An elephant and a rhino

I read an interesting article in the waiting room of my wife’s doctor office a while back about a lady that rescued and rehabilitated elephants and rhinos. I do use a smart phone as a personal babysitter now, but sometimes it’s still fun to read a genuine, old fashioned magazine article. I don’t consider myself an overly sentimental person about things like this, but I have been known to pick up the handset of my in-laws wall mounted rotary dial telephone and just listen to the dial tone; it kind of makes me feel like a time traveler.

But back to what I really wanted to talk about; the magazine article. I don’t remember the lady’s name, but the things she has been able to do with wild animals was nothing short of amazing. The focus was mainly on elephants and honestly I think this has more to do with public sentiment than intelligence. Have you heard anyone say “he has a memory like a rhino”? I haven’t, but I have heard some item deemed rhino tough. Two similar animals perceived in two very different ways. For reasons unknown elephants are often thought of as both cuddly and romantic. I can’t imagine Water For Rhinos ever being the literary success that Water for Elephants turned out to be.

So why did the section about rhinos interest me so? Was it due to the gravity of her finding common ground with such an aggressive and unnatural beast? For the most part I think so. I think we all tend to romanticize the notion that certain animals have the ability for human thoughts and emotions and others don’t. These tend to be the animals we love the most because we see them as more like us, but not us like them.  I know that I would rather have a dog for a pet than say, a badger! I would choose the dog simply because we would better understand one another from the beginning. We would be able to reach certain agreements and even learn snippets of one another’s language. Let’s just say that it would be easier for us to be friends and that is the path I would choose.

When you take out the animals and think about this scenario in the larger picture of human relations, the same parallels apply. We often blur the lines between friendship, understanding and tolerance and consider them one in the same. You remember the old test you failed when you were accused of being a racist? The one where, in the middle of defending your record on racism, you were asked “well, have you ever had a (insert minority here until you get a winner) eat dinner at your house”? And your answer was “no I haven’t, and your mother has never eaten with me either. And while I understand she is a bitch, I swear I have nothing against her!” I say this to illustrate one point; no matter how tolerate you consider yourself everyone will not pass your personal friends test. They don’t need to and shouldn’t have to.

So instead of wondering if someone will pass your friends test, you might want to consider whether or not you are passing the tolerance test. We don’t all have to be friends to simply get along and treat one another with respect. We don't have to party together after work, like the same music or eat the same foods; this is friendship, not understanding. But you never know, that person you perceive as a rhino might be an elephant after all.

Happiness

Anybody who knows me at all knows that I’m somewhat of a reading junkie. I read non-fiction stuff for work all the time, but when I have any free time I read fiction. I’m sure to many the idea of reading for work during the day and fun in the evenings is only a notch above a dentist’s visit, but it’s what I enjoy.

I have absolutely nothing against books on a tablet; I just enjoy a real book. I love to turn a page and discover that a previous reader had, at some point, dog-eared. When I find this page I assume that it has some significance, and was not just the stopping point of a reader without a bookmark. I assume this because the only reason I permanently mark a page is because I intend to return to it and re-read a passage.

Honestly I rarely return to this page because I don’t need the passage word for word. If it genuinely means something to me I will remember the gist of it, and while I may bastardize it, I run with it as remembered. Maybe it’s just my state of mind, but today I went back and re-read a passage that I chose to mark because I wanted to hear it again exactly as it was written.

The book is certainly fiction; it is about a group of white women that were traded (for horses) to a band of Western Cheyenne Indians in the 1870’s. It was intended as a gesture of peace, and while the government did not officially sanction the trade, they facilitated it. The story is interesting, but the passage I returned to was in response to the question of whether the Indians (and their Indian brides) were happy. The response was “happiness is a highly overrated human condition invented by white folks”. Basically with all they had to do to survive, the notion of happiness as a yes or no question was a foreign concept.

So this invention of unhappiness is in response to what? Not having enough to do? Not having as much as your neighbor even though you have all you need? This makes happiness a quantifiable item, something that can be measured. “I’m a 6.5 on the happiness scale, things are looking up!” Of course it has no measure; you either choose to be happy or not. But if you don’t think you are unhappy, doesn’t that in itself make you happy? Think about it….wait; don’t think about it!

The work that no one wants

“Is it hot enough for you?” I love this question; it is the kind of rhetorical question that makes living in the South so wonderful. It’s a nicety, a polite statement like good morning or hello. Of course it not really one that requires an answer, this question is simply stating the obvious; It’s hot, we both know it…and there is nothing we can do about it. Have a great day!

Individuals that work outside or in unconditioned spaces have really suffered this summer from the record breaking heat, and it is often difficult to remember the times in my life that I did so all day. But why is it that the memories I have of hard work and excessive heat are fond ones? If the answer you pose is includes the notion that only I did these tasks for a short time until something cooler and clerical came along, you would be mistaken. I did this work for both fun and profit for years, and I enjoyed it. Hard work has an air of honesty like no other.

When I traded my construction work and unconditioned shop of many years for a real estate office with only short runs in the elements, the initial reaction was not one that most would predict. My father asked me how I liked the new job and I remember my answer clearly, “Well it’s not really work, we just stand around and talk about work.” I don’t say this to annoy real estate professionals; notice I didn’t say it wasn’t hard! It’s just different.

I understand that we are all very different individuals, but moving me indoors after a lifetime of working in the elements was akin to penning a country yard dog. Of course I got used to it, and after a while I actually enjoyed it. But every time I walked outside I pictured myself as a horse eying the fence on the other side of the pasture; with a decent head of steam I could easily clear the top wire and just keep running. I would run until I could run no longer; I would bask in the sleep of the physically exhausted and I would run again. As long as I continued to run I would be free.

That last paragraph may be hard for many to understand, and it may even seem corny to others. But the next time you ride by a construction site and feel sorry for the workers, think about it. If you think that most of the workers are waiting for their big break, you may be only partially right. The only break they may want is for it to be about 5 degrees cooler, or for a cloud to shield the midday sun, or simply the promise of another job when this one is complete. When you tell yourself that you are happy these people are doing the work that no one wants, you may be way off base. The only true answer is they are doing the work that you don’t want. There is a difference.

I lied to my parents

Am I the only one that thinks the tone of Facebook has changed over the last few years? I mean many have learned the hard way the obvious lessons about drunken photos and political fights; yes there still things in modern times that one should consider keeping to themselves. But what about all of the causes we need to know more about? Does anybody really think that showing me a photo of a mangled puppy is going to do anything other than piss me off? The action I will take is probably not what you had in mind.

I saw a post the other day of a cute, and obviously very happy, little black boy. Smiling for the camera, he could have easily been from the family album of several of my friends. But he was not. It was a shared post with a caption that stated “If you don’t share this you are a racist”. Not only did I not share it, I no longer have to concern myself with other posts from this person showing up on my page. I don’t get it…and I’m not a racist.

But one that got my goat today was a very popular post with hundreds of thousands of likes and almost twenty thousand shares. I read many of the comments only to discover that on this one I was an island. It concerned one of the most basic functions that we all deal with every day; parenting. It was a photo of a man standing beside his daughter in a public parking lot. The girl was leaning against a car holding up a hand painted sign that read “I lied to my parents”. He must have seen the video of the man shooting his daughter’s computer.

Maybe the man should have been holding up a sign that read “I’m such a terrible parent I need you to help me raise my daughter”? Poor fella, he is obviously out of his league with this child. Maybe his boss should make him stand in front of his job and hold a sign that says “If I lay out of work one more time I’m going to get fired”? Or better yet, pull his pants down in the break room when he’s late! I’m not sure embarrassment is a good deterrent for crime, but I’m damn sure it’s not a good parenting skill!

I’ve been punished by my parents and I’ve punished my own child. I was spanked a time or two and my daughter has been as well. This was not a common occurrence, but when there was no other choice it was done in the privacy of our own home. I believe that it was effective. To do in public, what should be done in private, sends a message that does far greater damage than a few taps on the backside. It sends the message that there is absolutely no one you can trust. You will never learn to do the right things from someone you can’t trust.

Let it Fly!

When was a little boy of about 10 my father overheard me say a word that can best be described as a “choice word”. I had two brothers and was working on my fourth year of public education, so even though my vocabulary was in its infancy, I already knew how to use a pretty good mix of the good and the forbidden. Most of this I’d learned on the mean streets of West End Elementary School because back then if someone on television said “frigging” their sponsors would cancel.

I didn’t know my father was within earshot when I let the word fly, but when he placed his hand on my shoulder and calmly said “I heard what you just said”, I was worried about a lot more than lost advertising revenue. This was going to be big! Of course it would be me that gets caught. Not the baby or the first born; the middle son, the trouble maker. Hide the matches and he still finds a way to get in trouble!

But at school I was none of these, I was just Andy. I knew Mrs. Foster was going to be very disappointed when she found out about my tainted mouth and I could imagine the shock from the rest of the class when she was forced to announce in homeroom that I was banned from school for swearing. “He seemed like such a nice boy. What is the world coming to?”

Well I really couldn’t think of anything to say (remember I was ten), I was caught. As I stood there and looked at the “I’m not mad I’m just disappointed” eyes of my father I could only imagine what would come next. After the mandatory “I hope you understand this is serious parental pause”, he said it again. “I heard what you just said” He began. “I just want you to know that it really doesn’t matter what you say when you are at home, but if you let something like this fly at school or in front of some other adults…well…you’re on your own then. I can’t help you. If you get used to talking like this you’re going to make a mistake…trust me”

Was I just given permission to cuss? I think I was, but I was also given the responsibility to decide when to cuss! Growing up was getting scary and I have to admit that armed with this knowledge and responsibility I cleaned up my act, or at least my mouth, for many years. I was pretty sure at this age that my parents could solve most any problem for me, but to hear my father admit that this one just might me out of his control was enough to reel me back in.

Fast forward thirty years later and I’m having the same conversation with my ten year old. My wife thinks this is pretty stupid, this license to swear, and she makes her opinion very clear. Hell, she even strung a few together to make her point! But it worked on my daughter just liked it worked on me. She may let one fly now and again, but I’ve never heard her even come close to swearing at the wrong time. Maybe my wife’s parents should have had this conversation with her?

Last weekend we were eating dinner with a family that can best be described as one of those that my father warned me about. Great people whose company we have enjoyed for many years, but not the place you want to display your street vocabulary; a place where the F-bomb would change things…permanently. We were discussing the training of our new dog and having a few laughs when out of blue, and out of my wife’s mouth, flew one of George Carlin’s forbidden seven! Pins dropped, I heard them. I had to fight the urge to put my hand on her shoulder, look her in the eye and say “I heard what you just said”. Ha!

It's Like Riding A Bicycle

“It’s like riding a bicycle”. I’ve heard this old saying a million times and have even offered it up as encouragement myself a time or two. It is meant to suggest that the task you are about to attempt is one that you have done before, and although you may not remember how you did it, once you begin the “memories” will kick in and everything will fall in place. You will pick up right where you left off, no need to wish for the dreaded “beginner’s luck”.

I do remember learning to ride a bicycle. I remember crashing in to a pole that we used to tie the Shetland pony we got from Satan’s clearance isle and destroying the battery operated headlight on the bike’s front fender. I have to admit I liked the broken-in/roughrider look the damaged fender gave the bike, and though my parents were not exactly happy about this, I think we all understood that I probably wouldn’t need this headlight for any midnight biking excursions. Had they purchased me a banana style bike instead of one that looked like a prop from Aunt Bea’s Big Adventure, I probably would have not felt the need for such drastic customization anyway!

But I learned to ride; that was the easy part anyway. I think we can all agree that learning to stop is really the hard part. The way one learns to regulate speed is directly linked to the damage done while attempting to stop. This is a lesson best learned on a bicycle, it takes a little of the wonder out of there being 120 mph branded on the speedometer of your first car! Possible and good idea are two entirely different concepts.

I also remember just how sore my backside was at the end of a long day’s ride. Long day being a relative term for a 5 year old and of course I would never notice the discomfort until the heat of the moment had passed. When my mother said “why don’t you boys go outside and ride your bikes” the pain disappeared with a few rotations of the pedals. I don’t recall the day when my butt had finally toughened to the point of no discomfort, but it must have happened; if it hurt forever bicycles would be obsolete. After the break-in period, the only time I remembered I even had a butt was when school started or it rained for a week.

So here are a few things to remember when you are told “it’s like riding a bicycle”.

*There was a little damage when you first learned the task, expect some damage as you re-learn.

*If you didn’t love it before, you most likely won’t love it again for any length of time. At some point you will remember why you discontinued the task. Was it really your style or did you have to bang it up a little for the best fit?

*Just because you remember “how” doesn’t mean that you should go as fast as you can (or used to). You don’t have to stop, but be sure you at least test the brakes before they become a necessity.

*And finally and most importantly-Expect your butt to be sore when you start back up! It toughened before and it will again.

Hell hath No Fury

I’ll be the first to admit that I absolutely love the computer age. Okay, I’m not quite old enough to have had an abacus on my Christmas list, but I am old enough to have lived a major chunk of my life without computers. I lived a rotary, rabbit-eared, black & white, AM, 8-track childhood that I wouldn’t swap with anyone. But when computers (models I could actually afford) came along I had to learn basic things about them that today’s generation seems to soak up from the womb. I didn’t exactly miss computers when I didn’t know what they were, but I cannot imagine life now without them.

But this instant wealth of information also comes with a few drawbacks. X-rated sites, spam and viruses are bad enough, but the real dangers are far greater and can be very costly. What we have to be careful with is the interpretation of  the information itself! Everything has a rating, a like button, a comment section, a share tab or a +1 option. It used to be difficult to make a purchase because you didn’t know enough, but now it’s even harder because you know too much! And can you imagine any item or service that everyone would agree was good? I can’t. We can hardly agree on what to eat for supper in my house and there are only three of us.

But maybe the information age will help with poor customer service, or “customer no service” as one of my favorite radio hosts suggests. I think of this as I read a friend’s story of horrible customer service from a very well-known international company. She posted her dilemma on, not one, but two social media sites and a blog site! Hell hath no fury like a…blogger scorned! No slander involved, just the facts. How can one put a price tag on business lost from one well connected and pissed of consumer? I say you can’t, and insuring the customer's satisfaction is now more important than ever. Look what happened to Netflix; they weren’t slandered, they were ruined by the facts…and the facts traveled faster than two old ladies on a party line!

Well I have to add that before I could finish writing this (I did take a break for a couple of hours) the company my friend was having trouble with had a change of heart!  Instead of coming to her home for the warranty repairs on July 26 as previously scheduled, they are coming in the morning! Oh what a tangled WEB we….Ha! Sorry, I couldn’t help myself.

Vacation Recovery

Most of my adult life I have jumped at the chance to take a few days off work and hit the road for a change of scenery. Luckily my wife agrees with me on the compass direction, so as long as it’s somewhere hot with a beach nearby we get along just fine. Throwing in a teenage daughter that is not quite as enamored with the ocean changed things somewhat, but she too jumps when the car keys are rattled! We are a family of riding dogs.

This summer we went round and round about what to do for a vacation. My daughter held fast to California and Disneyland, but I really think she just wanted a trip with a flight involved. My wife and I just didn’t seem to have a trip like that in us at the time, so we kind of dragged our feet and let the moment pass. You know my motto; when in doubt, do nothing. Really we ended up deciding to just take a vacation later in the year when the crowds die down and it is not quite so hot. Maybe squeeze in a few long weekends here and there, but not take a big trip anywhere.

We could always blame our decision on the new dog or clingy garden, but it seemed like we were forcing ourselves to think of something that would be fun. It has been my experience that when you feel this way, a trip somewhere usually ends up being an expensive way to remember why you like your home so much. My wife needed to take her vacation time anyway, so we ended up taking a week long “staycation”. I have to admit that I have always hated this term and you won't hear me use it again. When I hear it I usually think that what someone is actually telling me (in a nice way) is that they would be embarrassed to eat sardines and vienna sausages on a public beach. Simply, the budget will not allow a real vacation.

Well the vacation week is now over and everybody is back at work. For the first time ever I don’t feel like I was just at work yesterday. I am a little tired, but I don’t have jet lag and my back is not stiff from a long car ride. Okay, I do have a slight sunburn too, but I got it in my own backyard. Maybe this is what it feels like to actually be rested? I won’t have to recover from my vacation!

Maybe one of the reasons a vacation spot seems so appealing has less to do with the location itself and more to do with the fact that you have nothing you HAVE to do! You witness a town going through its daily routine at a time of day you would normally be working; an odd time. It’s kind of like when you were a kid, home alone and watching game shows and soap operas, too “sick” to go to school. A little guilty and a little out of place; the house sounds almost unrecognizable. To step out of your normal life instead of stepping out of town may be just the vacation we all need once in a while! 

Supply and Demand

What exactly did we learn from the “housing crisis”? Well, we really didn’t learn anything new; we were just reminded of principles that have been around for hundreds of years. We were reminded of the importance of the principal of supply and demand. Large supply-low price…low supply-large price. You can say whatever you want to about the mortgage companies giving (because with all the foreclosures and short sales giving is what it turned out to be) the wrong people money, but really all they were doing was increasing the demand. Throw in the fact that many of these borrowers had no skin in the game and you had a recipe for disaster.

So how have we applied this lesson to other facets of our life? What about how these principals apply to secondary education? I recently read an article that expressed (I’m smart enough to know that the article was a writer’s opinion) both presidential candidate’s views on how to approach paying for a college education. Both sides were in favor of extending low interest loans to qualified borrowers, but where the split occurred was on the interpretation of acceptable risk. One side said risk whatever you had to to get the education you are “entitled to” and the other side said “get as much education as you can afford”.  Naturally the opposing side took the word afford to mean that only the rich will get a college education, but unfortunately interpretation rules the airwaves!

But I think of it this way, and before I go any further let me say that I thank God every day that “BS in Cowboy Science” wasn’t a degree choice when I was in college because I would probably still be paying back the student loans for it. These are monumental decisions for a teenager with room for great margins of error.

Buying what you can afford simply means seeking advice from those with no financial interest in your life. If you ask your father if borrowing $100K for a degree is a good idea I feel sure his answer will differ from the one given by the person with the pen hovering over the documents. I’m not saying either is automatically right, I’m just saying that the insight offered by someone who has made financial decisions greater than which song to download may be the advice that prevents you from making a decision that will alter the course of your life for many years. I admit I was mad when, at eighteen years old, my father drove me to the bank to borrow the $1000 I wanted for rims and a paint job for my perfectly good car. But making those payments EVERY month to the bank instead of “when I could” to my father taught me a valuable lesson about decision making and value.

I will be the first to declare that we need educated citizens. If we intend to continue being a world leader we must keep up with other countries. But even the “unsuccessful” will need tires for their cars and cabinets installed in their homes. Everyone’s hair will need cutting and our meat must be sliced into marketable shapes and wrapped in desirable packaging before anyone will purchase it. Fires will always need to be extinguished and living without air conditioning…let’s just say I choose not to at any cost. The ones who provide these and many other honorable services can expect to live a life that holds as much joy as the doctor that delivers their first grandchild. If you choose to place a price tag on happiness, some of these “regular people” will make even more money than the professionals they rely on for legal, medical and financial advice. It takes all kinds.

As the availability of money (and bad decision making) ruined the lives of many citizens who were “entitled to the American dream of home ownership”, so can the ease and availability of money for those entitled to an education. The demand is great and the prices are high. The fact that the loan money is available does not, in itself, make the borrowing of it a good decision. The career path you finance may not be profitable by the time you graduate or, worse yet, you may absolutely hate it; this is the risk you must assume as you make the decision about what you can “afford”.

Mother Nature

I knew there was a slight chance of rain in the forecast, but I really hadn’t given it much thought until I heard a distant rumble of thunder. It didn’t sound like it was very close, but it was close enough to make me get up out of the chair in my air conditioned retreat and walk outside. Recent daytime temperatures had shattered records kept since the invention of the pencil so the possibility of an afternoon thunder shower gave me reason to welcome some natural water, but fear the intensity that comes with the heat.

When I stepped out the garage door the first thing I noticed was the heat. I’ve lived in the South all of my life, and while I’ve seen many days of 100+ temperatures, this was the first year I ever tried to breathe 109 degree air. And for the un-initiated, yes, there is a noticeable difference between 100 and 109.  

But before I could make the dash to the truck I saw a large female deer walk out of the woods and stand in the center of my concrete driveway. She was oblivious to my presence and already soaked to the core. As she began to circle in a very small area, she was joined by a baby so small that it still had it spots. The baby joined in the circular dance as she placed her head on her mother’s back. Even though these deer were less than 50 feet away from me, they never knew I existed. Before I could make my run to the truck, they were joined by a third deer that also rested its head on the largest of the three and joined in the dance.

They finally moved away. After standing huddled together in the ditch at the edge of the road for a few seconds, the group of three slowly made their way across the road and in to some thick pine foliage; out of my sight and breaking the spell that had prevented me from doing what I had intended to in the first place; move my truck out of the storm.

Well the storm finally passed and honestly I couldn't tell you exactly how bad it was (until later) because I chose to ride it out in my basement! I was upstairs long enough to hear a tree crash it to the house, but not long enough to risk being killed by the next one. But as I sat below grade with my oblivious house dog, I couldn’t help but wonder about the fate of the family group of deer. I feel sure that at least the largest of the three had lived long enough to have witnessed similar storms, and all three have lived their entire lives “camping” in every season, but their indecision and fear of what Mother Nature was throwing their way has stayed with me. Of course I can get the latest Doppler radar at home and in my car, and Ben Jones will do his best to explain it to me in terms I can almost understand, but what do we really know about the weather?

The storm did end up being a bad one and I finally get to use the insurance I’ve been buying for years! The fact that we were not physically harmed is the most important part to me…well that and being blessed by the electrical gods. But the insurance adjuster will come and go, and while we may have to throw away some food in the refrigerator, we will just drive to the grocery store and replace it; our life will be back to normal almost instantly. I’m sure we will always remember this storm because it 

happened on our 5^th anniversary of moving in, but other than that it will be just another day.

But those deer I watched will suffer from this storm for quite some time. Yes, the sun is shining again and the buckets of rain will allow many plants to sprout new tips that will, for the time being, make the animals fat and happy. But for them the true damage won’t be realized until summer has passed; when the air begins to cool and the search for food to endure the winter begins; when the plants are planning to rest for the winter. This is when every animal that depends on acorns will pay the price for the storm of  July 3, 2013.