Category Archives: To Think About

A tip of the hat to the person who found and returned my keys at Dollar Tree

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My four-year-old grandson adores Dollar Tree. For that matter, so do I. We always find intriguing, colorful, challenging items. This time a magnifying glass that actually functions, perfect for studying ladybugs and arm hair. My regular supply of birthday and get well cards. Wine glasses for the block party.

If you’re not familiar with Dollar Tree, clones exist across the nation. Nothing there rings at the cash register more than a dollar. I won’t vouch for the quality necessarily, but my wallet rejoices.

I recently discovered an additional good point about Dollar Tree. One of my life mottos is it’s hard to see what’s around you with your head up your ass. That’s where mine was when I hauled my grandson off to Dollar Tree, keys in hand, not in my bag, their normal location. As I got to the register and scrambled for money, I also reached for the keys. Not there. Not in a pocket. Not on the counter. Not even on the soft drink machine immediately next to the counter.

I never, repeat never, leave my car unlocked, but perhaps in my haste to release my grandson from his seat belt, I’d abandoned the keys in the car. No. And no and no and no. The number of times I searched the car.

Ditto no, no, no in my circuit of Dollar Tree, patient and good-humored grandson in tow, puzzled as he was by our delay in the store. No series of metal objects under display cases, nothing buried under the toys we’d fingered. On each venture, I asked clerks if anyone had found my keys. No.

I finally had to admit defeat, and I confess what stuck in my craw (if people have craws) wasn’t the $350 I’d have to pay to replace my car key nor the unknown amount for my PO box. It was admitting to my husband that I’d once again lost something essential.

Some people seem never to lose or misplace a thing. Other people do so habitually. My entire family falls in the second category. I remember once when my mother, brother, sister and I all were wandering an apartment looking for our lost keys.  Is it genetic? Perhaps. Or it may be the location of our heads firmly up a certain orifice.

There now are apps to be purchased that will help you track lost objects, but since they require a smart phone, and since phones are something else I lose, I’ve purchased neither a smart phone nor the app.

Strange to me, my husband wasn’t furious. Perhaps he likes the reassurance that I’m ditzy in this way and need occasional help. After I left my phone number with the employees, he rescued us with his extra key. As we drove away, my grandson asked, “What happened to your keys, Grandma?”

“God only knows, I replied in throw-away fashion.

The next day, prepared to replace all my keys and code cards, I called the store just in case someone had found them. A miracle! Someone had and been kind enough to turn them in. Hooray!  A little shallow research online reveals that about 50% of lost items never get returned, and that percentage plummets if the lost items are money, wallets, or purses. I was lucky that a collection of keys to unknown items held little appeal. And that losing something in a location with a stable population, such as a store or café in which employee turn-over is low, increases the odds.

I announced the joyful news to my grandson. His response—“Did God bring them back?”  Hmm.

So here’s a shout-out of thanks to the unknown customer who returned my keys. Appears Dollar Tree customers and employees are willing to take that extra step to help someone else out.

Our Vigilante Society: Stating Your Opinion Is One Thing, but You’re Not Always Right (Part 2 of previous blog)  

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vigilanteI recently walked myself off a cliff by listening to the adamant opinion of a person on a committee with me. Despite lessons learned through personal experience and a thoughtful review of the situation and its facts, I thought my recommendations were wrong. The strength of her beliefs and her swift, smooth delivery seemed to trump my judgment. After following her instructions, complete failure threatened. Fortunately I had time to pull my irons out of the fire, which allowed me to implement my assessment and complete the project successfully.

            Goes to show, though, that just because someone thinks he’s right, he isn’t necessarily. Yet along with our obsession with stating our opinions constantly (see previous blog), we also think we’re correct in every thought, and all and sundry should follow our advice. If they don’t enthusiastically endorse our suggestions, we go overboard in our insistence about being right.

            According to the psychological principle of cognitive dissonance, humans experience psychological discomfort when exposed to contradictory beliefs, ideas. An individual exposed to inconsistency (dissonance) is motivated to try to reduce this dissonance—as well as actively avoid situations and information likely to increase it. He often becomes more committed to his favorite, obdurate in defending it.

            The result contributes to a polarized society, a situation in which you’re either with me or against me, no middle ground. The result is laws that emphasize the dichotomy between interests, not their common ground. The result is stand-offs during discussions, not solutions. The most obvious result is failure of many political efforts. Rhetoric trumps intelligence.

            How have we gotten to this state? It’s been said students in the US are the most self-confident in the world. Notice, not the most knowledgeable or best-trained or smartest. Parents constantly receive advice to build self-esteem in their children.  Our laws and procedures and many leaders both political and social strive mightily to insure diverse opinions are given the credibility of a public forum, whether they make sense or not. Life coaches drone on about sending positive messages to ourselves.

            I’m concerned because I’m wondering if a surfeit of self-confidence creates a vigilante society. My local elist, to which neighbors can subscribe, exhibits this periodically. One person posts about a dark car parked on the street with someone sitting inside. Within hours, others have responded with similar spottings, advice, and demands for a police check. Another time, a poor couple strolling down the alley were targeted as potential thieves, suffering the discomfort of dozens of eyes tracking their every action. Fortunately, responses stopped short of calls for lynching.

            Another reason for a watchdog atmosphere is social media and the speed with which we can communicate. Colorado has one toll-free phone number to report child abuse and neglect 24/7. While the goals of this program are laudable, I wonder how often someone gets reported because of the appearance of abuse (think about how often a two-year-old falls and scrapes his head) or the groundless spite a neighbor might hold. A neighbor once reported us to the authorities for our efforts to control squirrels, perjuring themselves to claim we’d violated city ordinances.

            I’m guessing Big Brother watches because of a combination of the two. We’re accustomed to instantaneous communication plus many of us have the self-confidence to assume our every idea is correct and should be immediately implemented. WRONG. There’s something to be said about “measure twice, saw once;” and “look before you leap.” An advice columnist recently ran a letter from a woman who’d accused her niece of stealing some jewelry, wrote about it on social media, then found the missing piece in the pocket of her own coat. She would have spared herself massive embarrassment and kept her niece as a friend by using a go-slow approach.

            There can be more at stake than winning an argument or defending what we think is the truth. “Wide differences of opinion in matters of religious, political, and social belief must exist if conscience and intellect alike are not to be stunted, if there is to be room for healthy growth.” Teddy Roosevelt

WHY DOES EVERYONE FEEL COMPELLED TO DELIVER LECTURES AND ADVICE AT ANY TIME?

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 Two teenage girls fighting

An accidental collision in the Target parking lot introduced me to a young woman. I was at fault, and admitted it; we exchanged contact information, then departed. ‘Nuff said? Oh, no. A few days later I received an email chock full of her instructions, couched not in sympathetic terms, more like a lecture from a study hall monitor.

           I should have checked behind myself more closely, could have asked if she’d been injured, surely would have been in trouble with the police had she reported the incident. Although relieved she hadn’t accompanied the tirade with an abundance of swear words (“fuck” being the operative term for anyone under the age of 45), amid my irritation at her gall, I wondered when the standard operating procedure has appointed every person with an opinion as an expert compelled to tell all and sundry what they’re doing wrong.*

          Whether it’s the food we eat, our personal care habits, or our politics, someone is sure to tell us we’re headed for disaster. The role of judge used to be reserved primarily to parents, clergy, military superiors, and, of course, judges. Now everyone’s an authority and ever-vigilant to deliver advice, whether requested or not.

          One person points out the extreme dangers I’m courting when I drink an artificially sweetened soda. Another lists the impacts of GMOs on my health. My granddaughter knows I should be using special lotions for face, body, hands, and feet, and tells me so. My 4-year-old grandson shouts direction about how I should be driving and parking. On television a cacophony of ads bark the advantages of various health treatments, often in conflict with each other, which they warn against. In a meeting to plan an event, each person argues for a different agenda, speaker, budget. On a larger level, the same scenario plays out over issues such as oil development, political parties, even religion. Everyone is absolutely right at the same time totally wrong.

          Is this simply the way we now function? Some believe Americans are so self-confident, they may feel they’re all-knowing and always correct. That’s not the point. To quote Isaac Asimov, “People who think they know everything are a great annoyance to those of us who do.” Know-it-alls are irritating and rude. I can overlook that in my friends, who have positive qualities and are speaking with the enthusiasm of religious converts dedicating to educating me. Not from a woman in a parking lot one-third my age and experience with not a glint of information about my qualities and state of mind. Not from the supporter of a candidate who believes he can solve problems I don’t even agree are problems.

          Truth is, no omnipotent judge sits in the bar across from Loudmouth and me who’ll select the winner in a drunken debate. No absolute rights and wrongs in this game of life. Coming from a contentious family in which every member has more strong opinions and inclination to argue than sense or good will, I had to fight my natural inclinations before I stumbled on a new perspective about opinions. The more you talk, the less you’re listening. The more you lecture, the less you’re assimilating. While a lively debate can be fun, rarely does progress occur.

          I’ve discovered I can shorten the amount of time wasted in futile conversations, lower my own blood pressure, perhaps even learn something if I shut up. Plus I can then feel morally superior to my opponent. I like to think I’m helping improve the general tenor of society.

“I am the wisest man alive, for I know one thing, and that is that I know nothing.” Socrates.

Is cross-genre writing like cross-dressing? Yes! The benefits and attraction of cross-genre writing for readers and writers

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dystopia manThe trouble with categories for books? Like categories of humans, as soon as you slap a label on a book, you limit it. People tend to avoid it unless it’s a genre they read. Of course many books, like people, don’t fit neatly into a pigeonhole. A major category, and one that some readers are uncomfortable with, even avoid, is literary. They assume the language will challenge them, the plot won’t flow.

You deny yourself a great deal of reading pleasure if you avoid literary work. On the flip side, you deny yourself a great deal of reading pleasure if you avoid genre work because you approach it with preconceptions. I’ve found some of my favorite novels are cross-genre, frequently sci fi or speculative with literary. Margaret Atwood’s The Handmaid’s Tale is an example.

You increase your reading pleasure when you sample cross-genre writing, a hybrid of themes and elements from two or more genres. Often stimulating, it presents opportunities for creativity in writing as well as discussions among readers.

A new-ish, genre-leaping novel is Station Eleven by Emily St John Mandel. This 2014 work shouldered its way into notice via a list of awards as long as my arm, including the Arthur C. Clarke Award, finalist for a National Book Award and the PEN/Faulkner Award, 10 Best Books of the Year by the Washinton Post and others.

At this point, dystopian novels are as common as situational comedies on television. For many of us, our vision of the future looms grim, which might account for the popularity of the genre. I still enjoy a number of them, but a book has to possess outstanding writing for me to rave on about it.

This one succeeded not because it was more violent, bloody, action-packed, sexy, or even original. Mandel’s writing style appeals to me. She juggles numerous characters, leaps back and forth in time, switches voices, and encourages speculation from her readers about what has happened and might occur. No space aliens, nothing outside the realm of possibility. A new virus spreads rapidly over the world, killing 99% of the population. The remainders group together in new ways, intent on sheer survival, most of those the book follows eventually tied together in some manner. Mandel’s language is clear yet evocative; her control over her material, stunning. I ended the novel depressed over the world it created but in awe of the journey.

Readers and writers thrive on outstanding writing. It can be traditional or innovative in approach, of a genre or genre-crossed. Don’t miss this one.

Adrift with no connections or support. How will I function? Am I addicted? Four days without the Internet.

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woman-screaming-at-computer-shutterstock_119635360Return with me now to the thrilling days of yesteryear. No, not the Lone Ranger, for those of you mature enough to remember that show. But to pre-Internet days.

For four days recently, my Internet connection was down. Frustrated? Yes. Unproductive, friendless, and isolated. No.

After I’d clicked on every piece of equipment in my possession designed to link me and the world at large, then discovered no signal, I panicked. What would I do? How could I work?

I admit pretty much every time I reached for a piece of information, be it a phone number, confirmation of a fact, or the weather report, and couldn’t get it instantaneously, I grumbled mentally. Particularly when I needed to confirm meetings with several people, or actually hold a meeting via Skype, my dissatisfaction increased. But I survived. I visited several locations with free Internet to catch up on essentials.

As I sought alternative methods to figure out when a snowstorm would hit, I wondered what people think Internet access is doing to us. Some are concerned that too much Internet reduces the deep thinking  that leads to true creativity. Was I more creative without the Web? I don’t think so. My connections always seem to spark more ideas and exploration. However, I believe I got more actual, productive work done during the hiatus.

Then there’s the theory people who are socially anxious are more likely to use electronic communication so they can avoid interaction. I don’t know if I qualify as socially anxious, but I definitely use email to avoid extended conversations and control the content. During the interruption, I had to use the phone which I hate to do. So only a few people heard from me, which probably was appreciated by all.

During times of crisis, such as the terrorist attack in Paris, I know I’d miss access the most. With television and radio, I can’t search for exactly what I want, and I feel inundated by uncontrollable floods of terrifying pictures and reports.

On the whole, my involuntary exclusion went well. I didn’t have withdrawal symptoms; it was kind of nice not to feel pressure to interact constantly. I missed little but the ability to look up word definitions immediately as I’m reading a novel, but little else. Still I felt out of sync with the rest of the world, disconnected. I was on the dark side of the digital divide, one, we’re assured, creates an unbridgeable gap and marks the adult needy as surely as a poor child is labeled by being eligible for free school lunches.

To avoid landing in the situation in the future, I know what’s inevitable, I’m forced to be dragged kicking and screaming into the next stage of my techie progress—perpetual connection via a smart phone.