My leanings are showing

Okay, so I try really hard to stay clear of partisan politics in this blog. I don't want to lose any of the few true friends I have.
But, well....

47% of us are sucking the public teet? Really, Mitt? There's 47% of American voters you can't bring yourself to worry about? You're willing to kiss off as many Americans as will likely vote for the loser in the election? So, the only people who deserve representation are the ones whose candidate prevails?

Really, Mitt?

But that's not the truly scary part. The truly scary part is that he apparently doesn't understand that anything said out side the privacy of his bathroom will likely end up on the Net. Does he really not understand restraint?

And if not, is this a guy we want speaking on our behalf internationally?

Really, Mitt?

Heroes

Google "Afghan schoolgirls" tonight and for at least the first six pages, you won't find a listing that doesn't talk about attacks on them. They're being burned, beaten and doused with acid in an attempt to punish them and discourage others from stepping outside their "traditional" roles, as defined by the religious zealots who want to rule their world and, ultimately, ours.

Google "United States schoolgirls" and in the first page, you'll find items about academics including STEM, a couple sports items, a human interest piece about U.S. schoolgirls making 1,000 cranes for Japan, and a link to an inappropriate video. No burnings by chemicals or flames, no beatings and certainly nothing about a bomb killing a hundred girls who just wanted to learn.

Please consider taking a moment to check out this article on the CNN site: http://www.cnn.com/2012/09/26/world/asia/cnnheroes-afghan-schoolgirls/index.html.

I hope you'll agree with me that these girls and their parents are truly world class heroes. Ignorance plays into the hatred that drives despicable acts. Education provides a platform for enlightened thought. They choose education, and at horrifying risk to themselves and their loved ones.

These girls are trying to learn. That's all. Just trying to learn the most basic things that my daughters and yours take for granted.

It's in vogue these days to invoke the memory of 9-11 when sounding the call to fight this terrorism rooted in perversions of religion. I understand the need to memorialize our own losses. But we can't bring back the dead. The future is not about the dead. It's about girls who brave injury and death to improve their lot in life.

These girls are fighting our fight. And even if there's little we can individually do about that, at the very least we can refuse to forget their heroism. Because if we're ever going to have a semblance of peace in the world, it will be in large part due to the gut-wrenching heroism of little girls who got up in the morning and walked to school.  

The last shuttle flight

I lost interest in the U.S. crewed space program some years ago. I know this sounds a terrible thing to say, especially for someone whose natural curiosity about most things is quite high. But I can't help what I find compelling. I do or I don't. And when it comes to sending human beings into space at enormous cost to the taxpayer, it just doesn't pencil out for me. Send a machine.

That's why I was surprised to find myself so disappointed at not being able to see one of the fly-bys associated with taking each of the shuttles 'home' to their ultimate display locations. I've been sitting here trying to think why that should be and I think I've got it.

Trolling for a blog topic tonight, I came across plenty of violence and all sorts of titillation. But between the calls for jihad and the sly mentions of celebrity wardrobe malfunctions, the insane ranting of the extreme Right and Left, the two-headed animals and the video of the firestorm tornado (which I have to admit was kind of cool but I'm not sure it's news), a photo of the shuttle riding piggyback on its special 747 made me smile.

It doesn't matter that I would gladly have voted against much of NASA's funding had I been given the opportunity. What does matter, at least to me, was that my money was used in this case for something many of you consider fascinating and noble and worthwhile. And while I don't believe we need human flesh in orbit, I do value the basic science being accomplished in the space station.

There are so many things we do collectively that I don't support personally. But that's how it works in a representative democracy. We don't each get to vote on the use of every dollar. And that way, things get done.

I do value the National Parks but I know and respect people who don't and that's okay. We can argue all day about the National Endowment for the Arts or school lunch programs. I'm a big supporter of Weights and Measures, although I don't think I'd bother with their museum. What would one put in a National Museum of Weights and Measures, anyway?

But I do wish I'd seen that last piggyback shuttle flight. This was special. It was a difficult something we did together, well.

Facts and truth

               A dear friend of mine recently posited that it seems like I tend to – how shall I say this – “expand” upon the facts occasionally in an effort to make the stories I tell more, well, more.

                Now, I wasn’t crushed because I understood she was not accusing me of prevarication. It’s not the truth from which she suggests I occasionally stray. But the facts, mebbe that’s a different story.

There’s a big difference between facts and truth, to my mind. Facts can be verified, whereas truth has to be believed. Facts have attributes that one can see, feel, touch, recall with certitude. Truth is more about what we can get in touch with on a more elemental level.  Facts are what happen in our lives; truth is what we make of what happens in our lives. We each have our own truths.

                So I write these little stories based on what I know but not necessarily what I can prove. While I live in a house with Mary and work in an office and various hotel rooms, I reside in a mind warp constructed partly by the things I’ve seen and partly by how they appeared to me after some thought.

                I can’t tell you how many times I’ve told a story precisely  as I recalled it, only to have Mary (or Pat, or Bill, Marilyn, Sindy or Sherree) say something on the order of “Wait, I thought it happened like this…” And as often as not, after further thought or checking photos I have to admit that maybe I shaded things a bit.

                 I never try to alter reality this way. I’m actually recounting each story as faithfully as I know how. The question is, faithful to what? The bare facts?

                Faithful to the story, that’s what. I’ve been a story teller since I was a little kid making up adventures for the amusement of my older sisters.  I’ve never been a good teller of jokes so when it came my turn around the campfire, I’d entertain the other Scouts with a little flight of fantasy I’d make up on the spot. As I grew up – to the extent that you’ll accept my assertion that I have indeed grown up – I never lost my love for trains of thought that began with “What if…”

                So, where does this leave you, my dear readers? Hm-m-m…

                I suppose you could go through each of my posts with a fine-toothed comb, trying to prize out where I’ve stayed within the lines and where my feet may have strayed a bit.

                Or you can just enjoy the story. It’s entirely up to you.  

The only thing I can tell you for sure is that I’m going to continue to write. And I promise never to let mere facts get in the way of telling a good story.

                See you around the campfire.

Starting out

                So, a young woman of my acquaintance has been working her post-college job for several months now and things are going well for her. Which is not to say that she understands how well things are going.  

                Lots of young folks feel entirely - and inappropriately-  comfortable with their choices in their early twenties. I know I did. Looking back, it’s hard to reconcile some of the choices I made  with any reasonable expectation that I was building a life. Having gone into the Navy after high school rather than right to college, I came out with a superlative technical education and extensive hands-on experience in a field in which I would never again work.

                I labored at a number of briefly held and ultimately irrelevant jobs, including but not limited to inventory auditing, serving as a fill-in manager for a hamburger chain, teaching guitar and selling and repairing musical instruments, driving for a scoop-and-run ambulance company, the list goes on. In each case, the job was designed to get me to the next step but I hadn’t mapped out the path to which the steps in aggregate belonged.               

Through all these jobs and a few more  I was going to college, although in this as in my choice of employment  I never got around to defining the path, much less declaring a major. At one point, I left school two-thirds through a semester, earning eighteen units of F in order to play Caiaphas in my third production of Jesus Christ, Superstar.  While in hindsight this was clearly one of my all-time dumbest moves, at the time I had a rationale. And at that age, my future had more to do with rationalization than thoughtful planning.

Add in the effects of a couple of disastrous post-Navy forays into the realm of “true love,” and you have a pretty good picture of my early failure to figure out my life.

In my defense, I wasn’t a total wanker. I’m reasonably intelligent even if frequently not so smart and I’ve always been a hard worker, so with a couple glaring exceptions (I’ve no aptitude for emergency services or running a restaurant, although I have great respect for those who do), I did okay and learned a great deal.  Eventually, I found my way into a string of manufacturing startups, where I generally excelled and which eventually led on a serpentine route to where I am now. And where I am now is quite satisfactory to me and to Mary.

 Contrast this with the young lady in question. She knew where her passion lay from an early age, and spent her younger years preparing to pursue it. She got into a college program against all odds in terms of applicants / admissions that year and earned her BFA with honors. During her college career, she spent time as an intern and later as a seasonal employee with a huge and well-respected entertainment company, building a relationship that through her talent and hard work led to a first after-college job in a VERY competitive field.

So, now that she’s been there a few months, some of the harsher realities are setting in. She’s learning what it means to be truly on one’s own and facing the budgeting woes, planning her moves   and facing down the day to day travails that we all know and love. It’s been a wake-up call that’s probably unavoidable, no matter how well you’ve planned and prepared.

What I hope this young woman understands is that what she’s going through is part of the package. “Life is what happens to you while you’re making other plans.” And I hope she understands just how far ahead of the curve her talent and hard work have placed her.

When one is pursuing one’s passion and doing so with talent and great insight and plenty of sweat,  everything else is secondary. So I’ll end this missive with a shout out that’s usually used flippantly but in this case is quite apt.

You go, girl!

People who made my day better today

The young lady at the front desk at City U who straightened out someone else’s mistake for me.

Several friendly people on elevators

Mary, who’s the light of my life

Angela and Rachel, who are the flashlights of my life

All my friends on Facebook

April at work, who took time from her stressful day to help me stay sane

Chuck at work, who walked to the Seattle Center (a couple miles) with me without making me run

The dogs (yes, they’re people, sort of) for wanting to be with a poop-head in a bad mood

Tim at Albertson’s

The folks on the bus who were relatively normal and let me read

Group projects

So, I’m taking this financial analysis course online through City U and if you’ve been watching this blog, you already know it’s not a fave.  So I guess you have to temper what I’m about the share with my admission that I went into this course viewing it as a chore to check off the list, rather than a learning opportunity.

I’m not slamming people who like dealing in matters financial, so Mary and Sherree and others, please don’t think this is a swipe at you or your work. But my passion, and what my whole career has been formed around, is the operational side of things. I teach small team leadership, process definition and improvement, value stream mapping and accommodations for persons living with disabilities, among other things.  I am more into making things work than making a profit, although we could get into a whole discussion…Oh, never mind.

I guess this has been a misleading preamble because what I want to talk about is the structure of this course, not so much the content.

This prof, a guy in Colorado who(m?) I know only from pixels representing his written word, seems to be a pleasant person and certainly has a mastery of the material. But as soon as I read the syllabus, I knew I was in for it. It seems Ole Bill really likes to assign group projects.

I don’t know how college profs came to be so enamored of group work in recent years. I can see assigning it if the course is in project management, where the ability to organize the work of others is sort of the whole point. But financial analysis? Really? The sole advantage I see to group work where it’s not called for by the content is that it reduces the grading load on the instructor. Hm-m, maybe I DO know why…

The first week of class, I whipped off a polite and friendly e-mail to Ole Bill, asking that I be allowed to compete the project solo, seeing as how it accounts for 15% of my course grade and I’m somewhat stuck up about my GPA.

No-o-o-o, says Bill, this is a big part of the “learning experience.” To which I replied that I’ve never seen a group project in a non-PM course turn out well. To which he replies (with a smile and a virtual pat on the head),”Too bad, so sad, I know what’s best.”

So, after a flurry of e-mail back and forth with my project “teammates,” multiple promises on their part to do their fair share and then ultimately silence from one and a message of surrender from the other (he claimed not to be able to find ‘Sarbanes Oxley and Nonprofits’ on the Internet – go ahead, Google it your own self – I get 80,000-plus hits, but maybe I’m just hallucinating), yesterday I went ahead and wrote the paper, then sent it off to the two chowderheads with whom I’m supposedly working for their comments / suggestions before I submit it to Mr. Bill.

So the real dilemmas are ahead of me:

·         If I don’t hear from Chowderheads One and Two by Monday, do I just go ahead and submit? Or do I ask Bill to intervene?

·         If one of them has the temerity at this point to suggest major restructuring of the paper, whatever shall I do then?

·         At the final exam, when we are each required to rate the contributions of team members, what do I say? What would you say? See, since Ole Bill already knows I went into this with a jaundiced eye, he may well assume I made it a self-fulfilling prophecy. And I don’t want my grade to suffer at the hands of a couple of idiots who did none of the work but want their “share” of the credit.

Please, any of you who teach, don’t assign group projects unless the group aspect is truly part of the learning objective. And here’s another thought:

When I teach team leadership, I talk a lot about the balance between authority and responsibility. If the two are not in balance, you’ve a recipe for failure. In this case, I was assigned responsibility for working with two lazy bums but I was given no authority – nor did the instructor exercise his – to ensure that the workload was leveled or that team members were made accountable for their actions or lack thereof.

Moral: If you’re going to wait until you’re pushing 60 to complete the last few courses toward your degree, expect to be saddled with people – both profs and students – that you would fire if they worked for you.

Tinkerbell's dryer

How many of you can recall the twinkly celeste sound they used to represent the voice of Tinkerbell in the original (Mary Martin) televised version of Peter Pan?  (And if you never saw it, quit reading an old geezer’s blog and hit the virtual streets looking for a copy of it. It’s wonderful!)

Anyway, as I was sitting here writing a paper for the cursed accounting course that was the subject of an earlier and angrier missive, the dryer reached the end of its cycle and signaled completion with a chorus of Tinker’s bells, so to speak.

Don’t laugh – it really does sound like that and immediately made me recall Tink trying like mad to warn Peter of impending danger. That was one of my favorite shows of all time and I still grin when I think of it.

I know I should get up off my ample caboose and trudge in there to switch loads but I don’t want to. And not because I’m too lazy. Okay, make that, not ENTIRELY because I’m too lazy.

You see, as long as the dryer door remains unopened, Tinkerbell will sing to me again every few minutes. I just love the sound of it. I mean I’m not entirely unmindful of the underlying battle between memories of the boy who didn’t want to grow up and the grown up accounting course that’s currently making me wish I’d followed the boy’s advice.

But the real reason is that I just love the sound. When I first heard it, my parents were alive, young and healthy, I didn’t have to go to work on Monday and the biggest thing on my horizon was the next camping trip with the Boy Scouts.

I was raised in a sort of Mayberry where you could sleep with the windows open and the only thing you had to worry about was the possibility – and it seemed very real in those days and at that age – that Peter and Tink would show up in your bedroom, looking for errant shadows and new friends.

These clothes might just get wrinkly if I don’t pull them out soon. Then, of course, I’d have to run them through again. Leading to more Tinkerbell talk.

There are worse things.

Road trip

This is my first week back from vacation. I had a wonderful time with very little slack time and got to cap it off with a day of driving alone with Mary. One of the great joys of my life is a road trip wit da Mare.

She caught up on sleep a bit and then I caught a bit o’ nap. Then we listened to a Michael J. Fox book about living with Parkinson’s. Not too many crazies shared the roads with us, the truck ran smoothly and the kayaks stayed right where they belonged, strapped to the rack. And the weather was just fine.

I’d made the trip down the week before all by my lonesome, which turned out to be just what I needed to wind down from all the travel for teaching I’d done the previous three weeks. Fifteen hours of fairly relaxed driving, books on CD and MY music put me right in my comfort zone.

We need to take more road trips now that the goyls are out of the house semi-permanently. I’m not discounting the time I actually spent in California with family and friends - that was all great. I’ll use those experiences as grist for blogs yet to come. But the drive is a really special part that I want to do much more often.

Okay, I can’t hold off any longer! This whole preamble was designed to lull you into submission so you’d be sucked into reading yet another of my lists. Sorry! Well, not that sorry.

Places I’d like to include on road trips with Mary (or whoever agrees to go if she doesn’t):

·         Timothy Lake for the kayaking and the view

·         Yellowstone

·         Another Ball of Twine tour, to include Ohio, Boston, Orlando, Venice Fl, and California

·         New England

·         The Olympic Peninsula, particularly the Ho Forest

·         The coast route to Monterrey

·         Glacier National Park

·         The AlCan Highway

·         The Trans-Canada

·         White Horse

·         The length of the Columbia River

·         Zion Nat’l Monument

·         The Wisconsin Dells (the water part, not the built up tourist part)

·         Traverse City, MI

·         Oto, Iowa

·         Ireland

·         Amish country

·         Berea, Kentucky

·         And some other places

Politics is hard

Or would it be, politics are hard? Oh, never mind…

I’m watching a politician speak as I type this. I’ve watched quite a number of politicians speak of late. And I’m growing weary of them.  

I’m not a big fan of rhetoric. And I’m REALLY not a big fan of being lied to by someone who hopes I’ll give him or her the power to act on my behalf and spend my money. Make that my grandchildren’s money, since we’ve already spent ourselves well into their futures.

 I won’t get into the question of for whom I intend to vote and either way, some of you would be disappointed in my choice. Truth be told, I’ll be at least a little disappointed in my choice as well, since there’s no candidate – not for President, not for governor of my state, not for any of the down ticket races that will be decided in November – who completely represents my point of view.

I’ll do my best to vote for candidates and issues that I feel  are most likely to take my county and state and country in a positive direction.

I hope you will, too.

And then, regardless how the elections turn out, I hope we can still be friends.  Because if we can’t, we will have lost something much more important than an election.

Return of Brer Michael

Okay, so it’s been a long siesta but the time has been well spent. Week of the 20^th I was running a conference in Rapid City which went quite well but burned all my time. The week now ending, I’ve been visiting with family and friends in California.

This has been a great time for me personally as I renewed friendships of forty-odd years, got away from the grind for a bit and reminded myself of what was important in life. Got to visit with Marc and Taryn and their growing family (yes, I AM the baby whisperer) and we’ve hiked and kayaked from Moss Landing to Sacramento. Today, Mary and I will visit with my buddy Sherree and then tomorrow, a big family barbecue before a fairly grueling drive Monday to get Mary back to work Tuesday.

So, why the travelogue? Because it’s this stuff that really matters. We don’t all agree on politics, teams, where to live or how. But we all can get together around the idea of just enjoying each other’s company.  I’m glad each and all of these people are in my world.

Thanks to all who’ve made this one of my all time best vacations.

We’ll chat soon.