

“No one can make you feel inferior without your consent.”
                                                         -- Eleanor Roosevelt

I’d like to go on record, as I’ve noticed so many have, as saying that 2013 was not a good year.  It took me down a path that I thought I’d never find myself on.  It took away a lot of things and was unapologetic about it.  The biggest things it took away was my sense of self-worth and self-confidence.  However, while a lot of what happened this year was out of my hands, the biggest things the year took away I allowed and that never should have happened.

I wrote in an earlier blog entry here, now on another blog, the following words:

I remember being a force of nature, a force to be reckoned with.  Someone who knew what needed to be done and could handle it.  Someone who might not be remembered in song and story, but who would have left an imprint on this world nonetheless.  Someone who could make a difference . . .  I can sometimes make the world believe that the fire is still there.  But in my heart, I know that I’d have to push away a lot of ash to get to even one tiny glowing ember that might still be there at the core of my being.

Definitely a low moment in my life.  My morale hit its lowest point during this final month of this  even less than average year, shaking me to the core of my being. 

And for every action …

Wait – what was that?  That was the sound of ashes being shaken off one tiny glowing ember.   Yup, there’s still life in there.

I’d like to do my imitation of a phoenix, but I think the plumage is going to take a while to revitalize to phoenix-like greatness.  Maybe later.  For the time being, let’s just say that the fire has been re-stoked and the ember’s starting to glow brighter.

Happy New Year, everyone.

On Privacy (and the Lack Thereof) in the Modern World

We’re such a contradictory species.  We demand our privacy from the online world, yet will share our demographic and financial information with vendors when we shop online.  We demand our privacy from social network sites, yet will post pictures of our family members and other details of our lives for anyone on our friends lists to enjoy.  Never mind that many friends lists have hundreds of people on them, most of whom aren’t personally known to the account holder.  We worry about how the government might be watching us and demand that they leave us alone, yet insist in the same breath that they keep us safe from harm 24/365.  Government shouldn’t be allowed to track you, but they can track anybody who might attack us, or simply the guy down the street who you think needs to be kept track of because he’s ‘weird’.

Folks, the only way to keep the possibility of being watched completely at bay is to give up everything that connects you to the rest of the world.  No internet, no telephone, no mail.  No electricity unless you make just enough for your own needs.  Public water means a bill and that means mail that can be tracked.  No TV unless the signals are snatched from thin air.  No bank accounts – strictly a cash existence – and goodness knows that credit would be an absolute no-no.  No job in the outside world where taxes are withheld.  You must be totally self-sufficient and independent of all that surrounds you.  Ah, but then there’s that pesky fixed location you’re in, not to mention anyone who might know where you are or even were just a day before.  You must cut yourself off from everything and everyone in order to have that warm and safe sense of privacy you crave.

And you thought the guy down the street was ‘weird’.

Government is not some faceless entity.  It is a collection of people doing their jobs, trying to serve us the best they can.  Generally speaking, they're not looking for you unless you give them a reason to be looking for you.  Can they overstep their bounds?  Can and have on occasion.  Sadly, all it takes is one paranoid protector or policy maker for things to go wrong.  We try to keep our government on the up and up, but we don’t always succeed.  Oh, the humanity that tries to do what’s best for us and the humanity that tries to make sure they continue to do that without making us feel like we’re under a microscope.  Key word to remember – human.  Flawed little creatures that we are.

We need to be vigilant to criminal activity at any level, but we also need to realize that privacy at all costs has a cost and it’s one few wish to pay.  Speaking as a somewhat eccentric middle-age woman, someone who likely qualifies as ‘weird’ in more than a few folks’ eyes, I can tell you that I’m comfortable with the level of scrutiny I live at in our society.  Perhaps it’s because I don’t bother ‘them’ and ‘they’ don’t bother me and I might care more if I was more than the quiet little maverick I am.  But, don’t expect me to be sympathetic the next time you whine about how ‘Big Brother’ is watching and how ‘they’ are taking away your right to a private existence.  I appreciate, savor and protect my privacy as much as the next person, but I also know that to live publicly means being visible in one form or another.

So, get over it and live with knowing that everything about you is likely in folders somewhere, or cut yourself off from the rest of us and go live in the wilderness.  Just remember to pull down the shades so the elk don’t have to watch you undress.

(Apologies to editing sticklers for the single quotes around some words – I couldn't think of a better way to emphasize them.)

A Soft Day in October

From my poetry archives.  Some have seen it, others have not.  It was written a number of years ago and its muse was the Hudson River.  Despite its environmental issues, it was and is still a beautiful body of water.  Please enjoy.

The geese and ducks
share the river near the shore
among water chestnut leaves
which slowly give way
to autumn’s final call

The tide coming in
the two flocks paddle gently
to maintain the place chosen
to rest and wait almost impatiently
for skies to clear

Fog veils the water
and a cold gentle rain falls
hastening the trees’ shed of leaves
their golds and browns
mixed still with green
gently defying the season

The sound of the birds is gentle and low
a moment of peace and grounding
before the call to flight
sounds once more
for all to obey

The flap of wings now
a drying move
a gesture of restlessness among the leads
The groups mingle for a minute or two
traveling comrades sharing a common moment

In but a short time they are gone
impatient for Nature to cooperate
The day is still grey and rainy for those left behind
but the reality is softened by this memory
of grace and beauty along the river’s edge

© 1999 Lauren Swartzmiller

Kvetching in the Job Hunting World

I filled out a job application today for a three month temporary position as a clerical worker. It's an entry-level civil service job. If ever there was a position that was a foot in the door at a desirable workplace, this one was it. However, if ever there was a waste of paper, envelope and postage to send in an application, this was it, too.

I rule myself out as the prime candidate or even in the top ten for a few reasons. The first is my timing. I didn't find out about this gig until today, which is Day 6 of a 10-day filing period. Even if I drove it to the personnel office and placed it into the initial set of reviewing hands for the position, I would still likely be Applicant #203, given that the average entry-level job has about 200 people interested in it. I have every prerequisite bit of knowledge and expertise they're looking for, but so do at least half of the people applying, with at least half of those with a better looking resume than mine.

Then, there's my work history. If my resume could talk, it would sound like a broken record. Every job title I've had since 1994 has had "Medical Transcriptionist" somewhere in the wording. Well, the ones I can list, anyway. There are the some short-term jobs that didn't include transcription, the ones that involved proofreading, database building, creating correspondence and brochures, writing copy, etc. that look wonderful, but aren't verifiable; one person has passed away, two would rather not be listed as an employer, one refused because it turned out I was doing his job, etc. So, there's this repetitive job title and description which appear on all my job applications, 100% of my short resume and 75% of the longer version which most employers don't want to see because a) it's ancient history and b) all the other jobs are on that second page rarely looked at. When they see that sea of transcription, many wondered, either silently or aloud, why I applied because they don't have a transcriptionist position open. Never mind that transcription involves word processing and/or data entry. At this point, I sort of know how an actor playing a role type over and over feels when they try to break out of it and can't. I've been stereotyped, pigeon-holed, categorized and relegated to being able to do just one thing. Granted, I do it really well, but my self-esteem, not to mention my checkbook, needs to be considered for other things, thank you.

Then, there's my age. I am 56. That gentle age, which is only 9 years from qualifying for Social Security and Medicare, is teetering on the edge of the ageism trap. Youth rules, despite what employers say and are required by law to ignore. However, if I'm up against a woman who has a similar skill set, educational background, work history and personality, but is 10-30 years younger than I am, guess who's more likely to get the position? By the way, if I've just made a fellow female who's 46 happy by calling her young, you're welcome.

So, despite my putting best foot forward yet again, I suspect the application I just printed, signed and mailed will be looked at briefly and then ignored for the duration. So, why bother sending it in at all? Hope. It springs eternal in me. I believe that good things come to those who persist and then patiently wait. I also still believe that someone might look at my blog and think I write goodly enough to hire me on as a reporter or columnist. Yup, I can still dream big even as I now find myself applying to wait tables again after 40 years.

... because sometimes, dreams really do come true.

On My Days Gone Bye-Bye and Those to Come

For those who have followed this blog for any length of time, you might remember an entry where I was sad and frustrated with the circumstances of my life and it showed in my chosen words.  Well, guess what?  That's right, it’s time for a similarly toned ramble.  Turn away now if you're looking for something lighter.  That's likely the next entry.

I remember being a force of nature, a force to be reckoned with.  Someone who knew what needed to be done and could handle it.  Someone who might not be remembered in song and story, but who would have left an imprint on this world nonetheless.  Someone who could make a difference.

I remember feeling that way.  I haven’t felt that way in a very long time.  As I think back on that, I realize it’s been over 10 years since I really felt like I could kick ass and take names.  I can sometimes make the world believe that the fire is still there.  But in my heart, I know that I’d have to push away a lot of ash to get to even one tiny glowing ember that might still be there at the core of my being.

The last few years have taken a lot out of me. The last two years in particular, when I attempted to chart a new course for myself and pretty much failed, have been the hardest financially, physically and mentally.  I’ve had my knowledge and abilities questioned to the point where even I question how much I know and can do in this world of ours.  I feel more and more like an anachronism.  I used to think I’d like being an anachronism, someone out of place in time.  But, now that I seem to fit the definition in my old-fashioned middle years among the modern elements of the 21st century, I can honestly say it’s not necessarily a good thing to be.

Lest this month’s serving of whine leave anyone concerned for my wellbeing, fear not.  I’m here for the duration.  I’m here to see and be a part of the movie that’s playing out my life.  I realize I’m the major contributor to its less than perfect writing and direction, but there are a few other hands influencing its course.  Some are welcome, others not so much.  However, while it may not be the best film, I have no desire to walk out on it before the end-credits roll which, I still hope, is more than a few years down the road.

I could use some comic relief in this thing, though.  And some romance.  Maybe some porn.  Definitely less drama.

Blank Canvas

I look toward the street

Where the parade will pass by

Its march the beginning again

Of the give and take

Between medicine and creativity

The barter of skills

That all may enjoy

           The O+Festival began in Kingston, NY, my neck of the global woods.  When I heard about it in 2011, I thought it was a unique and potentially very effective way of bringing together two groups of people, namely healthcare professionals and those in the creative arts, who don’t, but should, see more of each other.  It’s three days of synergy, what the festival calls “Bartering The Art of Medicine for the Medicine of Art”.  I didn’t go in 2011 because of my schedule.  I didn’t go in 2012 for reasons that I can't remember now.  But this year – ah, the charmed third year – I plan on being in the middle of it.

Having been somewhere in the healthcare field for most of my adult life, from clerical to clinical and back again, I’ve seen the results of a lack of healthcare due to no insurance and/or funds and it’s not pretty.  I’ve been there myself and I know that you put off going to see a doctor, dentist, therapist, etc. unless or until it’s something you can’t handle.   It’s not the best way to take care of yourself, but sometimes it’s the only way when there’s no alternative.

As a fellow creative soul, I’ve also known the drive of the muse.  Words must be written.  Paint must be applied.  Film must be shot.  Clay, marble and metal must be molded.  Music in all its styles must be made.  It pushes you to pursue your creativity with or without that day job that everybody tells you not to give up.  The last thing you might want to think about is what’s going on with you, health-wise.  But, even that sometimes elusive muse should be saying it’s really a top priority.

Enter the O+ Festival, where those who offer medical skills can enjoy art and music in all its festive splendor, and those who contribute their creativity to the festival can have access to healthcare beyond the basic bandage.  It’s also there for those who aren’t in either category to simply enjoy.  My admission is a sure thing this year because I want to see this cooperative effort, which has expanded beyond Kingston and now has a second anchor point in San Francisco CA, in action. Volunteering to help is never a bad thing and I may be somewhere in that mix.  But, I may also just be audience, paying the price of admission (wristband – tres chic) to help with the costs of continuing this effort in the future.

I’m not sure what to expect to hear or see in terms of music, art, or clinical care offered.  I know that it starts in Kingston with a parade on October 11th and ends on the 13th, with a lot in between, but that's about it. That’s the blank canvas that this entry’s title introduces and I look forward to filling said canvas with answers and fun.

           

Dear C.I.A. - We Knew it All Along

Persistence pays.  Persistent rumors usually have a grain of truth to them and that grain slowly gets harder to ignore/deny - like a pebble in a clandestine's shoe - when you actually know it's not a rumor.

The Central Intelligence Agency declassified some documents which seem to support the existence of a facility which we have lovingly come to know through the years as Area 51.  Yes, Virginia, there really is such a place.

While not all the documents about it were released, and some of what was released is still redacted, the admission that this area in Nevada, which has taken on mythical proportion through years of denial, is something of a letdown in terms of it being a surprise.

The C.I.A. isn't admitting to much being there or going on beyond it being a testing site for some top-secret aircraft, the U-2 to begin with. This, of course, will not sit well with those who believe that Area 51 is the government's hidey-hole for anything they don't want the public to know about.  We can't handle the truth, you see.

Some see this admission, as not so earth-shattering as it is, as an indicator that there's some loosening on the reins by the C.I.A. regarding information on this location.  Doubt it, considering how little documentation was released. Folks, if the trickle of data regarding Area 51 ever turns into a mighty river, it can only mean one of three things:

1.  The C.I.A. has discontinued use of the facility, has moved or destroyed anything sensitive, doesn't care what the public knows about it and will start charging for tours.
2.  The aliens have woken up from their comas (what, you thought they were dead?), have taken over the place and are demanding to know who's responsible for the deplorable condition of their crafts and luggage.
3.  The world is about to end and the C.I.A. wants to purge its collective covert soul before it, and we, go bye-bye.

Believe it or not, I don't care a lot about the existence of Area 51 or its "real purpose".  I don't even care that the C.I.A. has been keeping secrets from us, sometimes not all that successfully.  That's their job.  It's part of what we hired them for.  If you don't like what they do, then get a mandate passed to dismantle them.  You may not like the outcome of such an action, as damn-near impossible as it would be to get, in terms of world peace, etc., but I wish you the best with it nonetheless.

I only have one burning question for the Central Intelligence Agency regarding that bit of desert-land:

Where'd you put the Ark of the Covenant?

A Tribute to My Mom

A Loving Little Ode

She started smoking in her teens

At a time when it was still considered glamorous and cool

She smoked through two marriages and divorces

Four kids from birth on up, losing one along the way

She smoked through her role as a housewife

And even into her new vocation of nurse

In my 40th year, she would have difficulty breathing

And go to the emergency room to be diagnosed with mild emphysema

She quit smoking then and there and never looked back

Two years later, she still had breathing problems

Two years later, an x-ray showed a lung mass the size of a large orange

That wasn’t there two years before

Squamous cell carcinoma of the lung

Also known as smoker’s cancer

She had surgery on April Fool’s Day

She had radiation

She had chemo

None of it mattered, the cancer started to spread

She became unable to breathe on her own

And found herself tethered to a machine to do it for her

Until she chose

And her wishes were obeyed

Not to go back on the machine once off it

Her last day and a half were the longest of my life

And likely hers, too

On a morphine drip to ease her way

She succumbed

Respiratory failure and arrest secondary to pneumonia and lung cancer

Were the words on her death certificate that medically summed up

Her five months from diagnosis to passing

They did not sum up the life of the courageous woman

Who fought and lost the final battle of her life

At the age of 65

Mother, nurse, artist and a thousand things more

She taught me so much in life

Words cannot convey it all

Or my gratitude for everything she did for me in our time together

Fifteen years later

She is still loved and missed

And, hey, Mom?

Cigarettes are still my enemy.

                                                                                                Lauren Swartzmiller

                                                                                                08/05/2013

Is there a Winner in This Battle?

Interesting how both logos are eyes and combined make for black and blue.  Isn’t that interesting?  No?  Never mind, then.

Business negotiations are funny things sometimes.  I worked for a labor union long ago and far away and the “stand your ground, don’t back down” rule was a commonly used tactic when either side wouldn’t budge on one or more issues.  So was the “if you don’t give us what we want, we’re going to do this and you’re not going to like it” rule when the art of compromise wasn’t being used.  Both actions have their place in the game of give and take.


In the present situation, CBS and Time Warner, two business giants, are squared off over a marked increase in fees to carry the signals for the channels that CBS owns.  Cost of living increase?  Doubt it.  More like thinking they’re worth the extra money.  Whether or not they are is in the eye of the viewer. 


Time Warner saying no in this case is not just because that’s one hefty little fee increase which is guaranteed to be passed along to its subscribers.  It also has to do with the fear of giving in and having everybody else asking for the same amount of increase because it was already done for one network.  That’s not an irrational fear, either.

You might think I’m coming down on the side of Time Warner.  Not solidly.  I’m touching a toe down on their side only because they’re my TV provider and I can see where this fee increase would take my cable bill in the not so distant future.  Getting down to it, though, these conglomerates are more like bullies in the schoolyard, squaring off against one another for the right to claim more of everybody else’s marbles.  Makes me want to gather my marbles and find another schoolyard.  Unfortunately, that’s not really an option – or a solution.

At the moment, Time Warner has yanked CBS’s programming in several locations, including mine, with a message as to what’s going on and a few alternatives to dealing with it.  The loss of CBS’s offerings isn’t hurting my feelings much, but I can see where it might bother others.  There will be a loss of revenue for CBS as a result, and the blackout could be extended beyond where Time-Warner has it in place now.  Yes, “hitting them where it hurts – their money belt” is also a time-honored negotiating tool.  It’s been known to backfire, but it’s also been known to work.

So, the the first punch has been thrown in this battle.  Should be interesting to see who actually wins the war.  I’d like to think it’ll be the consumers in the long run, but I think we’re just waiting for them to fight it out and then turn to us for the reward.

Over and Over and Over Once More

I woke to the Not Guilty verdict for George Zimmerman on Sunday morning.  I suspected it wasn't going to be days before a decision when it was reported they were still deliberating late into Saturday evening.  I wasn't surprised by the Not Guilty verdict on the charge of Murder 2.  I was surprised by the Not Guilty verdict for the charge of Manslaughter.  I thought the evidence presented was enough to meet the criteria of the law. Perhaps I was wrong.

But, that's not what this post is about.  This is about reviewing this case or any trial case into a persistent vegetative state.  Notice I didn't say to death.  If they were reviewed to death, we'd stop hearing about them entirely within a matter of days.  But, we don't.  We never do anymore.  Any trial which has received major amounts of media attention is guaranteed to receive even more than its share of fame, although notoriety is a better choice of word.

It's not that we're learning anything new about the case in these reviews on the radio or TV, in the papers or on the internet.  Going over the evidence for the umpteenth time, hearing people's opinions of what they thought of the verdict, or listening to the thought processes of the jurors is not going to change things.  It's not like we're in a legal classroom, reviewing the case to learn how to or how not to defend or prosecute a similar case.  Those who present us with these facts and opinions, sometimes ad nauseum, say the people have a right to know and they're doing their part in bringing it to us.  It's a valid argument, just not for weeks and weeks afterward.

The case of The People vs. George Zimmerman is done.  There has been talk of a civil rights action against him for the shooting of Trayvon Martin, but it's not a slam-dunk certainty of happening.  A wrongful death lawsuit may be a possibility, but that's likely a year or more down the line if it happens.  But, fact is any semblance of an obscure normal life is over for a long time to come for this person and anyone else whose trial has gone coast to coast before, during and after the actual courtroom time.  

Hash and rehash

This case will not be getting away from its media spotlight any time soon.  Some will say that's good and we need to continue to bring this and other cases out of the darkness of the quiet little trial and into as much brightness as its day in court will allow, followed by continued scrutiny until we're satisfied with the outcome, or bored with its coverage.  As a member of the audience, I can change the channel, listen to another station, flip the page or click on another news link as quickly as it comes up again.  My attention span for this type of trial coverage and rehash is fairly short.  I have a feeling I'm not the only one and I might even be in a majority.  But, we're at the mercy of ratings and audience share, so we're obliged to continue to deal with it.

Sort of.

-Click-

Individual Style

Okay, as long as I'm fumb,ing around in old creative crap o' mine, let's pull out this piece of wordsmithing from 1991.  It was actually written as part of my profile for Delphi Internet Services, now Delphiforums.  Come to think of it, it's still there, but you have to be a member to see it.  A few people who read this silly blog were members and may recognize it, or they've read it because I shared it with them somewhere along the 22-year line.

Anyway, it was written for a section asking about my fashion statement, but really, it's also my general style in my approach to life.  So, if you're curious, read on and maybe enjoy:

When I was in my teens, I didn't want to be like the others who made statements with their choice of clothes, hair, etc. I rebelled by not joining my peers in making a noticeable statement. I had opinions that were voiced in simple questions and simple remarks. I wasn't doing it deliberately. I just wanted to be me.

When I was in my twenties, I never fit the fashion statement of "in". I tended to be conservative in that regard. My hair got shorter and shorter, even though the look of the late 70's into the 80's was still long and flowing, a la Farrah Fawcett. I didn't feel the need to join in how others were making their point. I could make the same point without all the hoopla. I wasn't doing it deliberately. I was just being me.

When I reached my thirties, I found that the groundwork of who I am and how I make my statements had been laid in the prior decades of my life. It wasn't that I was plain or conservative or just wimpy in my choices. My style was one of simple lines - nothing fancy, nothing bold. A statement in subtlety, which is how I tend to approach life. I wasn't doing it deliberately. I was merely continuing to be me.

As I pass the age of fifty, that clothing style still remains and will be with me, I suspect, for the rest of my days. My hair is about the only thing that's changed periodically, short to long to short again, and, like its owner, has a mind of its own. I have come to realize that my late grandmother was correct when she called me a "bucker" (yes, I did hear her right). I am a renegade in my own right - a quiet one, but a renegade nonetheless.

I have also realized that I was doing it deliberately all along, although not always consciously.

Yes, it's me, and I shall continue to be me until my last day on the planet.

About July Weather ...

Just a silly drawing of my Protester friend from three years ago.  Apologies for the quality -- I don't press down hard enough with a #2 pencil anymore and the quality of the scan isn't all that great, either.  Still, given the present weather situation, I thought I'd post it.

Oh, and the message on the upside-down sign isn't a question, it's a statement.

Shut Up or Independently Dance

I just read a post from an online friend regarding some of the less than perfect things the USA has fought and stood for through the years. From our communications in the time I've known him, I've gathered that he's actually quite a loyal and even patriotic fellow who must have his moments of grumpy gitness to be happy.  Hey, everybody's gotta have a hobby.

However, it's true this country has had some less than stellar moments.  We fought for freedom and equality, hold it up like a banner for all to see, yet have sometimes fiercely fought against giving that freedom and equality to all our citizens.  We balk at horrid conditions, yet our own timeline is riddled with examples of decisions we've made which have brought on horrid conditions right here at home.  We pride ourselves in being progressive in our thoughts and actions, striving for better and the greater good, but have occasionally come off as unfeeling and disrespectful of other points of view in our pursuit of life, liberty and happiness.

We are a country of humans, run by humans.  We are less than perfect and make mistakes.  We realize, sometimes at an agonizingly slow rate, that an oops has been made and work to make the wrong into a right.   Collectively, we are a scrappy fighter, but we also take our lumps.  Perhaps our greatest fault is that we don't always loudly acknowledge our mistakes, don't always publicly apologize.  But once we do, we are humble in our delivery and are made a slightly better nation as a result.

But, the basic rules of life are still the same, Folks - if you don't like your situation, fix it.  If you can't or won't fix it, you move to where you think you might be happier (for the grass is always greener ...).  If you can't/won't fix it and can't/won't move, then you stay, keep on keepin' on and either kvetch or suffer in silence.

Or you can find the good in what you have and strive to improve upon it.

I wouldn't trade in on what I have in terms of a country, as imperfect as it's been and will be, and am glad its inhabitants (and a few of my ancestors) decided to fight for their independence back there in the 1770s.  I appreciate my freedom and all my rights, including the right to speak freely, for without that basic right, no one would know anything was wrong and work to make it better.

The Rules of Mowing

I've been faithful in mowing this year.  With the heat, copious rainfall and and muggy weather so far this season, anything less than once a week is asking for a grass disaster, although anything that mows in my yard is lawn.

That being said, I bring you the basic rules of lawn mowing. Enjoy.

If you walk in bare feet across your lawn and you lose sight of just your toes, it's time to mow.

If you walk in regular shoes across your lawn and lose sight of their tops, it's past time to mow.

If you walk in 6" stilettos across your lawn and lose sight of the highest point of the heel, time spent mowing will be equivalent to the same time spent working out at the gym, especially if the lawn is large and/or hilly.

If you walk across your lawn in bare feet or any shoe gear and you lose sight of your calves, brush hog, weed-whacker, sickle, scythe, a tick removal kit and possibly snake anti-venom will be required before mowing.

If you walk across your lawn and it's any higher than any example cited above and you feel like you should be wearing jungle togs and carrying a machete to wander through it to find the golden idol, then it's time to call a professional lawn care service or rent out your property to buffalo herders.

On Spying on Ourselves

In recent news, the National Security Agency (N.S.A.) was called out for its activity of sifting through call and internet data (aka metadata) to determine patterns of calling and usage and, the thing that bugs us, perhaps looking more closely at people in those questionable patterns.  It's part of the continuing effort to prevent acts of terrorist violence against we who call the middle country of North America home.  That's the United States of America for those who failed geography.

I'm not sure which bothers us more, the fact that our country is looking at who we call and e-write to or the fact that they're doing it on the sly.  To address the first item, they're not looking at your phone bill specifically and likely don't care how many times you called your spouse, your kids, your work, your bookie, or even 1-800-BOOTYCALL.  Yes, I know it's one too many letters, you still get the idea.  Oh, and I made the number up -- I think. They're also not reading through your normal, stupid or torrid e-mails, although I think spammers should be given closer scrutiny, but only because I detest spam e-mail.

Their analysts are looking for specific criteria which the vast majority of people don't fit.   We're boring to them from a national security point of view.  Sorry, folks.  It's not that they don't care to learn all about all their neighbors, they just don't have the time.

Can they listen in on who you're calling or read your private e-mails?  Yes.  Do they?  Maybe, but chances are the answer's no.   Do they have the right?  They do if they go through proper channels and get a warrant.  Is it an invasion of privacy?  Oh, big time.  Is it an abuse of power?  Depends on who you talk to.  Edward Snowden, the one who brought this brouhaha to light, likely felt it was.  Conversely, there seems to be a few folks at the N.S.A. who seem to think the agency can do whatever's required to keep our country safe without having to answer for it.  As for me, I have mixed feelings on the subject, but for now, I tend to come down on the side of government.  Apologies to conspiracy theorists, vigilantes, etc. for my stance -- you're gonna hate the next paragraph, too.

As to the second issue, about how much we might dislike how quietly this seemed to be happening before someone blew the whistle, I have three little words - GET OVER IT.  Governments have been quietly keeping an eye on their citizens for as long as this planet has had leaders and governments.  There have been watchdogs, silent and barking, throughout history.  Within our own borders, internal spies have always been there -- go read your history books. They have been and are part of the process that keeps us safe, whether we like it or not.   In the past, it was simple eyes and ears gathering the information.  As technology evolved, so did the manner of covert scrutiny, taking the methods and levels of snooping to a place we're not necessarily comfortable with.

It's the sneakiness that bothers us, the not telling us it was happening.  We earned and prize our freedom and not giving us a say in these matters irks us.  But, internal spying will continue and, unfortunately, needs to continue.  Our planet is not one big happy family yet and likely won't be in the lifetime of anyone reading this silly blog.  We try to get along, but don't always succeed.  There are also people who will always try to sow seeds of distrust, hate and violence against one or more groups for any number of reasons and some of those unhappy people are within our own borders.  Until we find a global harmony, we need to keep watch.  The watchers also need to be watched so they don't get too big for their clandestine britches.  It's not my job as an average citizen, whose calls and e-mails would bore an analyst to tears, but somebody needs to do it before the N.S.A. gets vilified and ripped apart, leaving us vulnerable in a less than peaceful world.

(Hormonal) Fire and Fog

A new report has surfaced, although I have yet to find its source except for a dozen online news services and some of them seem to be quoting one another, that what women have reported for years is true -- heading into menopause fries your brain, at least temporarily.  They found that the shifting hormones and associated biochemical imbalances mess with memory and  concentration.  Testing of women having various levels of hot flashes proved it.  Like I really needed some study to tell me this.

I started perimenopause in 2008 and what a wild ride that was.  Irregular periods started to kick in along with some hot flashes that may have contributed to global warming.  But of all the things I lost, I missed my mind the most.  There's a blog entry written during that time to that effect.  Couldn't focus enough to do the simplest of tasks and my memory was a such a serious example of Swiss cheese that even I wondered in moments of clarity if it wasn't something very serious.  A battery of medical tests later with no clear-cut answers, I was left to fend for myself.  Yeah, that was a less than enjoyable year and a half.

I didn't know what was happening to me, but was later told by a fellow female that many go through it, but that it's not officially recognized by the medical profession.  Well, maybe not by the male side of the profession that, until recently, didn't openly acknowledge that shifting hormone levels in middle-age men is a medical problem as well.  Well, duh -- mess with any biochemistry of the human body and of course there are going to be issues.  It's the body's way of telling you there's something wrong.

It's vindicating to be told that perimenopausal/menopausal brain fog it isn't all a mental health issue.  It's also reassuring to to be told that, once the ovaries officially go belly-up in terms of reproductive duties (that's making eggs, for those who need the explanation) and the body either adapts to the hormonal changes or has them replenished through HRT that the memory and concentration abilities should return to normal.  I found this to be the case, although I still lose track of where I put things 30 seconds after I put them down.  That's a lifelong problem, however, and will never improve.

I wish someone would have told me at the time I was going through it what it was, that it would get better and how to deal with it until then.  They say that to acknowledge there is a problem is the first step toward recovery.  Perhaps now that someone has done the testing, done the math and reported their findings that things will be better for the next woman whose brain fogs over like London in the morning.

Working Out My Way

Regular push-ups are not for me, at least not yet.  Much as they're a strengthener of all the muscles that we really want to be at their most sculpted, getting there for the out of shape is not only not half the fun, but can also cause injuries.  I asked a friend who is a physician's assistant specializing in sports medicine about it and because of my still big beautiful woman status, he felt standard push-ups would put too much of a strain on my previously damaged lower spine as well as multiple other joints, including the shoulder I already had surgery on.  I was actually happy to hear that because doing just the five push-ups required of Bill Murray's character, John, to make $3 in the movie "Stripes" was an impossible task at the time.  I could do three before my body would have a "What the hell are you doing?" moment of rebellion and collapse.

Modified push-ups were suggested.  You know, the so-called girlie push-ups where you do them on flexed knees?  Nothing feminine about them, trust me.  However, my less than perfectly functioning left knee protested the kneeling pressure too much after just a few days, so they got abandoned. 

Wall push-ups were then suggested.  Wall push-ups were very do-able.  A little too do-able, a little too easy.  No resistance, no challenge, what's the point and what else you got?

On my own, I came up with the answer -- one-handed wall push-ups.  Now, these challenge the middle-age old girl.  Muscles respond to the additional work of pushing off more, but not all, of the body weight from the wall with one arm instead of two.  The threat of injury is lessened when done in reasonable numbers (30 for now, thank you).  In addition, tightening and strengthening of the abdominal or core muscles of the body requires conscious, voluntary effort with the two-handed wall push-up.  With my modification, I find they tighten whether I like it or not, something expected to happen with a regular push-up.  My arm muscles are also getting more of a workout as well.

My friend the PA was pleased.  I'm sure my orthopedic surgeon would also be happy that I'm not threatening all the nice work he did a decade ago.  Eventually, I'd like to be able to do regular push-ups without fear of things going snap-crackle-pop-ow! on me.  That's down the road a bit, though.  For now, my workout will continue to work toward that point, with my push-up solution part of the process.  It's all progression toward fitness, regardless of how it's done.

And the Winner Isn't ...

No, it wasn't me.  I don't live in Florida and have never been there.  I'd like to take a wander through it and every other state in the U. S. A. before I die, but it won't be on last night's Powerball winnings. 

I live in upstate New York, where big lottery winners rarely dwell.  Statistically, more lottery sales and wins in the Empire State occur below the Dutchess and Orange County lines -- you know, Westchester and Putnam counties, New York City and its boroughs, Long Island, etc.  Places where this country mouse hasn't been in more than half a lifetime.  But hey, those southern New Yorkers didn't win it, either.

So, as per usual, my lowly single ticket didn't win.  Yes, I only bought one.  Only one set of numbers wins and if I can't pick it or be at the machine in that cosmic moment when it spits out the winning combination as a Quick Pick, then I shall remain markedly less than rich.  Touching on the odds of the matter, to improve my chances, another $2 for a another six numbers isn't even a drop in the improvement bucket.  I'm not even sure it's a mist that hovers over said bucket and then evaporates.  If I can't spend hundreds or, even better, thousands of dollars to actually slightly increase my chances of winning in one game, then screw it.  I've got bills to pay and groceries to buy.

I sincerely wish the person(s) with the winning ticket in Florida all the best. I don't know if they'll take it as a lump sum or as payments.  I did the math, and had the fantasies, for the latter.  After taxes ('cause you know they're gonna be first in your line to be paid), there would still be a guaranteed income of at least $12 million a year.  I'm sure whoever won can and will live well on whichever option they take.  All I ask is that they keep these paraphrased words from "Hello Dolly" in mind:  Money is like manure.  It can't do a thing unless it's spread around, encouraging young things to grow.

Ah, well -- back to the work grindstone.

The Birthday Post

What a way to start the day -- I have a raccoon in the house.  At 11:30, I interrupted while he was eating cat kibble. There's no mistaking that loud crunching. Unfortunately, my coming in on his dinner sent my unwelcomed visitor into a state of panic and unable to find his way out the way he came in (cat door).  He's presently in the main room, leaning into the northeast corner as though sent there by mommy. Finally, a self-punishing raccoon!!! Guess I'm up for a while longer.

I stayed up until midnight and welcomed the day like it was New Year's, sparkling apple cider and all.  Technically, it is a new year, just a personal rather than global one.  Some might call it self-centered to view it that way.  But, if you can't give the day some meaning and just a little hint of fanfare, even if you're the only one who gets to appreciate it, then it becomes just another day on the calendar and nobody should give into that for their birthday.

I tried to stay up until midnight last year, but didn't make it.  I'm hoping this year's success translates into other areas of my life.  I arrived alive at 55 (years), but it was a lackluster age for me.  I'm hoping and shall work toward better for the next 365 days.  The numbers geek in me is actually looking forward to next year, when this woman born in '57 will in fact turn 57.  Aw, come on, it's kinda cool.

Well, time to go downstairs and see if my cat food bandit has left the building.  I hope so.  I had plans for the day and they didn't include being groggy past 6 AM.

The End of a Postal Era -- Not Quite Yet

Just when I thought it was going to be safe to not stop at the post office on a Saturday, they went and didn’t change the rules.

The board that governs the the U. S. Postal Service previously decided it was going to discontinue Saturday deliveries starting in August of this year.  This was being done as a cost-cutting measure and I assume they were waiting that long to implement it to give everybody ample time to rearrange their dwindling mailing schedule.  Okay, I know there’s a whole process that they have to go through, including Congress having a part in the decision, before they can discontinue mail delivery on any day of the week.  I just had to take a sad jab at the decreased use of USPS and how they’re being delivered out of existence by a lack of revenue and practices that don’t lend themselves to budgetary reform.

The reason they’re backing off the decision is that Congress didn’t approve the change.  Okay, again more complicated than that, but let’s just go with it for now.  So, Saturday deliveries are back on the table.  The letters, bills, and junk mail will continue to fill mail boxes.  Package delivery wasn’t going to stop, by the way.  Heaven forbid that they lose out on that piece of competition to FedEx, UPS and the like.  Post offices would also still be open on Saturdays.  You could still pick up your mail that you didn’t pick up on Friday, get those still delivered packages, buy stamps, bask in the lighting and heating of whatever amount of square feet your post office’s customer service area might be, etc.

Trimming any budget is a slow and sometimes painful process.  Discontinuing Saturday mail deliveries was perhaps the gentlest measure they could come up with that the public would have to get used to.  For most Americans, we’ve grown up with getting mail to our door, rural delivery box or post office six days a week.  To some, taking away that sixth day must seem like taking away one of our rights.  But, it’s not.  It was a business decision, made to try to cut some costs so that the postal service wouldn’t continue to financially bleed out.  Congress’s reluctance to move this decision along is baffling. Yes, I realize it wasn’t going to help that much, but it was a step in the right direction. 

The United States Postal Service must evolve, must change how it does business, in order to survive.   It’s not as simple as reducing hours and closing post offices.  It’s not as simple as upping the cost of stamps another penny, and don’t get me started on that asinine process.  Benjamin Franklin would likely not recognize the now overweight and out of shape mail delivery behemoth that he helped bring into existence centuries ago.  There is still much that is good about USPS, but it needs an overhaul and it needs everyone who is part of that decision making process on board to make it happen.  If losing Saturday delivery in toto (that means no deliveries and shutting down, folks) is part of that, so be it.  After all, a penny saved is a penny earned, and maybe a penny less we have to pay in postage.

A Thought or Two on Daylight Savings Time

The government-imposed theft of one precious hour of my sleep time in March has rolled around again.  Daylight savings time began at 2 AM and will be here until November 3rd.  Mmph -- more coffee.

They impose it on a Sunday so that the impact on the Monday to Friday work-world is minimized.  If you've partied 'til you dropped on the Saturday before DST kicks in, however, you will have one less hour to recover before you must be functional on the second half of the weekend -- and no, I didn't.  Nyah.

They claim there's a significant conservation of resources when the day is brighter longer into the night.  However, in the 24/7/365 existence which has evolved since the regular use of daylight savings time, I question whether it's really worth the effort anymore.  Someone's going to have to show me the statistics to convince me.

Not that it makes any difference to prove it just to little ole me.  Daylight savings time is here to stay.  According to some, it might go to year-round.  Now, really, what's the point of that?  Is there any significant measure of improved usage of fuel, electricity, etc. from one more hour before sunset in the dead of winter?

I think why we really need daylight savings time is so that the the birds aren't chirping and the dawn isn't starting to creep into our world at 4 AM, an hour when most people are still catching sleep.  It's an obscene hour of the day to be awake when you don't have to be.  I ought to know.  I'm up at that hour whether I like it or not because my brain seems to be hard-wired for it and has been for most of my life.

And now, they've gone and snatched an hour from my sleep time again and won't give it back until November.  I can't wait that long.  Mmph -- more coffee.

Aloha, Nor'easter

Well, the one and, with any luck, the  only snowstorm of this winter has left the building, at least in my little corner of New York.  After several pokings, proddings and eyeballings, it looks like we got about 10" of relatively light and fluffy snow, what I would call a skier's snow, not that skis have ever been on my feet.  Great for sledding, not so much for the making of snowpeople or for the throwing of snowballs at people, although both latter activities can be done with just a little extra work.  Trust me, I'm an expert.

The snowplows started doing their thing as soon as the snow had just about stopped falling.  They were through here before 5 AM, leaving a ridge 18-24" high and about the same in depth in front of my driveway.  I was out there shortly after they left, a solo act in the heave-ho of snow at that hour.  I took two breaks, one because my hands were cold (no, of course I didn't wear gloves) and the second because I'm an overweight 55 year old woman and needed to stop before a call to 911 would be required.  But, by 6:15 AM, I was done digging out my car to the road and digging a second path through the plow ridge into my side yard to that the fuel delivery guys wouldn't have to trudge through the snow to deliver heating oil.  People don't believe me, but I really am nice like that.  There's a bit more shoveling in my future, but the bulk of the work is done.

After several quick online searches, I've learned that for an hour of shoveling, the calories burned by a male weighing 150 lbs. is around 500.  Okay, I'm female and let's just say that 150 lbs. is my target weight for height and body type, shall we?  I'm going to go out on a limb and say that I burned at least 500 calories. 

All that work and all those subsequent muscle aches later and it's not 10,000 calories?  Bummer.  Well, at least I earned my coffee with cream and sugar this morning.

In my final moments of keyboarding before I go take my Advil® and drink my well-earned coffee, my parting words are said with love to the decision-makers at The Weather Channel -- I respect your ability to forecast the weather and present it for the masses, but your decision to name winter storms was not your most stellar.  It was an arbitrary choice and no other weather service is following in your snowy footsteps.  Even the media and public opinion don't seem to be swayed so much by this choice. Please leave the naming of storms to hurricane season.

I Love You, Phil

As I sipped my coffee with reverence in anticpation of Punxsutawney Phil's Groundhog Day prediction, they dragged out the critter that's a cousin to the ones turning my front yard hill into a maze of dens.  They put him through the pomp and cirumstance that happens every year at this time in that little town in Pennsylvania and got his prediction.  He usually sees his shadow in the minutes after sunrise, indicating six more LONG weeks of winter. 

But not this time!  The cute little ground hog didn't see his shadow this morning and has predicted that spring is just around the corner.  Woo-hoo!

Phil, for at least this year, I promise not to call you a stupid woodchuck.  You've done my winter-weary heart good.  You are my hero.

Unless you're wrong. 

This message brought to you by the Spring Fever Perpetuation Association.

Repaving the Path Down Memory Lane

I'm in the process of converting my electronic journal from the format it's in to a Word document format. The reason is that the original software, which is 15 years old, is unsupported and eventually won't run on an upgraded system. The conversion is a tedious and time-consuming process because it first gets converted to rich text, then is copied, pasted, rearranged (taking out extra line spacing), spellchecked and, finally, is saved using the Word .doc format. The old software only allows a certain amount of data to be converted at a time and it comes out to be 10-15 days worth of entries. I've been using the program since early 1999. Like I said, tedious and time-consuming.

While I rarely went back to read what I put in the journal before, the conversion has given me an opportunity to wander back down my own memory lane for at least 12 years, which does my middle-age memory good. There is a certain amount of repetition to the entries. I always knew I had a mostly boring life, but the reading so far really kind of confirms it. There are things I'd forgotten, though - some funny, others poignant. There are even bits of general history documented as well. As an example, for about two weeks after the incidents of 9/11/2001, I made entries pertaining to it and the events that were happening afterward. Interesting reading, if I do say so myself.

People keep journals for various reasons. Sometimes, it's to remind themselves of what they did and/or thought in their younger years. Sometimes, it's for family members to read after they're gone so they get an idea of what their weird aunt or uncle was really like. Sometimes, it's just to document the day-to-day in history for future generations to read, or just for police to ponder over and glean who the culprit was that pushed you in front of the bus, even if it was you.

For me, I'm not really sure why I started journaling or have continued it all these years. Perhaps it's for all of the above reasons, plus the fact that journals are silent sounding boards, a place to kvetch to at the end of a long day that doesn't judge what you've done, said or thought. Finally, let's face it, I love to write and with a journal, I don't have to chose my words carefully like I feel I must to some extent in the online world.

And good news - when I'm gone, my documented life and times are only a few clicks away from being deleted and forgotten. Most lives come and go that way, after all. In the scheme of things, with all those who have passed into history and faded from our memories, only a relative handful of personal histories have survived the test of time. I doubt I'm one of those, but I hope someone reads at least a few passages before it all hits the electronic ether.

My Memory Does Not Betray on the Date of Inauguration Day

Despite the fact that the inauguration celebration is on Monday, January 21st this year, the date of the actual swearing in was and is January 20th.  Why?  I have no idea except that it started with FDR.  It's a question to put to historians.  I used to be a history buff, but my interest has waned along with my middle-age memory of it.

For some reason, though, the day the President of the United States is sworn in stays with me, when he or, perhaps in my sooner rather than later lifetime, she promises to do the job and "... to the best of my ability, preseve, protect and defend the Constitution of the United States."  It's a promise to do their finest work for the people of this country and, in a way, the whole world during their time in office.  It's a sworn oath not to screw us over or run us into the ground, and I believe that's it's a promise that will be upheld.   

A bon voyage in your renewed four-year journey, President Obama.  It's not the smoothest path you've chosen to continue your trek on, but it's worth the trip -- for all of us.

This is Language Evolution?

Our language gets added to all the time.  It isn't just the aristocracy in the world of words that brings new vocabulary into being. In fact, it's most often the common man's creation.  Regardless of where it starts or ends, it's language evolution in all its splendor and I embrace it.  Usually.

I take issue with a word I heard for the first time today, although maybe I wasn't paying attention previously.  The word was 'facebooked'.  Those fluent in social media will understand this term immediately in all its potential meanings.  Even I understood its use and I consider myself maybe a hairsbreadth above novice in understanding all there is to understand about social media.  My problem with it is purely technical.

Facebook is a noun, yet is being used as a verb.  As a proper name, it gets capitalized.  Verbs are not capitalized unless they start a sentence.  Still, I want to capitalize it even though it's incorrect because it looks wrong without the capital F.  I practically need a referee to deal with my inner struggle.  Twitter is fortunate that their creators chose a word that was in existence and already both noun and verb.  It's much easier to deal with this verbal issue, even though one does not twitter on Twitter, one tweets.

I suppose it's my love of pure and pretty language that makes me have such a hard time with this new word.  It's slang bordering on jargon and it's not even pleasant to the ear.  However, one of the main purposes of language is clarity of communication. It should be perfectly clear to those who use electronic social media and even to those who don't but who maintain an awareness of what's happening on the internet what the word 'facebooked' likely means.  But for the majority of the planet which, by the way, isn't connected to internet and doesn't know what a computer is, this little bit of word creation means nothing.

I don't actually know what it means myself, I just figured it out from context.

My Inner Child

My inner child still runs with scissors
jumps barefoot into puddles
looks for rainbows after storms
and falling stars on clear nights

Still howls at full moons
gets lost on purpose
explores every nook and cranny
and comes home when good and ready

Still laughs at simple silly things
has tantrums for absurd reasons
doesn't want to go to bed on time
and will cry herself to sleep

Still tries to get along with everyone
minds manners and is courteous
questions everything that seems wrong
and won't stop asking why until there's an answer

Still believes that most people are good at heart
will defend others against those who aren't

has trouble understanding adult thinking sometimes

even when it's mine

                                                          Lauren Swartzmiller
                                                          1/2/13

The Fiscal Cliffhanger

Whether or not a deal was reached before midnight between Democrats and Republicans on our fiscal future, we were still going to go over the cliff, Folks.  They hemmed, hawed, negotiated and stalled us past the 11th hour, and by 'they' I mean all parties.  The line between good guy and villain in this case is a bit blurred.

I keep getting this image of the Warner Brother's cartoon character
Wile E. Coyote going over the cliff and crashing on the desert floor below. 

Folks, Wile is us.  Thing about Wile is that he survived and so will we all.

Oh, the horror -- we're going over this virtual symbolic cliff on 1/1/13 and the spending cuts and tax nightmares begin.  AAACCCKKK!  Does the world end when it happens?  Is there no turning back?  Well, granted, we may go splat at the bottom of the cliff, but that doesn't mean we can't get up and continue working to fix things.  More specifically, 'they' need to continue working to fix things, perhaps retroactive to 1/1/13 if they can't get harmonious in their vision within a relatively short period of time.

A final suggestion for all parties concerned:  you really need to put a guardrail at the top of that cliff so we don't go over it again.  And maybe a speed limit.  And a couple of speed bumps.  Maybe some landscaping as well.  You can take that symbolism any way you want so long as the issues get dealt with -- please?