On the same day that Alan Greenspan voiced his error in presuming that the self-interests of organizations were “best capable of protecting their own shareholders and their equity in the firms,” my local paper’s headline story revolved around the fear and greed of two feuding neighbors. Clearly the basic human attributes of fear and greed (along with love, compassion, envy and lust to name just a few) have directed the actions of individuals over the millennia. How could Greenspan, even with his Libertarian viewpoint, have truly expected a corporate entity to behave in a monolithic fashion? Regardless of accounting principles that refer to an entity as a single organization, businesses are made up of individual humans, each motivated by his or her own compass of fear, greed, envy, love, compassion and a multitude of other human characteristics.
In my town, one family has alleged that their neighbors have created a campaign of fear with the goal of stopping opposition to their home expansion plans (i.e. greed). Not only is it unsurprising that this atrocious behavior takes place across America, but it is also not surprising that this would be the lead headline in a week in which the markets are plummeting and the presidential election is only 2 weeks away. Humans not only perpetuate fear and greed, but they enjoy hearing about the success and failures of others’ fear and greed. Our hometown editor is aware of this basic truism, how could Greenspan have missed this basic tenet of human nature? Twenty years ago Tom Wolfe, in Bonfire of the Vanities, created a fictionalized best seller based upon the greed and fear of Wall Street individuals. Perhaps Greenspan had no time to read Bonfire of the Vanities, or even his local newspaper, but surely he was not so isolated as to not have witnessed the powerful motivation of greed in action. If only Greenspan had focused on psychology along with his economics courses.
Teenage Eye Rolls
An unexpected advantage of having a teenager in the house is that I have all of my potentially embarrassing actions pointed out to me in real time, giving me the opportunity to immediately evaluate my behavior and see what needs tweaking as I travel the road to the holy grail of parental perfection. Using the frequent eye rolls and not too subtle sighs as my scorecard, I realize I have barely begun my journey. Sometimes, especially in a crowd, I get the very slight, but ever purposeful double eyebrow raise.
How could I have been so indecisive about selecting a parking space? Why did I think it necessary to strike up a conversation with a stranger at her school? Why would I walk through the side entrance when everyone else used the front entrance? And I certainly wouldn't stop a utility worker to ask directions, now would I? Out of the four, I decided that perhaps I hadn't needed to fret over the choice of parking spots and next time I'll try to be more decisive. That was valuable input. The other critiques I let pass without comment, or with only minimal comment as in "see this entrance is equally effective."
All of the unsolicited input is more than counterbalanced by the times when it is just the two of us and we enjoy a shared moment of joyous laughter or both reach for the radio dial to turn up a favorite song.
Of course I can hear it now, "you did not just post that on the internet!".
How could I have been so indecisive about selecting a parking space? Why did I think it necessary to strike up a conversation with a stranger at her school? Why would I walk through the side entrance when everyone else used the front entrance? And I certainly wouldn't stop a utility worker to ask directions, now would I? Out of the four, I decided that perhaps I hadn't needed to fret over the choice of parking spots and next time I'll try to be more decisive. That was valuable input. The other critiques I let pass without comment, or with only minimal comment as in "see this entrance is equally effective."
All of the unsolicited input is more than counterbalanced by the times when it is just the two of us and we enjoy a shared moment of joyous laughter or both reach for the radio dial to turn up a favorite song.
Of course I can hear it now, "you did not just post that on the internet!".
Olympic and Presidential Fantasies
Where are the Olympics when we need them? I’d even take a good Red Sox-Yankees pennant race over the tension of wondering how the November presidential election will turn out, not to mention the endless commentary I can expect over the next 2+ months. Or possibly 3 months if we repeat our road trip to the Supreme Court. At least Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert will have plenty of material to offer up for entertainment.
So I will go back to fantasizing about the Olympics even if I need to wait for 4 more years to fulfill my Olympic dreams. As a child I idolized Cathy Rigby—‘Cath’ as my sister would use to taunt me while I tumbled on our front lawn. Actually, more often on my neighbor’s front lawn so I could avoid the rampant Chestnut burrs across my front lawn. I imagined myself swinging around the uneven bars, flipping on the beam, landing each dismount without a wobble.
Many years later, here I am still fantasizing about excelling at the Olympics. Like a mid-life career change, however, my fantasies have shifted. Now I imagine orchestrating a fantastic technical presentation, with fireworks and music and performers and lights and color and illusions and more performers all mixing into one stupendous visual extravaganza. Oh, wait, I think that was done. I was in awe. My whole family was in awe at both the technical feat and the human triumph. Despite the cover-ups, the Opening Ceremony was no less mystical and inspiring. Perhaps our presidential hopefuls and their cadres of staffers and supporters will align in perfectly concentric circles while we watch in anticipation each unifying step. My fantasies know no bounds.
So I will go back to fantasizing about the Olympics even if I need to wait for 4 more years to fulfill my Olympic dreams. As a child I idolized Cathy Rigby—‘Cath’ as my sister would use to taunt me while I tumbled on our front lawn. Actually, more often on my neighbor’s front lawn so I could avoid the rampant Chestnut burrs across my front lawn. I imagined myself swinging around the uneven bars, flipping on the beam, landing each dismount without a wobble.
Many years later, here I am still fantasizing about excelling at the Olympics. Like a mid-life career change, however, my fantasies have shifted. Now I imagine orchestrating a fantastic technical presentation, with fireworks and music and performers and lights and color and illusions and more performers all mixing into one stupendous visual extravaganza. Oh, wait, I think that was done. I was in awe. My whole family was in awe at both the technical feat and the human triumph. Despite the cover-ups, the Opening Ceremony was no less mystical and inspiring. Perhaps our presidential hopefuls and their cadres of staffers and supporters will align in perfectly concentric circles while we watch in anticipation each unifying step. My fantasies know no bounds.
While You Were Sleeping
Waking up to learn the Barack O’Bama is selecting Joe Biden as his running mate was definitely a ‘While You Were Sleeping Moment’. My first thought, with sleep still lodged in my right eye, was what a lackluster choice for a candidate who has built his campaign on Hope and Change. My Second Thoughts (I was feeling a bit like Tiffany Aching) then piped in, reminding me that Biden is a Democratic version of McCain. So if I was contemplating a O’Bama versus McCain choice, then now I could get the benefits of each presidential candidate with one vote. Surely I don’t know any of the candidates the way the armies of pundits claim to. However, much of voting certainly comes down to perceptions. And if I perceive Biden to embody a similar personal honesty and global understanding as McCain then I can confidently vote for O’Bama/Biden.
Weight Is Incorrect for Item Scanned
The grocery parking lot is large enough to require number markers placed on poles to help shoppers locate their cars. Okay, it’s not airport size, or even a Costco, but we’re not talking a dinky grocery store. So on a busy Wednesday morning, I did expect more than 2 check-out lanes, especially with a four cart line-up at each of those lanes. Thinking the intercom would crackle with, “would all available cashiers please report to the front of the store” at any moment, I considered briefly waiting in line. But I quickly discerned that no one had any intention of summoning additional cashiers.
Fine, I decided, I’ll use the self-scan lane—3 were open and only 2 in use. I am no novice at self-scanning, I use it occasionally in the grocery when I’m running in for a few items and I’ve scanned my share of light switch plates and grommets at Home Depot. However, these self-scanners seemed intent on foiling my efforts and with a half full cart of groceries, the scanners had plenty of opportunity to point out my errors.
For starters, I had brought my own canvas bags. Placing these upon the ‘bagging area’ immediately caused the first scanner error. The roving clerk came over and swiped her card to clear the system. Bags in place, I started over.
Scanned orange juice, “1 dollar 99 cents”. Placed orange juice in bagging area. “Weight is not correct for item scanned. Please remove item from bagging area.” The roving clerk returned, swiped her badge and I continued.
The scanning voice kept up a non-stop patter. It broadcasted the price of every item as if shoppers in aisle 4 needed to know the price of everything I scanned. And the canvas bags apparently threw off the weight of my items in the bagging area. So price points intermingled with “weight is not correct for item scanned” as I continued to swipe and the roving clerk continued to swipe and shoppers started lining up behind me, possibly more for entertainment than for making a quick purchase. Two shoppers actually stood right behind me, watching my every move, probably thinking that if I wasn’t unnerved at the talkative scanner, then perhaps they too could self-scan and thought watching me might enlighten them in what to avoid.
It became a game. Could I scan the next item before the current item's price was broadcast? More rapid than an Olympic sprinter I grabbed two items in an attempt to scan them quickly in sequence. No go. The grated cheese bag wasn't flat enough to scan in one smooth swipe. Next I tried two yogurt containers. Success! The watching shoppers appeared quizzical at my glee.
“75 cents… weight is not correct for item scanned…please remove item from bagging area… 75 cents…2 dollars 99 cents…75 cents…” I felt elated at properly balancing three consecutive items in the bagging area.
Then came the produce. Generally, I can name all of my produce more accurately than the high school cashier, I know when I have purchased cilantro not parsley or that I selected a mango, not a large avocado. So other than the incessant “weight is not correct for item scanned. Please remove item from bagging area”, this phase did move right along. Until I got to the watermelon. Clearly the photo of the whole melon on the produce list did not match my cut and wrapped quarter melon. After ‘W’ for watermelon I tried ‘C’ for cut melon. No go. Then Q for quarter melon. Where was that roving cashier? With the line now 2 deep behind me (5 at the regular cashiers) I decided I didn’t really need the watermelon. I collected my bags and headed out.
So Long Summer Camp
How is it that on the eve of collecting my daughters from camp I am all choked up, my eyes brimming with tears? Most adults must think I am a severely damaged specimen of a parent. Is it because I am closely linked to my children's spirits and feel their pressing sadness as they pack their trunks and hug their closest friends? Or is it perhaps because my soul is tightly linked to that place and time where I most painfully felt the irreversibility of time passing? Each year as camp concluded an annual ache would return that felt like I was peeling a layer of myself to leave behind in a treasured moment at summer camp. A piece of me left behind to rediscover many years in the future as my children tripped over the same rocks, dove off the same dock, sailed in the same boats, sang in the same dining hall.
My heart aches as I imagine my daughters watching the end of camp slide show, laughing and crying over all their golden moments. Then tomorrow, the
painful departure. My youngest prefers to pull bandages off quickly, to say her goodbyes, move on and deal with the tumult of the transition in her own space. My older daughter needs each goodbye and holds onto each hug as if she can personally stop the second hand from ticking forward by embracing her friends more tightly. Each has found her own way to say farewell.
And I can only look on, keeping the tears from my eyes as my heart aches, watching them each shedding a layer of their childhoods that perhaps they too may rediscover many years from now.
Heat
Heat. Motionless heat. Nothing moving except the cars on Lake Shore Drive carrying their air conditioned passengers north and south. And the few bikers and walkers who are either doing their part to keep the earth green regardless of the warming or are just too compulsive to forgo a day of excercise when the temps soar into the 90s. Humidity wraps around my neck like a wool scarf.
A young couple embraces on a bench with their limbs intertwined. Surely they are newly in love to allow their sweaty bodies to embrace beneath the relentless sun.
It is too hot to write.
A young couple embraces on a bench with their limbs intertwined. Surely they are newly in love to allow their sweaty bodies to embrace beneath the relentless sun.
It is too hot to write.
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