I mean, like, you know….

You know what I’m saying? Probably not so I’ll keep explaining and redefining it until you are so bored you come up with some such uselessness or wander off.

Why can’t we just say it?

I listen to many interviews with intelligent questions and confusing answers. I know part of journalism is to find enough information on a subject or person to ask relevant questions; for that is how we get answers and thus can build an educated consensus of what people know or what people have heard or what people saw. The professional officials have learned the art of ‘govspeak’ with terminology and mixed references full of initials to confuse the listener while the rest of us get all confused under the lights and the cameras and the microphones.

Took a ‘speaking’ class in college taught by an actor. Basically the lesson was ‘think before you speak’.

I’m certainly not as fluent as others in the King’s English but I’ve learned to listen to what people are saying. While my vocabulary cannot compete with some of the words put together by others, I stiffen when I heard people trying to dig their way out of explaining a situation or a thought.

Some feel it is better to keep repeating a thought over and over so the listener can understand; like speaking louder to a deaf person. No matter how many times you say it, your dog won’t know what you mean. Hand waving may help to confuse the situation or create space between the speaker and the listener.

If one focuses on unintelligent speak, the constant ‘ah’ or ‘I mean’ or ‘sigh’ can become bogged down in the pattern instead of the message. A current pause has been using “That’s a good question…” to allow the speaker to gather their thoughts. The ‘ah, well….ah, I mean, ah, this was like, ah…” means the speaker is grasping for a thought or a complete sentence leaving the interviewer or journalist filling time with empty space.

Some are very good at quoting others and referencing previous sayers rather than coming up with an original answer. A form of smoke and mirrors deflects the question without an answer.

It must be frustrating for a researcher to question and only get enough dead space to shut down and move on to another. The same is with print media and video where there is so much ‘noise’ and little substance. Throw in enough ‘fake’ news and there are no answers.

In a face-to-face conversation I strive to listen and learn from another. They maybe better versed in the subject or need some space to present their point-of-view. Unfortunately like the trained journalist I cannot wait for the end of the sentence. Much like formal schooling, I felt I knew the answer before the question was finished. It is rude behavior and I work to restrain myself.

“I mean, I really want to listen, like you know what I’m saying, to listen to you because like I’ve said it is really, really interesting to me and did you hear about Sally and her boyfriend, like I mean that is so the same as….”

Have you seen them?

They are all over the neighborhood. They seemed to have just popped up but I’m noticing more and more of them around here.

Little green men (though they could be women or some other non-sexual being) with little red hats (I’ve not gotten close enough to see if it reads “Make America Great Again”) or maybe it is some sort of hair color holding red flags and being motionless. They may have arrived from the P.O.D. ships that landed last springtime or maybe they just crept in from the dark because they glow in the sunlight.

There was one and then another and then groups of them around the neighborhood. They all stand silent guardians of where children play. Perhaps they are children who were bad and were magically turned into plastic like Lot’s wife at Sodom. Perhaps they are teaching the children some coded message adults can’t hear.

More children used to play in the streets but I don’t see many now. There are too many playgrounds, ballparks and clubhouses for organized and supervised play. Before televisions and Nintendo kids were kicked out of the house to go out and play in the street. The nerdy kids would go to the library or sit under a tree and read a book while the others would kick a ball or jump a rope or hit each other with sticks while an older sibling or an adult on the block controlled the action with a shout. Traffic was less then and blocks of kids became bonded in their play. There was even competition between the 34^th Street ‘Bombers’ and the 33^rd Street “SmashMouth Boys” who would meet on neutral territory with father’s rooting on each team. Their special jerseys were uniforms that became street gang colors.

Back in the day there were signs to tell the passerby that this was a zone of “Slow Children Playing”. I just thought the kids were physically or mentally disabled and couldn’t move fast like the other kids. The sign just made travelers that they may have to stop for kids kicking a ball or chasing butterflies or rolling wheelchairs across their passage at a slow pace so smoke ‘em if you got ‘em and wait for the kids to clear the area. Don’t want to think about ‘Steel Plates Ahead’.

Seems today kids come home from school and stay in a secluded area playing with others online in the blue haze of a dark bedroom. The old adage of getting the kids out of the house for fresh air and exercise has gone the way of Halloween visits. Sleds and bicycles may be antiques replaced by the latest version of ‘Candy Crush’ or ‘Angry Birds’. Sunburns, poison ivy, mosquitoes and random encounters with snakes will become stories for grandparents.

Now some kids still gather in the streets. These hooligans still check your cars for leftovers, spray the random walls with street art expression, test the latest substance passed down by an entrepreneur making a buck and occasionally doing a smash and grab from some local immigrant’s convenient store. Perhaps the little green folks are warning kids that the streets are not safe?

Today I saw two that were knocked over. I don’t know if the children had beaten them up or they had been hit by an automobile or just fell over dead. I didn’t stick around for recitation but will see if they are up and about tomorrow.

In the meantime, be on alert for these little day-glow green folks guarding an area for children to play free of danger. Should we put them into the halls of schools?

Business Model

This was published online Tuesday, February 21, 2018.

http://www.richmond.com/news/from-the-publisher-we-re-focused-on-serving-you-despite/article_c2dd8845-e411-5047-a8d5-b785101d99e9.html

The next day this appeared.

What was FREE the day before now had a cost to the viewer. I have no idea of the response, but this pop-up disappeared before the day was over.

I fully understand what this particular company is going through. I worked there for 38 years and watched the changes happen. I was one of the unfortunates to the economy affects on this stogy stoic industry.

From what I knew a ‘news’ paper was a delivery service to educated opinions and professional journalism without bias for the public to consume and make their own opinions. The printed newsprint was the cheapest method to deliver the news (beyond the town crier) and paid advertising covered the cost of the ink and paper and salaries. The subscription cost to have a bundle of information delivered to your door every morning covered the cost of hiring young people on bicycles establishing their first business experience.

I understand it cost to keep the computers churning and the cameras clicking and the toilets clean but demanding pay for information seems a reverse of the mission statement.

http://asne.org/resources-ethics-richmond

Then this…  

2/22/2018 4:15 p.m. update:

To our readers,

In an effort to improve your online experience, we have upgraded the self-service tools at Richmond.com. During the upgrade, our subscribers and registered users have automatically been logged out of the website, and will need to log back in to read articles, view the e-edition, and access self-service features such as updating account information and placing vacation holds onto their accounts.

To sign back in, click the “LOG IN” link in the upper right corner of any page on Richmond.com and enter your username and password. Your username is the email address associated with your subscription account.

If you’ve forgotten your password, click on “Forgot your password?” and instructions will be sent to the email address on file.

If you still need assistance, please send us a note or call (804) 644-4181.

If you don’t have a digital subscription, click here to sign up for as little as $8.99 per month.

Thank you for reading The Times-Dispatch and supporting local journalism.

---

Earlier:

To our readers,

On Wednesday, Richmond.com underwent a software change that was intended to improve our digital signup and login process. It didn’t go exactly as planned, and we’re working feverishly to fix it.

The main issue is that some accounts were not properly moved over to our new subscription management system, and those readers may have encountered an error message when trying to access online content. We’re troubleshooting that now, and in the meantime we’ve opened up full access to the website for all readers.

Thank you for your patience. We’ll be back with more information as soon as we resolve this issue.

To our subscribers, thank you for your continued support.

So now I can read the full story as I did yesterday without restrictions or demands for payment for information. I’ve stopped my subscription to the print because I didn’t see enough value in the printing and delivery of information that I couldn’t scan online and (as every newspaper writer will acknowledge) follow the headline to the inverted pyramid. Without an attachment to the obituaries or the classifieds or the automotive/real estate ads or coupon fillers, there were some uninteresting sports (unless your child is playing) and a fairly comprehensive presentation of local political problems.

If you give me the sport scores, I’ve already seen them on the nightly news last night. If you give me the latest movie news, I’ve already seen the trailer and reviews on the web.

Perhaps the very expensive printing plant in Hanover is just a hold over until the readers die off but will the new news junkies look to an aging brand for up-to-date timely information they want?

I personally am glad I’m out of the game and wish whoever is left well for the path is hazy. I respect those who are out in the wee hours of the morning throwing news in the darkness fully knowing their occupation is going the way of the trolley car and the manual typewriter.

Just don’t move my comics.

When Did We Stop?

We were the ‘hip’ generation. We were going to change the world. We were raised in a post-war economy that gave us record players, pizza, television and highways. We grew our hair long, started wearing work cloths and jewelry.

Instead of milking the cows or baling hay or working in the mines to help the family income, we had the freedom to explore ideas like philosophy, religion, our planet, our neighbors, each other and ourselves. Fueled by herbs and chemistry we formed tribes with our mantra being “peace, love and happiness”.

Man, where did we go wrong?

We thought we had marched against a corrupt government and made the leader fall. We thought we had marched to stop the bomb and no bombs fell. We thought we had marched to free equality for all. We gathered by the thousands to listen to electronic music and had sex anywhere we could. We thought we were a movement and could change the world with ideological chants and late night television.

Hey man, can I crash at your place, my old lady like threw me out man and….

Our parents had gone through the depression, invention of automobiles and the radio and electricity and World War II. Their parents had survived the Civil War, rebuilt and started over before sending boys overseas to fight on foreign soil. Before them our ancestors were looking for a spot of land to settle on, raise some crops and not be slaughtered by Indians.

That is a simplistic history but folks back in time were pretty darn busy just surviving until the Boomer Nation.

We spent our hours in the libraries instead of the fields, championed Mouseketeers instead of old soldiers, we danced with abandon until the Selective Service notice came and wrote Mother Earth as if cloth diapers were better than the throw away synthetic bags at the grocery. We felt noble writing letters and painting signs and marching for the global elimination of baby seal slaughter and the ancient art of harpooning then crept back to our beanbag chairs and east Indian room dividers to take another hit of self righteousness.

When did the change happen?

Well someone had to get a ‘job’ to pay for the brown rice because selling the street chronicles was not a profit maker and the man was cracking down of selling weed. The jealousy in the communes turned to suburbia and gardens turned into lush lawns requiring cutting every weekend. The microbus turned into an SUV for the single soccer mom for our commitment to eternal vows had also faded. We wanted to shake our booties to forget the idols dying so the beat got stronger and faster than those groovy guitar tunes and we invented strobe lights and double knit. The bond fire discussions of politics and meaning of life while singing Kumbaya turned to joining the country club for a round of golf with the boss while pitching your latest marketing wonder while he ogles your wife.

As we grow older our responsibilities stifle our ideals. The children need schooling so the family moves to good schools. Employment opportunities present new opportunity for wealth. People’s values change.

So as us old Boomers sit around on our Naugahyde couches drinking our Pinot Noir watching comical proponents mocking our government and feeling self-deprecating, we sat here and watched the whole thing happen and didn’t move a finger. Our time is running out and the best of our legacy is that no one has dropped another big one while we were alive. The whales are still dying and the earth grows warmer and the war rages on and people die and babies are born as the circle of life goes on and we didn’t do anything.

All those who will argue that the Boomer Nation changed the world must remember the toilet hasn’t changed from its intended function while we were alive. 

From The Mouths Of Babes

I, for one, am energized with the latest movement against our harmful rabbit hole we are all going down. After the last ‘horrid event’ the children are now standing up and shouting for the adults to protect them. It is a cry for help from those who do not have the ability to feed, clothe, shelter or protect them.

Like the #MeToo movement, there is a bit of guts to this children’s movement to adults. It is not like no one knew any of these issues were going on but the adults form a committee and then make a study and a report and sometimes a legislation that doesn’t get passed and the grown ups say their politically acceptable statements and wring their hands and go home and wait for the pizza to arrive.

Today it seems some businesses are becoming sympathetic to the children’s plea and close ties with weaponry proponents may just be a brief PR stint or something else? If everyone points to a non-profit organization that pays no taxes but funds political bureaucrats as the reason for this massacre is like questioning the world’s religions for the constant history of war.

Will we listen to the children’s cry for help? Will we do more than light a candle and have a quiet time of reflection and try to distract their attention to something better than death? Will we imprison our kids in walled shelters manned by armed guards and lockdown alert drills? Will we close outside sporting events with the possibility of a random deadly assault?

Will we (the adults) do something?

Even if it is wrong the children are looking for parents and elected leaders to show enough gonads to DO SOMETHING! Stop all the blah-blah-blah and DO SOMETHING! Arm the teachers or ban the assault rifles or expand research for mental health but DO SOMETHING!

Will we?

Water

You’ve seen those pictures of disasters, either natural or man-made, and all the Federal Emergency and 1^st Responders and Faith volunteers rushing in to help the survivors with humanitarian assistance. It makes your heart feel good to see the army troops unloading plastic wrapped bottles of water in the same manner they unload ammunition and bodies. Photographs of warehouses bulging with pallets of bottled water gives a sense that all will be OK because water is essential to life

Water is a transparent and nearly colorless chemical substance that is the main constituent of Earth’s streams, lakes, and oceans, and the fluids of most living organisms. Its chemical formula is H₂O, meaning that each of its molecules contains one part oxygen and two parts hydrogen atoms that are connected by covalent bonds. Strictly speaking, water refers to the liquid state of a substance that prevails at standard ambient temperature and pressure; but it often refers also to its solid state (ice) or its gaseous state (steam or water vapor). It also occurs in nature as snow, glaciers, ice packs and icebergs, clouds, fog, dew, aquifers, and atmospheric humidity.

Water covers 71% of the Earths surface. It is vital for all known forms of life. On Earth, 96.5% of the planet’s crust water is found in seas and oceans, 1.7% in groundwater, 1.7% in glaciers and the ice caps of Antarctica and Greenland, a small fraction in other large water bodies, 0.001% in the air as vapor, clouds (formed of ice and liquid water suspended in air), and precipitation. Only 2.5% of this water is freshwater, and 98.8% of that water is in ice (excepting ice in clouds) and groundwater. Less than 0.3% of all freshwater is in rivers, lakes, and the atmosphere, and an even smaller amount of the Earth’s freshwater (0.003%) are contained within biological bodies and manufactured products. A greater quantity of water is found in the earth’s interior.

Water on Earth moves continually through the water cycle of evaporation and transpiration, condensation, precipitation, and runoff, usually reaching the sea. Evaporation and transpiration contribute to the precipitation over land. Large amounts of water are also chemically combined or adsorbed in hydrated minerals.

 

Safe drinking water is essential to humans and other life forms even though it provides no calories or organic nutrients. Access to safe drinking water has improved over the last decades in almost every part of the world, but approximately one billion people still lack access to safe water and over 2.5 billion lack access to adequate sanitation. However, some observers have estimated that by 2025 more than half of the world population will be facing water-based vulnerability. A report, issued in November 2009, suggests that by 2030, in some developing regions of the world, water demand will exceed supply by 50%.

Water plays an important role in the world economy. Approximately 70% of the freshwater used by humans goes to agriculture. Fishing in salt and fresh water bodies is a major source of food for many parts of the world. Much of long-distance trade of commodities (such as oil and natural gas) and manufactured products are transported by boat through seas, rivers, lakes, and canals. Large quantities of water, ice, and steam are used for cooling and heating, in industry and homes. Water is an excellent solvent for a wide variety of chemical substances; as such it is widely used in industrial processes, and in cooking and washing. Water is also central to many sports and other forms of entertainment, such as swimming, boating, surfing, fishing and diving.

With all that factoid about “How Much Water Is Important” we get back to the story of all these bottles of water, filled from some far-off tap and capped and stacked and wrapped and distributed by plane or truck or you can just carry a 36-pack home (PS: Water is heavy) to do all your drinking and cooking and washing. And once the bottle is empty by whatever means, it needs to be disposed of.

Let us get back to the term ‘disaster’. Something or someone has just destroyed these people’s day-to-day lifestyles. There is no shelter, no food, no transportation, no communication and no water.

If it weren’t for the ‘kindness’ of the good souls of this earth, these folks would be left alone with destruction, death, wounded, disease, starvation and thirst. Other than the scavengers who wander by picking up leftover wallets and wiping the blood off of items that were precious and now trash.

Unfortunately there is always another disaster to divert our attention and all the do-gooders will move onto the next spot of mayhem along with the media. Those left behind will have to decide to migrate or start over.

If the local corruption of the government doesn’t sell the warehouses of aid, then the families and orphans and elderly and ill must make do by whatever means to continue.

Limited services are available to dispose of the mounds of trash where waste disposal may have already been non-essential or even established. Usually whatever water source there is becomes the removal method, including the mountains of empty plastic water bottles. There is no recycling. 

What are you doing to me?

I thought we were friends? You have been my constant companion for years. I rely on you for news and music and entertainment and enlightenment. You guys, whom I’ve never met in person, are my friends and neighbors. You make me smile and chuckle and sing along and think. You sooth me with the classics, read to me stories, interview with intelligent questions. All my radios are tuned to you and now you have done this.

You’ve given me options.

How could you? For years I’ve weaned myself away from the talk/entertainment/advertising networks and stations to only pay attention to you. I tell everyone about my NPR fascination and am a proud member with my yearly donations to the sight and sound. I’ve been a loyal listener and now I have to decide.

You say you will give me more of the same and it will be better, but I’m weary. Now I will have to choose which one of you will get my undivided attention. You say I will have the same shows I clock my day by from waking up to afternoon interviews and factoids and evening marketing analysis to jazz and then bedtime to be rocked off into slumber land with orchestrated strings and pianos. 

I will pick up your gauntlet and accept your challenge for I have adapted to your increasingly self-effacing chatter and promotions that so long ago were silence. You are still the best alternative to what has become a tsunami of somewhat questionable media to pick and choose.

I’ll patently wait until you make your final adjustments and reset my dials to your studied selection of programming and I will continue to financially support you. I hope you will not become what cable television promised for a fee a multitude of unwanted or desirable variations available to stay focus while turning the mind into mush.

Stay true to your mission and I’ll be a loyal listener and hopefully we can succeed in this transition unlike the newspapers and magazines that turn journalism into entertainment.

What is it about the Tummy Temple?

I will confess. I do have a fixation on what some call a ‘super market’ or ‘grocery store’. These are places where co-ops, farmers and producers bring the countries abundance for each of us to choose at our leisure what we will eat for dinner.

A little background on my grandfather was in the food distribution business. Not sure how that started because from what I read my great grandfather, after surrendering at Appomattox, went into the mercantile business before dying from dirty water. This was a time when the family moved from Richmond to Wilmington, NC and cities were forming and people needed a place to get grub. Unfortunately there are no-pass-me-down tales of who, or what, and why but there are references in the family tree that makes me assume he was more than a deacon of the church.

Now I grew up in the land of plenty and remember going to the Safeway and the A&P to gather our fixings.

Yet I also remember the little corner store, ‘Paul T’s’, on my father’s block that had open counters of fresh vegetables and fish on ice and canned goods only to be reached by a ladder pushed on a crushed peanut shell floor. Women would come in and talk and get a few items that they could carry and say, “Put it on my bill” and a note was written on a scrape of paper. If the phone rang to request some items, a young lad would gather them up in brown paper wrapping and deliver them by bike without a dollar changing hands. At the end of the month people settled their bills and everyone was happy.

At the same time, people would wander into the market, maybe open a jar and grab a pickle and then chew the fat with the grocer over the best cut of meat or the catch of the day. The smell of open-air food didn’t matter because someone was always swatting the flies.

A grocery store is a retail store that primarily sells food.

Grocery stores often offer non-perishable food that is packaged in bottles, boxes, and cans; some also have bakeries, butchers, delis, and fresh produce. Large grocery stores that stock significant amounts of non-food products, such as clothing and household items, are called supermarkets. Some large supermarkets also include a pharmacy, and customer service, redemption, and electronics sections.

So I took my experience of a friendly place where people would gather (other than school or church) and found it a relaxing spot to meet neighbors, catch up on gossip, be rewarded with pass-due-date dead animal bargains, get back for Sunday supper while the lard melted in the cast iron skillet.

The grocery business, like every other business, adjusted to the times. Better refrigeration and cooking appliances started filling every home so home-cooked meals went beyond baking bread and shucking peas and frying chickens from the backyard. Instead of thumping your cantaloupe the FDA put a label on it to tell the grocer when to throw it away instead of making the consumer sick. The variety of soups and pasta and cereal and tomatoes went beyond what could be imagined or necessary.

The casual gathering place became a panic to use the latest coupon before expiration and follow the promotional items that weren’t that tasty but everyone else was buying them. Our palettes changed from hours of preparations for a meal to a pop-in-the-microwave. The texture, flavor, and experience of dining turned into television dinners.

The goal was to get the customer in as fast as possible and out the door to restack the shelves for the next one to be presented with the most pleasing and inviting product to increase profit and the major chains gobbled up the mom and pop operations with efficiency and better lighting. Lads in white aprons speeded each customer request quickly and politely while feverishly filling the shelves with the latest version of the same old product.

The checkout counter was probably the evolution to the next century. Instead of a nice lady waiting for you to place your selection on a table (for the grocer had found that having the customer gather the items was a better business model than having to pay staff to gather items for them) and then she would have to punch in the price of each item, for there were no scanners back in the day, while having a conversation with the shopper forming a bond to the store brand. At the end of each run there was a lad in a clean white apron and a youthful smile bagging your items with the value added service of hauling your grub to your automobile’s trunk.

Now there are all these vast warehouses of rows and rows of substance selections. There are still all those garish overhanging signs announcing the bargains of the day but as of yet, no laser lights or explosions or half naked girls beckoning for you to pick up a jar of peaches. While the modernizing of our baskets have gone from wire to plastic to small to scooters, the shopper is still responsible to seek and find what they wish to eat and that is all part of the game. The grocer certainly has information about you. There are cameras everywhere and you even get to swipe a store card to let them know your budget and preferences. If you choose to download the app, there are certainly recommendations for further irresistible purchases.

So here we are with one foot in history and the other in the future. These are the locations of baby diapers, eye shadow, green beans, pills and potions, frozen pizza, canned corn, sliced meat, allspice, cat litter, sliced bread, corn starch, corn flacks and a cornucopia of libations.

Someday when I walk through the electronic opening doors, I will be scanned and in a few moments some sort of computer-generated gizmo will accumulate my order and the bill be placed on my credit card. Someday it may just become such a routine that a drone will deliver my satchel to the door.

When that day comes, I will lose all contact with humanity. As the dining out experience or the concert experience, there is more than the person(s) you are with but the surrounding interaction of strangers who have become friends for the moment of sharing an experience.

For me, a trip to the Tummy Temple is more than just filling a wire basket with boxes and bottles. For me the Tummy Temple holds the human experience.

Some are impatient and frantic while others savor their moment in the florescent lights. Some days are circuses and others are walks in the park. I give credit to those assigned to control our patterns and listen to our grief and put up with our inappropriate behavior. Like any industry, and the Tummy Temple is an industry that keeps us fed, there are hundreds of details that go on behind the scenes that we don’t notice or appreciate. Does anyone pay attention to the holiday items that are constantly changing?

Still the Tummy Temple is a gathering place, so I wonder. Why don’t people get married there? They may have met over the yogurt aisle or maybe by the Kittles or the Captain Crunch for your grocery selection defines you better than any profile on social media. 

Tomorrow, if the good Lord’s willing and the creek don’t rise, I’ll be back to visit with my peeps, Toni providing my bunnies with blueberries, Allen suggesting my taste’s libation, Kandi and Brian picking up behind us and George, Wesley and redhead Katy making sure I get home with a smile and a chuckle.

re·cruit·ment

Finding the perfect person to fit the slot needed in a team or a business. Some job fairs go out and recruit potentials applicants or just passersby who become interested in the spiel of compensation for joining a reputable organization with benefits and perks and family leave and vacations.

And then coaching

And then expectations of winning

But suppose the times are changing and instead of hiring a dedicated loyal long term employee team member to an established brand is only interested in short term employment?

If the latest recruitment can’t offer medical benefits or family leave or paid vacations or holidays or pay increases guaranteed, what is the incentive to accept your offer. Let us not talk about retirement.

So the new wave of employment, manufacturers, retailers, service providers, etc. will have to adjust to the expectations of their applicants and vise a versa.

Let’s Have A Relationship?

“Love” is one of the most profound emotions known to human beings. There are many kinds of love, but most people seek its expression in a romantic relationship with a compatible partner. For some, romantic relationships are the most meaningful element of life, providing a source of deep fulfillment. The ability to have a healthy, loving relationship is not innate. A great deal of evidence suggests that the ability to form a stable relationship begins in infancy, in a child’s earliest experiences with a caregiver who reliably meets the infant’s needs for food, care, protection, stimulation, and social contact. Those relationships are not destiny, but they appear to establish patterns of relating to others. Failed relationships happen for many reasons, and the failure of a relationship is often a source of great psychological anguish. Most of us have to work consciously to master the skills necessary to make them flourish. 

Looking for love in all the wrong places? Flirting vs. sexual harassment? First impressions? Falling in love? Jealousy? Mating? Shyness? Sex? Soul mates? Infidelity?

Holy guacamole, why would anyone want to go through that kind of stuff just to be ‘friends’? Maybe you like the shape of their jib or enjoy an interesting conversation with no further attraction.

People (and animals of other sorts) seem to enjoy accumulating into groups. Perhaps for safety or just enjoyment of mating, we, the living planet participants, form relationships.

Some are necessary business relationships sealed with a handshake or a signature to someone who might not be a social partner except for the money and others might be folks who just fall into place as pals in a shared occurrence or a mistaken meeting.

Everyone we meet and converse with forms a relationship, may it ever be so brief. A wink or a smile or a wave acknowledges each other’s existence while a kiss might seal the deal.

Relationships have many levels and should be appreciated for what they are. The title of a relationship can confuse the meaning for association between two people. Remember to define with the other just what your expectations are to acceptable boundaries of emotional desire.

Relationships can change. Look at the ‘marriage’ relationship. Two have committed to bond together for all time until things change and not so much.

Relationships can be defined as ‘friends’ or ‘associates’ or ‘partners’ or ‘schoolmates’ or ‘lovers’ or ‘members’ or any assortment of descriptions that bond two or more together. ‘Family’ has it’s own relationship that is in constant flux.

I have lots of different relationships and only a few are romantic in terminology. Some relationships go back decades and some are forming everyday. Some have faded and some have become ostracized but there is still some connection in history or current events.

I’m a committer. I believe in relationships and try to stay true to how they originated and are sad when they end. Some say I should be committed, but that is another story.

I have a relationship with the soil. I’m not as good as some but I try to present an area that would have been familiar to our ancestors with space and substance for those who would have to dodge traffic on highways or scrounge trash heaps. We appreciate each other and though we don’t speak the same language their freedom is my reward.

I have a relationship with my peeps at the Tummy Temple. I don’t know any of these folks outside the building but they nod my constant attendance and most leave with a smile.

I have a relationship with old classmates or workmates. Mostly now through social media I can connect with remembrances that are fading, as are we all.

I have a relationship with my spirit. I’ve come to terms with reality and understand what moves me does not require a name or a set of instructions or a fee.

I have a relationship with my body. I know I’ve abused it for years and as a result feel the accumulated aches and pains are to be expected. I am the steward of myself so have not excuses unless I try harder to continue with better judgments. Medical professionals could attend me to but after all these years don’t think there is a pill or potion to make me well again.

I have a relationship with my home. Though we are not best buddies, she keeps the rain off my head and is a place to go to rest and prepare sustenance. There were memories there before I entered and there are lots more memories now. I don’t have much of a relationship with the contents for they are just accumulations that will be sold in the estate sale after I’m gone. I now try to show my appreciation of the years by keeping her as sturdy as possible after years of neglect.

I have a relationship with my girls. My ladies are my only wanton pleasure and I treat them as such. I hold them close and they respond to my hand movements as we become entwined. Some just whisper and some scream but I appreciate each and every one for they do make music.

I have a relationship with music. I will widen that category to say, I have a relationship with art. For some reason I was given the privilege to enjoy what is called ‘the finer things in life’. Art, music, writing, photography, dance and many more aspects of life so many ignore, I find wonder in and the ability to produce images and noise to express myself.

I have a relationship with my ponies. I’ve had many ponies through the years and some have new homes somewhere else without my permission to load but life is like that. Still this simple mechanical device is as inanimate as the parking lot and only works with some effort from me to get to my destination. My ponies also show me the changes of the day and require moving muscles and heavy breathing and heart pumping to clean out the system. Some days are a slow trot and other days are a gallop but they are always ready to deliver me and return me safely. Each year they get the change of shoes and complete check-up I don’t do to my own body.

I have a relationship with my heart. The pump that keeps the body going with the head trying to understand why it gets broken the excuse for the term ‘romance’. Like every lad I’ve formed my likes and dislikes and want and desires from advertising and culture and personal experience. My relationship with the heart has more of a logical wisdom than my youth but I still appreciate the feelings with better understanding.

Hibernation

Oh wintertime, you false hope for a chilly adventure and chores done without sweating only to become glued to the screen under the cloak of grey. Throw in Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Years, Valentine’s Day and the Super Bowl to make leaving the comfort of a soft seat under a blanket filled up on adult beverages and salty snacks and you have all the ingredients for the disease called hibernation.

You know how hard it is to crawl out of bed in the dark with the chill of the toilet seat awakening you with several cups of dark liquid before you can venture out into the cold. Throw in some frozen water and you are trapped inside. No matter how high you set the thermostat or how many lights you turn on, the comfy bed and warm jammies under a fluffy comforter continues to call you back.

Sweaters, bulky coats, scarves, knit hats; gloves and boots are layered for the winter uniform. Pasta coated in cheese and freshly baked breads form the layers of fat to protect your bikini body from the cold. It is called ‘vegging out’ but few vegetables are involved.

The crocuses are up. The daffodils are showing promise of spring only to be shattered with dark clouds bringing more rain and sleet and the uncomforting of the remains of winter.

The hope is for more and more sunshine and raising the windows to hear the robins and the lawnmowers and step outside into the warmth to restore the Vitamin D so missed during the dark time.

Until then, I have those conversations in my head and have to wake from disturbing dreams with only the promise that March 20 isn’t that far away.

Paid My Taxes Today

“So?” “What is the big deal in that?” “I haven’t even opened up my tax folder yet.” “Doesn’t need to be filed until April 15^th. What is the rush?”

I know, I hear all the response to this menial boring act of filling out paperwork for the government to take some of my money but there is more to the story.

Today I mailed my tax forms in. Yes, old school snail mail, and over the weekend I gathered my pieces of paper required to calculate my money against what the government calculate I should chip in to live in the home of the free and land of the brave.

Now my taxes have never been difficult and I’ve never used a preparation service but it is time consuming to try and figure out the best way to save my money and not give as much to Uncle Sam. Isn’t that how the game is played?

I’ve used the long form with all the deductions and used the EZ form and basically came out the same. The only difference was reading and trying to understand ‘govspeak’ of “Add line 9 through 12 and subtract from Estimated Income unless line 6 is over $250,000.00 in which you divide line 22 by 3.75% and attached form Adj.24 with Form C-9”

Most of my calculations now are ‘copy and paste’ from the previous year, so I prepare taxes while watching the Super Bowl. It gives a break from the boredom and with enough adult beverages might find another loophole. This is the time I also go through all my files of last year’s payments for utilities, maintenance, necessaries and fun items and remove the clutter. I also have a running Excel sheet to cross-reference and have kept every tax folders since first working in 1971 for about $1,500.00. How can you live on that amount of money?

So back to the story, I filled out all the boxes (I hope) on a downloaded PDF form and double-checked the numbers then printed copies for the all the governmental entities that want my money. Slap some stamps on a manila envelope, scribble a signature and off it goes to someplace in Kansas City. Don’t think I would like to live there because that must be one of them nuclear targets for how will the government get more bombs without money?

Some say there are too realities of life: Death & Taxes. This might be true, at least the first one can’t be disputed with all the graveyards but the second is a game. “I want your money”, the government says so it can fund our security, transportation, space exploration, education, air and water purity and a bunch of other stuff.

Like every other good American, I pay my taxes. Years ago I used to pay more than the requirement so at the end of the year I was assured of getting money back. It was sort of a savings plan but on April 15^th I didn’t have to write another check. I played by the rules and met my national responsibility of funding my fair share to an ever-growing governmental bureaucracy and never complained about my civic duty. I even paid my city and state taxes without question. They know what to do with this money.

The rest of my hard earned money was spent on wasteful wanton pleasure along with a bit of grub and a new shirt now and then. I kept my daily cost down to a minimum so I could proclaim myself as a true red-blooded all American taxpayer (wave the flag here) and stayed away from the repro man.

Now comes the real question, why can’t we decide how we want our taxes spent?  A “Line item tax allocation” without a committee, study, means and ways, review, vote, budget, etc. declaring where WE want our money to be spent is an concept not tried.

Our governmental bodies handle a lot of stuff that we don’t even know about or appreciate. Not only the potholes are filled but also every time you download onto your electronic devices someone is listening.

Suppose, just suppose, our government said, “We need $X to do all the thing WE think YOU want, so pay up!”

And suppose WE said, “Not so fast and quick with our cash!” I, as a tax-paying citizen of these United States of America don’t think that is the best way to spend my hard earned cash.

Now the government has lots of reports and charts explaining where the money goes, but it wasn’t your choice. It was the ‘elected’ official that listens to lobbyist and opponents and must decide to agree or disagree with a budget amendment depending on the president’s signature and the threat of reelection.

I agree with the democratic procedure of election representatives because we all don’t have time to mess with all this stuff, but when we take our time to fill out the paperwork at tax time, we can instruct our elected officials where we want our money spent.

Mary has kids and wants all her taxes spent on education while Bob wants to keep the armed forces strong so take his taxes and buy some bombs and bullets. Ted is a tree hugger and wants his taxes spent on air and water purification while trying to figure out the plastic trash problem. Sally has a abdominal hernia and wants whatever she can afford to find a solution to her pain.

How would this work?

You get your 1040 or 10EZ or whatever form and it ask you how much money did you make last year? No exceptions, how much dough is in the bank?

Now consider NO DEDUCTIONS for any reason and now you have the INCOME to tax.

But I’ve got 12 children and my mother-in-law living with me and I need additional assistance. My crops went bad with the price cuts and the bad weather and I need additional assistance. The windshield on my BMW is dirty and I need additional assistance.

Sorry for your misery but your government needs $.00 and needs you to pay $% of your cash to get things done. A simple basic budget analysis and allocation of funds to get things done without a deficit might be refreshing.

Another thought on the subject would be a ‘pay-as-you-go’ budget.

I personally like the fundamental thought that you can’t spend more than you got, but then someone invented credit. I still like the barter system of I need something from you and you need something from me and we shake hands and everyone is happy.

So if we did have a ‘pay-as-you-go’ budget how would we get things done? We might have enough resources in place to begin and from there on, we charge for services needed.

“My house is on fire! Help!!” That will cost you $82K for the government provided services to come out and put out the flames. Is it worth it?

“I feel fearful about some of the people wandering around my neighborhood and want protection.” That will cost you $120 a month to have a security officer patrol your property and possibly intervene with deadly force but there will be additional fees for bullets while not being libel for property damage and residual pain and suffering.

I certainly don’t have all the answers of how we survive but I do astound to the idea of don’t go over what you can afford. I’ve been on the other side and it is not comfortable so I try to stay on course.

So my taxes or at least the papers analyzing the federal government request and my acknowledgment of their request happen at this time of year. I allow them to use my money during the year to do whatever they have to do and then fill out the forms to ask for the money back.

As you watch all the foolishness on the political scene remember you are paying for it.