Joke for Women
A sixteen year-old boy came home with a new Chevrolet Avalanche and his
parents began to yell and scream, ‘Where did you get that truck???!!!’
He calmly told them, ‘I bought it today.’
‘With what money?’ demanded his parents. They knew what a Chevrolet
Avalanche cost.
‘Well,’ said the boy, ‘this one cost me just fifteen dollars.’ So the
parents began to yell even louder. ‘Who would sell a truck like that for
fifteen dollars?’ they said.
‘It was the lady up the street,’ said the boy. I don’t know her name –
they just moved in. She saw me ride past on my bike and asked me if I
wanted to buy a Chevrolet Avalanche for fifteen dollars.’
‘Oh my Goodness!,’ moaned the mother, ‘she must be a child abuser. Who knows
what she will do next? John, you go right up there and see what’s going
on.’ So the boy’s father walked up the street to the house where the lady
lived and found her out in the yard calmly planting petunias!
He introduced himself as the father of the boy to whom she had sold a new
Chevrolet Avalanche for fifteen dollars and demanded to know why she did it.
‘Well,’ she said, ‘this morning I got a phone call from my husband.. (I
thought he was on a business trip, but learned from a friend he had run off
to Hawaii with his mistress and really doesn’t intend to come back)
He claimed he was stranded and needed cash, and asked me to sell his new
Chevrolet Avalanche and send him the money.
So I did.’
(Are women good or what?)
Casper’s A Taste of the South
We had decided on one restaurant, an Italian restaurant we both like, and were on our way, when Mom thought of another restaurant we might like to try, but it was on the way, so we could look at it and decide whether we wanted to eat there or go on to the Italian one.
This is very normal for our family. Our son used to call it “bait and switch” because we would say “Hey! Do you want to go to Tortilla Gonzales?” and he would say “Yeah!” and we would all jump in the car and then on the causeway, AdventureMan would say “You know I really have a taste for Chinese . . . would anyone prefer Chinese?” and I would jump in and say “We’re really close to that sushi place we all love!” and then our son would have to rein us in “NO! You said we were going to Tortilla Gonzales!”
Once he went away to college, we switched all the time. Later, we learned that now he and his wife do the old switch-a-roo, too – family culture is a hard thing to shake.
So we are en route and Mom suddenly shouts “RIBS!” and I say “What??” and she said “We just passed a rib place!” We were at a stop light. “Mom,” I asked, “Do you want to go to that rib place?”
Silence.
Silence.
I pull into the U-turn lane and complain “You’ve got to start dealing with me directly; if you want to go to the rib place, you have to say so!” The complete irony being that I was already making the U-turn, which is what she wanted me to do. . . . Family culture being a hard thing to shake . . .
But as we pulled into the already crowded parking lot, the smell was absolutely divine. There was already a line. Good thing, too, it gave us time to read the menu and decide what we wanted.
We both ordered ribs. We are both forbidden to eat ribs. I eat ribs maybe one time each year, like once, at a buffet, I ate one small rib. It is so rare that I allow myself to eat a rib that I can remember even that one tiny rib. But this time, I ordered ribs, because my Mom did. She ordered Sweet Potato Fries and Cole Slaw and I ordered Hush Puppies and Cole Slaw.
You are going to be so so proud of me. I took pictures before we ate the food this time, well, except for one tiny bite I took out of the hushpuppies, but that was to show you what they look like on the inside. (My Mom has NEVER had a hushpuppy in her life before having one of mine.)
We sat down in the large outside sitting place – I can’t help but wonder what they do in the winter time, because it can get really really cold and damp in Seattle, but I am guessing that they do a huge take-out business.
They have a map that they want people to put push-pins in to say where they are from:
I made a little addition:
And, as I promised, here is the food. Actually, they gave Mom this HUGE portion, about double my portion, but since I got four ribs and only ate two, Mom took home a huge box of leftover ribs to package up and freeze and have a little at a time.
Did you know sweet potatoes are really really healthy for you?
(I think sweet potatoes are healthier for you when they have a lower surface/interior ratio and have absorbed less fat, but these are totally, incredibly delicious. That’s sugar on the sweet potato fries, not salt.) Mom took leftover sweet potato fries home, too.
I can’t even pretend that there is anything healthy about deep fried cornbread. I ate them all, except the one Mom ate. They . . . they were really really good. Yes, I am so ashamed, but I would do it again.
And no, I didn’t take a photo of the sweet potato pie, generously seasoned with fresh nutmeg, it was divine, or the key lime pie we couldn’t eat and Mom took that home, too.
Oh, this food was good. As we left, the line stretched way out to door and into the parking lot.
Casper’s Taste of the South
15030 Bothell Way
Lake Forest Park, WA
(206)268-0202
Their slogan is:
Put a Little South in Your Mouth. LLLOOOLLLL!
A New Approach – The John School
From CNN World News
NASHVILLE, Tennessee (CNN) — The accused came from all walks of life: Retirees, dads and twentysomethings. An engineer, a business owner and an auto worker. A man in a wheelchair. Men in need of Spanish or Farsi translators.
Brett Beasley, with Nashville’s Health Department, educates men arrested for trying to buy sex about STDs.
About 40 men somberly entered a classroom on a recent Saturday morning. About half of them wore shiny wedding bands.
All had tried to buy a prostitute’s services and were caught by police. It was their first offense, and a county court referred them to a one-day program called the John School. It’s a program run by volunteers and city officials in conjunction with Magdalene House, a nonprofit that works to get prostitutes off the streets.
“Prostitution doesn’t discriminate,” said Kenny Baker, a cognitive behavioral therapist who is the program’s director. “Most of these men don’t have a prior criminal history, so our goal is to help these folks understand why they put themselves in a bad position, to prevent it from happening again.”
Set in a church in Nashville, Tennessee, the John School is led by former prostitutes, health experts, psychologists and law enforcement officers who talk to — and at times berate — the men about the risks of hiring a prostitute.
Prostitution is based on the law of supply and demand. The thinking is: Women won’t stop selling sex until men stop buying.
So Nashville and a growing number of cities are shifting their focus from locking up suppliers to educating buyers. Across the country, about 50 communities are using John Schools. Atlanta, Georgia, and Baltimore, Maryland, are among dozens more cities that plan to launch similar programs by the end of the year. See where the John Schools are »
“It will make them [offenders] see that this is not a victimless crime, and they are contributing to the exploitation of women,” said Stephanie Davis, policy adviser on women’s issues at the mayor’s office in Atlanta. “It’s hurting them, the man, and it’s hurting their families and its hurting the community.”
No comprehensive effort has been made to track the numbers, but experts estimate 1 million to 2 million prostitutes work in the United States. The FBI’s 2007 Uniform Crime Report lists about 78,000 arrests for prostitution and commercialized vice, but experts say those numbers are extremely conservative because many sex workers and johns aren’t caught.
Experts add that easy accessibility to prostitutes and pornography on the Internet are feeding the problem.
In most communities, prostitution has been a one-sided battle focused on the women who offer sex. Their customers, when they are arrested, are usually cited for a misdemeanor and fined.
By comparison, prostitutes are often charged with more severe sentences and jailed for months, depending on the offense.
But in Nashville, the johns’ faces are shown on a police Web site.
For decades, Nashville battled prostitution by arresting women on the streets and through stings. Still, the problem persisted, irritating business owners and residents.
In the early 1990s, Nashville’s mayor helped launch the John School with the help of the Magdalene House, public defenders, prosecutors and police officers. Nashville became one of the first major cities in the U.S. to focus on the customers, predominantly men.
Only first-time offenders who solicit an adult are eligible for John School. Johns who pick up minors are not eligible and face much tougher sentences.
“If you get caught again and you get me, I will guarantee to put you in jail,” warned Antoinette Welch, a local prosecutor, in speaking to the men in the class. “I’ve had men cry to me that they will lose their jobs or their wives, but you’re all grown up and you make your own decisions.”
The men listened carefully as Welch talked about their records; many had not yet told their wives or significant others about their arrest.
If the john pleads guilty, pays a $250 fee and completes the course without re-offending, the charge can be dismissed after a year. The money paid by the john goes to Magdalene House; the program doesn’t cost taxpayers any money. John School models in other communities may differ.
A woman who called herself Alexis, a 35-year-old former prostitute with dark hair and bright blue eyes, spoke to the men as the class came to an end. Four years ago, she left the streets and now works at a factory.
By the age of 10, Alexis had learned to barter with sex with her stepfather. In her 20s, she found herself hooked on drugs and selling her body. She was arrested more than 80 times. She was hospitalized after someone shot her on the job.
As she told her story, the men were silent. A few blushed, while others stared at the floor.
“These gentlemen are no different than I was on the streets,” she said. “I think everyone has to look at the void they are trying to fill.”
One john, a father of two with salt-and-pepper hair, found himself near tears after Alexis spoke. In July, he tried to pick up a prostitute through Craigslist. He said he was depressed and having problems with his wife.
“I’m so embarrassed,” he said. “These girls are somebody’s daughters. I have a daughter.”
Some evidence suggests that John Schools are working. A 2008 government study looked at the John School program in San Francisco, California. It’s one of the largest programs in the country; more than 7,000 johns have attended since 1995.
According to the study, the re-arrest rate fell sharply after the school was launched, and stayed more than 30 percent lower for 10 years afterward.
But critics call John School a slap on the wrist. On Saturday, one john abandoned the classroom.
Carol Leigh, who founded the Sex Workers Outreach Project, a group that promotes legalizing prostitution in California, said she doesn’t believe the program is an effective deterrent. Last year, she helped advocate on behalf of a law known as Proposition K that would legalize prostitution in San Fransisco. The proposal was rejected by the city.
“John School doesn’t do that much,” said Leigh, who has worked as a prostitute. “The reality is they aren’t spending that much time on the johns and they will just go and re-offend at other venues. This also doesn’t target the violent offenders who are the real problem.”
Melissa Farley, head of the nonprofit group Prostitution Research and Education in San Fransisco, believes johns deserve stronger punishment like longer prison sentences.
A recent study she conducted among johns in Chicago, Illinois, found that 41 percent of them said John School would deter them from buying sex, compared with 92 percent who said being placed on a sex offender registry would scare them from re-offending.
Nashville officials said they haven’t tracked recidivism rates in their city, but the school’s program director said it’s probably deterring a third of the offenders in each class.
At least one college educated, 47-year-old john’s attitude appeared to change on a recent Saturday.
After class he wrote, “There is no good part. I would rather be with my wife. This was quick but it wasn’t worth it.”
Here There and Anywhere
It’s not like “Here, There and Everywhere” is something I made up and trademarked. No. It was an old Beatles song I liked a lot:
And when I started blogging, I couldn’t think of one area I wanted to specialize in, like news commenting, or recipes, and my life isn’t so fascinating that I can just spin tales and keep you dazzled, so Here There and Everywhere just sort of expressed the serendipity that I wanted, and gave me the space that I needed to tackle lots of subjects – and, more important, to me anyway, to get feedback and input from others who might know a whole lot more than I do about things. I was always ready for things to take a wild jag, and, to my utter delight, they sometimes do. 🙂
It’s worked for me. It keeps life interesting.
But I have to admit I sometimes get a twinge of proprietary feeling about the name. One time BitJockey sent me a reference to a blog – a Kuwait blog! and the author had a name so similar that if it was a coincidence, it was a very eerie coincidence. It sort of totally annoyed me, but I didn’t want to give the blog any attention or thought at all, and actually, so far ignoring it has pretty much worked for me, too.
But today, in my very own home town, I saw this big orange van:
“Oh!” I said! “Oh, Look at that van! It says ‘Here, There and Everywhere’ on it!” and my Mom said “Oh, that’s the Here and There and Anywhere Grill” and we order things from them all the time. They are only here on Wednesdays. After two or three weeks,” she added, “I get a little tired of the food and then stop for a while and start again later. They have really good food.”
I love it that Mom is stepping out, taking college seminars, ordering from the Here and There and Anywhere Grill, doing her physical therapy, keeping active.
“How can I help you, Mom?” I asked, and she had a good list ready. At the end was “Buy a new chair” so today we went searching for the perfect chair. In one store, we were the only customers so the saleslady suggested we push Mom around the huge, cavernous store in a dining room chair with wheels. Only problem is Mom has to hold her feet up off the floor, it’s not like a wheelchair with a base you can rest your feet on, but she was a really good sport, except for the one time maybe I was moving too fast and I hit an edge of carpet and almost dumped her by stopping too abruptly.
She found a totally great chair, one I don’t think my Dad would have approved of at all. I love it that she made the decision herself, and bought the chair and it is going to be delivered tomorrow – a gorgeous cherry RED leather chair. Wooo HOOOO on you, Mom! 😀
(You are going to have to imagine the cherry red part; the only photo I could find online is black.)
Irrelevant Clothing, Shoes and Scissors
It doesn’t matter how long I have been living in the Middle East, it doesn’t matter how many times I have made the trip back and forth, I never seem to get it quite right.
I knew it was going to be less hot in Seattle. I knew it. And still, I didn’t pack a single pair of closed toe shoes, a single pair of nylon stockings, and only a couple long sleeved things. It doesn’t matter that I have lived in Seattle, that I know Seattle, when I am in the middle of the heat and humidity of August in Doha, I lack the imagination to think clearly about the coolness of August in Seattle. I have a lot of lightweight cotton dresses . . . hmmm, so irrelevant in Seattle.
I keep a storage locker here. It started when we moved our parents from their big house to a 2 BR condo (with a water view 🙂 ) and Mom had separated out some of her treasures to divide among us movers. The problem was, I didn’t really want to take them with me (bulky and I would have to bring them back) and I have already imposed on the sister who lives here with a bunch of my stuff, so I finally decided to rent a storage locker. I discovered as a landlord, it actually comes off my taxes. I still have to pay for it, but it isn’t a total loss. I keep Seattle supplies in the locker, too.
When I went to the locker yesterday to pick up some more long sleeved stuff, and my Seattle hairdryer, and my Seattle make-up and living supplies (dishwashing soap, coffee filters, paper towels, laundry soap, etc.) yesterday, with my Mom in the car, nothing went right. My code didn’t work. I had to go inside, leaving my Mom sitting in the car, and it took them a while to work out what was wrong.
(“We don’t have seven number codes! . . . .Hmmm, , mmm, , , yeh, it says you have a seven number code all right, . . .. so here is your new code . . . )
And the new code didn’t work either.
They opened the gate for me, I went to my locker, and with my Mom sitting in the car, discovered my laundry soap had leaked during the time between visits, and with my Mom sitting in the car, I had to clean it all up AND dig out some relevant clothing, and some wrapping paper for gifts I need to send, and scotch tape and scissors (yes, I keep all the things that I frequently use in the locker so I don’t have to buy them again and again and again.) I also grabbed the bag of cosmetic items – like shampoo, toothpaste, my Seattle toothbrush, etc.)
My poor Mom! Remember her? She is still out there sitting in the car!
(The code didn’t work on the way out, either.)
So after all that sitting in the car, I treated Mom to a trip to Trader Joe’s, a place we both love. I picked up sugar snap peas; I just eat them like candy, instead of candy, they are SO good, and some sushi for later on, and Mom picked up things that were really bad, like triple gingersnaps and a wonderfully fragrant new Rosemary Tree.
On the way home, she said “you know you have some stuff in the guest bathroom” and I assured her that I did not, that it was all my middle sister’s stuff, and she said “No, Little Diamond looked at it while she was staying here and said it was yours, that it was stuff you use.” Hmmm. Little Diamond said that?
So when we got back to Mom’s house, I checked the cupboard, and there was one of those zipper bags like (ahem) I always use, and inside was . . . yep. Another hairbrush. Another Seattle toothbrush. Scotch tape. Scissors. My particular make-up back-ups. Shampoo. I brought it with me, and I had two almost identical zipper bags full of Seattle supplies. I can only imagine that sometimes when I get here after all those hours of traveling that my mind is just so addled I am not thinking.
It also makes me feel a little weird that Little Diamond knows me so well that she can identify MY things with just a glance at the contents of the plastic bag, LLOOLLLL! I am that predictable?
On my way over to my Mom’s, I had stopped at the local Fred Meyer’s, a Target-like local store I just love. Now that I am in Seattle, I see things differently. I see things I can hardly resist, like something in me feels like getting ready for the winter, but then, Thank God, my sterner self jerks me back just as I am reaching for:
Look at those socks! Look at those colors! I can barely resist, they are such a hoot! but then . . . where would I wear them? Even if I were abaya’d, people could see my bright polka-dot chartreused ankles and it would draw unwanted attention . . . . maybe just around the house . . .
But no . . . around the house – look at these!
Thick, fuzzy sleepers, only $16.99, like we wore when we were kids, only these are for grownups, and oh! look at that zebra print! The cheetah! They are almost irresistable!
And so irrelevant in Doha!
Ramadan Mubarak 2009
(image from Islam101/Ramadan)
Greetings and best wishes from AdventureMan and me to all of our Muslim friends, fasting and purifying themselves during the Muslim month of Ramadan. May your fasting and your prayers bless you abundantly, and may the month build your spiritual wholeness in every good way.
Friday, during our church service, our priest asked the congregation if any of us had literature explaining why the Muslim God was not the same as the Christian God. We all looked at him in shock. Not one person raised his or her hands.
Then he smiled, a great big broad grin and said “Good! There is only one God, and our Moslem brothers and sisters worship the same one-God we do.”
His sermon was on one of the “hard teachings” of Jesus, teachings even those closest to him had trouble understanding. That there are not exceptions to the rules, that the rules apply across the board, to us all, to all creatures God created. When the Jews, the chosen ones, rejected Jesus, they had allowed a focus on the laws to take the place of the spirit of the law – that we love God, and that as a part of loving God, we serve him by loving and serving one another, regardless of divisions, of denominations or sects.
May all the blessings of the true spirit of Ramadan be yours, my brothers and sisters.
(Yes, Purg, you ARE my brother. 🙂 )
Maggie O’Farrell and The Vanishing Act of Esme Lennox
Maggie O’Farrel’s The Vanishing Act of Esme Lennox is also a book club pick, but oh, what a pick! I remember somewhere reading a review; I might never have picked this book up if I hadn’t needed to read it for the club. And oh, what I might have missed!
It’s like the scariest book ever written, scary in a Margaret Atwood kind of way, a reminder that women have not had rights for very long, and that those rights are still very fragile. When economies go bottoms-up, when unemployment begins rising, women are often the first to suffer, and women’s rights the first to go. In hard times, men will be preferred hirings, because they have families to support, laws to “protect” women are passed, especially laws which “protect” her finances, meaning gives the power of the money management to some man to do for her, or “protect” her person by requiring that some man accompany her to keep her from dangers. Protection = control. It keeps some smart, thinking women submissive to men who are in every way their inferior.
In Vanishing, Maggie O’Farrel writes of such a woman, Esme Lennox, who is a fey spirit, born in India, with the eyes of an artist. While her “good” sister Kitty obeys the rules, walks the straight and narrow path, Esme is messier. As she grows to adolescence, her eccentricity and her rebellion against the constricts of the life in turn-of-the-century Scotland chafe, she yearns for more room to breathe, intellectually, socially, as her family, her community and her society continues to pressure her to conform.
One of the key events in the book is the death of Esme’s baby brother, of typhoid fever. Abandoned, Esme sits holding her dead brother’s body for three days until her family returns (the baby-keeper also died and the other employees deserted while Esme’s family was away). Esme is devastated, but the focus is on her mother, who is wrought with guilt and isolates herself, and Esme, only a little girl, is forbidden to even say her beloved baby brother’s name. Part of what plays a huge role in this book is society, expectations, and all that is hidden and unspoken – as Esme becomes, a family secret, locked away for sixty years.
Their grandmother swept into the room ‘Kitty,’ there was an unaccustomed smile on her face, ‘stir yourself. You have a visitor.’
Kitty put down her needle. ‘Who?’
Their mother appeared behind the grandmother. ‘Kitty,’ she said ‘quickly put that away. He’s here, he’s downstairs . . . ‘
. . . .
Esme watched from the window-seat as her mother started fiddling with Kitty’s hari, tucking it behind her ears, then releasing it. . . . . Ishbel turned and, catching sight of Esme at the window, said ‘You, too. Quickly now.’
Esme took the stairs slowly. She had no desire to meet one of Kitty’s suitors. They all seemed the same to her – nervous men with over-combed hair, scrubbed hands and pressed shirts. They came and drank tea, and she and Kitty were expected to talk to them while their mother sat like an umpire in a chair across the room. The whole thing made Esme want to burst into honesty, to say, let’s forget this charade, do you want to marry her or not?
She dawdled on the landing, looking at a grim, grey-skied watercolour of the Fife coast. But her grandmother appeared in the hall below. ‘Esme!’ she hissed, and Esme clattered down the stairs.
In the drawing room, she plumped down in a chair with high arms in the corner. She wound her ankles round its polished legs and eyed the suitor. The same as ever. Perhaps a little more good-looking than some of the others. Blond hair, an arrogant forehead, fastidious cuffs. He was asking Ishbel something about the roses in a bowl on the table. Esme had to repress the urge to roll her eyes. Kitty was sitting bolt upright on the sofa, pouring tea into a cup, a blush creeping up her neck.
Esme began playing the game she often played with herself at times like this, looking over the room and working out how she might get round it without touching the floor. She could climb from the sofa to the low table and, from there, to the fender stool. Along that, and then –
She realized her mother was loooking at her, saying something.
‘What was that?” Esme said.
‘James was addressing you.’ her mother said, and the slight flare of her nostrils meant, Esme knew, that she’d better behave or there would be trouble later.
As with many inconvenient women, Esme ends up committed at a loony-bin, and sixty years later, is released into the custody of a grand-niece who never even knew Esme existed.
The thoughts, trials and escapades of three women, Esme, her sister Kitty, and Iris, the grand-niece, intertwine through out the book, and the picture is cloudy at first, blurry, shifting, fragmented The pattern becomes more and more clear as the three threads of thought are woven – ever more tightly – together.
I could not put this book down. Finding out how the picture came together became more important than checking my messages, my blog, or fixing dinner. It was compelling, and resulted in a quick and unforgettable read.
Kuwait Wedding Fire: Did Bride Survive?
AOL News is carrying this report, saying “it is unclear whether the bride survived.” I know I read in the Kuwait Times yesterday that the bride did survive, but her mother and sister did not. Which is true?
Fatal Wedding Fire Called Criminal Act
Kuwaiti Newspaper Says Groom’s Angry Ex-Wife Started Deadly Blaze
By DIANA ELIAS, AP
KUWAIT CITY (Aug. 17) – Kuwaiti authorities have apprehended the person suspected of setting fire to a wedding tent and killing 41 people and said Monday the motive was personal. Local newspapers reported the groom’s ex-wife was the arsonist.
The inferno Saturday night in the tribal area of al-Jahra, west of Kuwait City, ate up the women’s tent in just three minutes and left behind bodies so charred they were unrecognizable. Guests likely crushed one another in a desperate attempt to flee. It was still unclear if the bride had survived.
Kuwaiti authorities said Monday that a deadly wedding tent blaze was set by someone for personal reasons. Local newspapers identified the suspect as the groom’s ex-wife. The intense fire, which lasted only three minutes, killed 41 women and children. Fifty-two others were hospitalized. Here, burnt debris litters the area in Kuwait City.
‘A Horrific Scene’
Kuwaiti officials said 41 women and children died when a fire broke out at a wedding party in Kuwait City on Saturday. The deadly inferno lasted just three minutes. Authorities said 58 injured were still in hospitals, including seven people in serious condition with severe burns. Here, burnt debris litters the area.
The alleged arsonist has been identified and “confessed to committing the crime for personal reasons,” Interior Ministry spokesman Col. Mohammed al-Saber told state-owned Kuwait television.
Al-Saber’s statement made no reference to an ex-wife, and he did not answer telephone calls seeking comment Monday. But Kuwaiti newspapers speculated on the cause of the fire, saying that the groom’s former wife was to blame. The headline in the English-language Kuwait Times was “‘Scorned’ Woman Unleashed Fury.”
The independent Al-Qabas daily said the groom’s former wife, who is 23 years old, poured gasoline on the tent and lit it because she felt her ex-husband mistreated her when they were married.
A statement Monday from the Interior Ministry carried by the Kuwait News Agency said the perpetrator was in custody, but no name or details were given.
The “final and exact” death toll discussed in a high-level security meeting Monday was 41, said Kuwaiti Fire Department chief, Brig. Gen. Jassem al-Mansouri. Earlier reports Monday had raised the death toll to 43 after two people died overnight from burns. But al-Mansouri said after further investigation authorities determined that only 39 people died during the initial blaze. He said the bodies were so badly burned, it was difficult for investigators to determine how many people perished.
The chief, who described the fire as the worst disaster he’s seen in almost four decades of service, said 6 bodies were still unidentified and it was not known if the bride survived the carnage.
You can read this entire account by clicking HERE.
Written Communication, Plusses and Minuses
I was e-mailing back and forth this morning with a dear friend who is traveling. She was about to visit an old school friend, and before visiting, dug out all the letters she had received from the friend – an enormous collection – and read through them all. She said it was a very moving experience, and I could tell that even before visiting her friend, she was feeling close from having read all those letters.
When was the last time you got a letter?
I have some letters my husband has written, saved away. 🙂 Most of my written communications these days are done by e-mail, instant-message, or texting. I used to have files of e-mails, but as they grew bigger and bigger, I sort of stopped saving them, except for important ones, or business-related ones.
These blogs are also written communication, but more like books, less personal and you never really know who is reading on any given day, and who isn’t, so like it is not the most reliable way to communicate something important, especially to one person or a small group of people; e-mail just makes more sense. Or picking up the telephone, which I don’t do all that often as I am not so much of a telephone person and many people I would call are in different time zones.
But it makes me wonder what record we will have of these times? I told my friend when I was in college, I worked part time in the university xerox department, and most things in the Northwest Collection came to me. I could read them as I copied them – diaries, letters, to-do lists, shopping lists – ephemeral things, but written on paper, and they give us a tiny peephole into the daily lives of people who lived a couple hundred years ago.
Think of your life, and how things have changed, even if you are in your twenties. Two hundred years from now, people will have so many questions about our lives, how we lived, why we did the things we did. With fewer lasting pieces of paper, will the record be so complete?
Think of our electronic storage devices – remember floppy disks? My computer wouldn’t even be able to read a floppy disk! Think of the tiny little USB devices we are saving onto now – how long will that technology last? In another generation, it will be as opaque and accessible as the ancient inscribes stones buried in the deserts.
As we go more and more paperless, how are we saving the ephemera?
As I upload a couple years worth of photos to be printed, I think of the scrap booking craze, how you take a few photos and decorate all around them, but do the resulting albums give you truth, or do they give you a fantasy of the truth?
I think of the photographs from a hundred years ago – people with somber faces. Serious faces. No one ever smiled for the photos. There are photos of my earliest relatives in Seattle, they are truly a grim looking bunch, I think it was the style then, and I have a feeling that they didn’t look like that most of the time; our family culture is pretty jokey. So I am also wondering about family lore, family history and realities. Like most of us expunge the photos of us that are unflattering – and destroy letters we would never want anyone to read. In so doing, we don’t change the real history, but we do change the transmission of history! Much of what gets transmitted ends up being censored, by us!
(This is not my family, just a photo from the early 1900’s from rootsweb.ancestry.com)
For years, I have taken my photos and put them in books – and they are heavy. But we actually take them out and look at the photos from time to time, whereas now, most of my photos are stored on the computer, and rarely do I take the time to upload them to be printed. I wonder what the photographic record will be, if there will be a downturn in photos showing what was going on because so few are printed in a relatively lasting format.
I have so much on the internet – photos, writing, etc. What is something happens to the internet. I haven’t even been saving back ups of the blogs. I used to, like the first six months, but, frankly, so much of it is trivial that I stopped backing it up. And if I lost everything, would it be a tragedy – or a huge relief? I think of friends who have lived through terrible events and who live their lives more lightly now – fewer purchases, fewer emotional turmoils – going through something horrible can truly streamline your life.
I guess I am just babbling.
Whoda Thunk? People Get Happier as they Age
I never dreamed it when I was younger. Who would want to be OLD? Having nice tight little bodies is fun, right? Even if you have to pay the price of worrying all the time about maintainence, LOL!
As it turns out, people get happier as they get older. Whoda thunk it?
People ‘get happier as they age’
From BBC Health News
Older people appear better able to control their emotions
Most people get happier as they grow older, studies on people aged up to their mid-90s suggest.
Despite worries about ill health, income, changes in social status and bereavements, later life tends to be a golden age, according to psychologists.
They found older adults generally make the best of the time they have left and have learned to avoid situations that make them feel sad or stressed.
The young should do the same, they told the American Psychological Association.
Ageing society
The UK is an ageing nation – in less than 25 years, one in four people in the UK will be over 65 and the number of over-85s will have doubled.
And it is expected there will be 30,000 people aged over 100 by the year 2030.
According to University of California psychologist Dr Susan Turk Charles, this should make the UK a happier society.
By reviewing the available studies on emotions and ageing she found that mental wellbeing generally improved with age, except for people with dementia-related ill health.
Work carried out by Dr Laura Carstensen, a psychology professor at Stanford University, suggested why this might be the case.
Dr Carstensen asked volunteers ranging in age from 18 to mid-90s to take part in various experiments and keep diaries of their emotional state.
She found the older people were far less likely than the younger to experience persistent negative moods and were more resilient to hearing personal criticism.
They were also much better at controlling and balancing their emotions – a skill that appeared to improve the older they became.
TIPS FOR A HAPPY OLD AGE
Envisage ways to thoroughly enjoy the years ahead and imagine living to a healthy and happy 100
Design your life and daily routines to reinforce this goal
Don’t put all your “social” eggs in one basket – invest time outside of your family and career too
Dr Charles explained: “Based on work by Carstensen and her colleagues, we know that older people are increasingly aware that the time they have left in life is growing shorter.
“They want to make the best of it so they avoid engaging in situations that will make them unhappy.
“They have also had more time to learn and understand the intentions of others which helps them to avoid these stressful situations.”
Dr Carstensen said the young would do well to start preparing for their old age now.
This includes adopting a healthy daily routine and ensuring some social investment is spent outside of the workplace and family home.
Andrew Harrop, head of public policy at Age Concern and Help the Aged, said the findings were encouraging.
“For many people, older age and later life is often looked upon with dread and worry.
“Far too many younger people assume that getting older is a process that will inevitably mean sickness, frailty and lack of mobility and greater dependence. However, this is far from the truth in very many cases.
“Many older people lead active, healthy lives enriched by experience and learning.
“This positive advantage can be brought to bear across so many aspects of daily life which – in turn – hugely benefits our ageing society.
“It’s vital that there is growing acceptance that just because someone is getting older, it doesn’t mean they no longer have a significant contribution to make.
“This study is one of many which shows that later life can be a enormously positive experience.”
Recent Comments
intlxpatr on A Lawless, Authoritarian … Kuwait Someday on A Lawless, Authoritarian … intlxpatr on Oh Thank You, Amazon! Rivergirl on Oh Thank You, Amazon! intlxpatr on Give to Those Who Ask Wikipedia Donate Button
Amazina
Early Voting in Florida
Here There and Everywhere 