Author Archives: rajalary

Escape to Mount Baker

22 Wednesday Oct 2014

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Nearly every week, when we go to our Mount Vernon house, Rich points out Mount Baker, noting the amount of snow, ability to see the summit through the clouds, craggily slopes, or desire to see if from inside our house if we punched a hole in the dining room wall.

A week ago Monday, on the afternoon of my mother’s death, he commented, “We should go there.”

So on Sunday, to the mountain we went.

A 140,000 year old active glaciated andesitic stratovolcano in the Cascade Volcanic Arc, Mount Baker is a ruggedly mountain, covered primarily with scree and snow, with evergreens and lakes at the base. It’s one of the snowiest places in the world, and in 1999, set the world record for most recorded snowfall in a single season.

Because, I’m fonder of beaches, our trip up to the mountain was met with hesitancy and dread by me. In my opinion, “You’ve seen one mountain, you’ve seen them all!”

Nevertheless, I welcomed the break in our routine, especially after an emotional week. As we approached the mountain, it had a different vibe than other mountain ranges. There were large open spaces between the mountains with huge valleys and summits. You don’t feel as if you’re in a forest, and emerging periodically to see the sunlight. Instead, there’s spaciousness about the area. It feels more European than Pacific Northwest rainforest.

View Mount Baker

Our first stop was by the Galena Chain Lakes, which is set in a meadow with walking paths around the lakes. It would be a delightful place to cross-country ski in the winter. Plus, it afforded panoramic views in all directions of snow-capped mountains and peaks.

Across from the lakes was a retreat center with a turquoise snowcat parked in the back. I snapped a photo of Rich through the cat, and was fascinated by the clouds reflected in the windows of building.

Our next stop was Heather Meadows. We didn’t know what to expect, but saw many cars in the parking lot so surely there was something picturesque to see. Five minutes on the trail, and I was mesmerized. The easy-to-walk trail, through an alpine meadow, ambles around the Bagley Lakes, which are more like ever-changing rivers. In some places, the water is calm, lapping on the shores. In others, it rushes over boulders, under a bridge, and through a small dam, which you can walk over.

As you walk, you pass by small waterfalls as snow continues to melt, and drain down into the lakes. What was green foliage and wild flowers in summer was awash in golds, oranges, and browns. We passed by people with bags of huckleberries, and kids with blue lips and teeth, their hands also stained from the picking and eating the huckleberries along the trails. After identifying which bushes were huckleberries, our fingers were soon equally blue, grabbing at the tasty berries, lingers on the tips of delicate branches, free of leaves, which had already turned and fallen.

It couldn’t have been more idyllic.

Hesitant to leave, but hungry, we returned to the car, and drove up to Artist Point, where we enjoyed our lunch while overlooking the valley below, and the glacier-covered Mount Baker.

With the snows coming, hiking trails and meadows obscured, and cars of skiers arriving soon, we’ll have to wait until the summer to return to Mount Baker.

Invocation #37: Meeting Places

08 Wednesday Oct 2014

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We have come together again, O Lord, to enjoy a few hours of companionship with our fellow-members.

We are none of us sufficient unto ourselves. Nor can we live isolated lives.

We need to mingle, to see other faces, hear other voices, and touch other hands and mind. And, perchance, even to unburden our souls, one to another.

A meeting place such as this social hall offers the means to satisfying these needs, and the exercising of other human instincts: taking, giving, and sharing.

O Lord, may we never run out of places, where people of good will and intent may gather together in the warmth of friendship and come away feeling spiritually uplifted.

While my grandmother claimed to be an introverted wall flower, she looked forward to attending events, visiting friends and family, and participating in the senior citizen group at her synagogue. These invocations were delivered at these meetings, and not doubt, generated many discussions afterwards.

My grandmother wasn’t one to walk away from a dialogue. She thrived on heated discussions and delving into controversy. Her mornings were spent scouring the newspaper, afternoons listening to talk shows – Dick Cavett and Merv Griffen – were favorites, and evenings absorbing the day’s news. Even in her late 80’s, she could debate an issue, usually taking a stand, and not be swayed by the opposing viewpoint.

My propensity for doing research and sharing my viewpoints was honed by our weekly discussions, starting when I lived in California. My grandparents would visit on Saturdays, and I’d spend as much time as possible with my grandmother, taking long walks or hanging out in my room. When I moved to Oregon, when a senior in high school, I would talk to her nearly every Saturday morning, and sometimes Sunday afternoons.

I miss talking to her, but constantly hear her voice when I write. Our meeting place is in my head, and through my fingers.

Inspirational Messages

05 Sunday Oct 2014

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I usually don’t post what others have written, but I found some of these excerpts so touching I thought I’d share them. The images are from Las Vegas, one of my favorite places to have a camera.

Today, I interviewed my grandmother for part of a research paper I’m working on for my psychology class. When I asked her to define success in her own words, she said, “Success is when you look back at your life and the memories make you smile.”

Today, I asked my mentor – a very successful business man in his 70’s- what his top 3 tips are for success. He smiled and said, “Read something no one else is reading, think something no one else is thinking, and do something no one else is doing.” Las Vegas 1

Today, after a 72 hour shift at the fire station, a woman ran up to me at the grocery store and gave me a hug. When I tensed up, she realized I didn’t recognize her. She let go with tears of joy in her eyes and the most sincere smile and said, “On 9-11-2001, you carried me out of the World Trade Center.”

Today, after I watched my dog get run over by a car, I sat on the side of the road holding him and crying. And just before he died, he licked the tears off my face.

Las Vegas 3 Today at 7 AM, I woke up feeling ill, but decided I needed the money, so I went into work. At 3PM I got laid off. On my drive home I got a flat tire. When I went into the trunk for the spare, it was flat too. A man in a BMW pulled over, gave me a ride, we chatted, and then he offered me a job. I start tomorrow.

Today, I kissed my dad on the forehead as he passed away in a small hospital bed. About 5 seconds after he passed, I realized it was the first time I had given him a kiss since I was a little boy.

Today, in the cutest voice, my 8-year-old daughter asked me to start recycling. I chuckled and asked, “Why?” She replied, “So you can help me save the planet.” I chuckled again and asked, “And why do you want to save the planet?” Because that’s where I keep all my stuff,” she said.

Today, when I witnessed a 27-year-old breast cancer patient laughing hysterically at her 2-year-old daughter’s antics, I suddenly realized that I need to stop complaining about my life and start celebrating it again.  Las Vegas 2

Today, a boy in a wheelchair saw me desperately struggling on crutches with my broken leg and offered to carry my backpack and books for me. He helped me all the way across campus to my class and as he was leaving he said, “I hope you feel better soon.”

Today, I was feeling down because the results of a biopsy came back malignant. When I got home, I opened an e-mail that said, “Thinking of you today. If you need me, I’m a phone call away.” It was from a high school friend I hadn’t seen in 10 years. 

Today, I was traveling in Kenya and I met a refugee from Zimbabwe. He said he hadn’t eaten anything in over 3 days and looked extremely skinny and unhealthy. Then my friend offered him the rest of the sandwich he was eating. The first thing the man said was, “We can share it.”

The best sermons are lived, not preached.

Garden Tales

01 Wednesday Oct 2014

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It’s my nature. I look for the negative, minimizing the positive. This year, the positives significantly outweighed the negatives in our Mount Vernon garden. Nevertheless, hoping to harvest several bags of peas, like we’d done in previous years, I whined all summer, lamenting the spindly plants that emerged, most barely tall enough to reach the netting.

A handful grew, producing a smattering of delicate white flowers, which turned into bumpy, misshapen pods that struggled to produce edible peas.

The only explanation for this disappointment was planted the peas in second raised bed, which didn’t have the nutrients to support healthy pea growth. Rich felt they didn’t get enough sun, but they were relocated less than 20 feet away from where they were planted last year.

View Mount Vernon Garden

Meanwhile, our neighbor from across the street, who grows and sells berries and pumpkins, told me to thin out my strawberry plants, removing the runners, and keeping only the strong plants. I had my doubts, but was amazed by our copious crop of strawberries, which lasted for several weeks. Last week, I picked another burst of strawberries, courtesy of the warm weather.

When I lived in Sherwood, Oregon, I had a prolific raspberry bush. I’d brought cuttings to Texas, but they writhed in the heat. Fortunately, before I moved, I planted several canes at my mother’s house, which I later planted on our Anacortes lots (did horrible), Kirkland house (struggled), and finally in the front yard of our Mount Vernon houses.

For two years, these cuttings gingerly took off, spreading, but producing few berries. This year, they flourished, producing bowls of plump, raspberry gems we enjoyed with vanilla ice cream.

Now that the bush is healthy, and large, I’ll cut it back, removing some of the old canes.

When we had our Anacortes lot (happily sold last year), we made friends with a master gardener, who give us cutting from a thorn-less blackberry bush. Like my raspberries, it limped along but took hold this year, initially sprouting inch-long ruby red berries, which were tart. Disappointed, I left them on the bush, and nearly three weeks later, they turned dark purple and were delightful to eat.

This same master gardener dropped off several tomatoes, bell peppers, and sage bushes. How a vegetable plant, like child, is a determinate of its future success. In this case, we were given Ivy League tomato plants. They were tall (nearly 3-feet in height) and strong (the stems were as thick as white board markers) with root balls you’d expect on a large bush. Once planted, they got bigger, producing within weeks heirloom, Italian, and early girl tomatoes.

Plus, Rich purchased 6 different types of tomato from Fred Meyer’s, and we had tomatoes spouting up everywhere from last year’s fallen fruit. Every tomato that falls on the ground, and is left there has the potential to turn into an uninvited plant the following summer. We even had tomatoes sprouting in the grass!

We produced so many tomatoes that I dehydrate four batches, and made two large pots of sauce to freeze.

While peas were a disappointment, our pole bean production exceeded expectation. After weeks of gnawing on beans, nearly every night, I blanched and froze what was left. Bye-bye beans.

Planted by the pole beans were green bush string beans. I think they were intimidated by the pole beans because while the plants were healthy, and full of beans, we didn’t have a particularly large crop. Meanwhile, the purple string beans, planted in the raised beds in the backyard, were troopers, producing piles of beans at the beginning of the season, and then again last week! I’ve never had a double-crop before from these determined, consistent producers.

While radishes were a bust last year, we had radishes within weeks of planting. They were gorgeous. We immediately replanted, but subsequent radishes had lots of leaves and ill-formed radishes. Strange.

Carrots fit in the same category as radishes… great initial crop, and then nothing afterwards. Plus, I’m so enchanted by our carrots that I don’t want to eat them. After a few days in the refrigerator, they get soft, and then I have to toss them in the recycling bin. What a waste!

The pepper plants we got from the master gardener produced for months, and must have collaborated with the pepper plants we purchased from Fred Meyer’s because we picked numerous bell and chili peppers. This was the first year we had too many peppers, and I ended up dicing, and freezing them.

We were equally pleased with our cucumbers, especially the delicate lemon cucumbers. Unlike years past — when we ended up with behemoth squash — this year, we were very analytical and logical when planting zucchini, crock neck, patty pan, and piccolo. The analysis paid off (or maybe we did a better job of picking them when they were small) because we ended up with the “right amount” of squash and only had to give away a few.

Speaking of out-of-control squashes, an acquaintance mentioned on Facebook that she was given a large squash and was super excited about preparing it. Her friends offered recipes. A week later, she was flummoxed as to how she could possible use up the rest of the squash. A friend responded, “There are town where if you leave your car unlocked, you’ll find a zucchini left on the seat.”

Finally, with an early spring, we popped lettuce, kale, spinach, and arugula seeds in the ground. They grew like weeds, providing us with salad-fixing for most of the summer. We’ll keep the kale in the garden, since it can be harvested for the next few months, provided it doesn’t snow or there’s a hard freeze.

Invocation #36: Sheathe Our Swords

29 Monday Sep 2014

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It is written: Nation shall not lift up sword against nation.

Ask how many among us can kindle a war between nations and the answer is few.

Ask how many among us can kindle strife between ourselves and those around us, and then the answer is too many.

Jealousy, envy, grudges, those are the swords of animosity between peoples.

Greed, possessiveness, over-sensitivity, disappointment in ourselves and our lot, those are the weapons that tear relationships asunder.

The nation we live in from day-to-day is not measured in millions of square miles, but in mere miles. In mere houses, comprised of parents, spouses, siblings, family, friends, neighbors, fellow-workers, fellow-comrades.

They are our contracts, they make or break our day, and we theirs. To them we owe the best in us.

It is beyond human nature to be utterly devoid of ill feelings, ill thoughts, wrongful acts, but it is not beyond human capacity to keep those negative feelings under control and discipline.

O Lord, if only we could see that peace, good feelings, and harmony begins with us. It is our own swords that needs to be sheathed.

When I started typing this invocation, written by my grandmother decades ago, I immediately thought she was talking about nations at war. You’d need to take off your shoes and use both your fingers and toes (and those of several friends) to count the number of countries, provinces, religious and ethnic groups currently at war. Topping the lists is Russia and Ukraine, Israel and Hamas, Afghanistan and the Taliban, Yemen and al-Qaeda, Somalia and al-Shabaab and Shiite al-Houthi militants, and the topsy-turvy turf war between Syria, Iraq, and ISIS.

But this invocation isn’t about conflicts among nations and groups, but strife on a micro-level, between family members, friends, co-workers, and those in one’s social circles. In a sense, technology is partially responsible for eroding cordiality, benevolence, and tolerance. It’s easy to misinterpret an email, instant message or social media post, and then quickly severe the relationship without exploring what the writer intended or considering whether dissolving the connection would upset the other person.

Are a few words jotted in cyberspace more important than a human connection?

The ease in which you can “friend,” “link,” and “message” a person tends to make relationship superficial. Rather than recognizing someone as a living being with needs and emotions, they’re nothing more than a name on a list. When you no longer want to associate with the name, simply “defriend” or “delete” them.

I worked at Microsoft for over four years. The day I left, a handful deleted me from their Facebook accounts. I no longer existed, and the interactions I’d had with them irrelevant. I’d recently learned, from a friend, one of these individuals got cancer and had a double mastectomy. While I should have empathy, I don’t. It’s not that I have ill-will, I simply see her as she saw me. Disposable.

I have an app that shows who’ve “defriended” me. One was someone I worked with at Dell. I’ll miss seeing pictures of his family, but since we didn’t interact on Facebook, and were co-workers and not friends, I was probably dropped when he cleaned up his Facebook accounts.

Another was a rather nasty, opinioned woman I knew from Microsoft. I occasionally comments on her posts, offering advice when she solicited it. She was very critical of me, saying I was a hoarder and had mental problems. I enjoyed reading about her struggles and vicious observation of others. She had a bizarrely enhanced view of herself, even though she held an administrative role, and was known for deferring work, which was clearly her responsibility to complete.

A third was an older woman who I introduced to Rich when he first became a realtor. For six weeks, Rich drove her around the area, showing her houses and condos. She was interested in selling her house, and renting a smaller place. When Rich was unable to locate a suitable place for her to rent, which matched her budget, she sent him a note, saying she was going to hire her nephew to sell her house, rather than Rich. She reasoned, Rich hadn’t given her “good advice.”

I think she was genuinely shocked when I refused to talk to her, and shower her with praise for the marginal contributions she’d made for an event I was coordinating and overseeing. The work she did — early in the project — comprised 5% of what needed to be done. I guess she felt two hours of her time was more valuable than the six weeks and fifty or so of Rich’s.

Good riddance.

The fourth person who recently defriended me was a man I dated a few years before I met Rich. We’d kept in touch throughout the years, sometimes, exchanging lengthy emails about his recovery from a horrific bicycle accident, which damaged his elbow. His advice, when I was in a car accident in 2007, helped me push through the pain. I owe him gratitude for his support during a difficult (and painful) time. I’m a bit upset he defriended me. Perhaps, he like others – including a cousin – didn’t care for my political opinions.

This brings up another area, which causes strife, especially in America – politics. My grandmother wrote, “Jealousy, envy, grudges, those are the swords of animosity between peoples.” This hold true in today’s political environment, where the country is split in between political parties, splintering families, friends, and co-workers.

Other words for jealousy are protective, mistrustful, and resentful. All of these words can be plastered on the political opinions of members from both parties. On one side, there’s protectiveness when it comes to retaining social services and programs while the other side resents the taxes they have to pay. One side is for immigration reform, the other wants to close the borders and deport illegal immigrants. Both sides are distrustful, sharing their animosity and disdain at each other’s viewpoints and causes.

In the end, the swords come out. Families are fractured. Friends scorned. Co-workers snubbed. Neighbor’s disregarded, and once strong institutions rampaged by people with differing views breaking away.

Not Seeing the Humor

26 Tuesday Aug 2014

Posted by in News and politics, Uncategorized

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Last week, I received an email from my mother’s long-time friend. The email consisted of vicious, short-sided cartoons and quotes about President Obama, protesters in Ferguson, Muslims, Hillary Clinton, and Central American children who’ve made their way to America.

In the past, she’s sent skewed Republican crap, but this latest collection filled me with disgust for many reasons.

First, her husband was a vice-president at IBM, who no doubt had a hand in out-sourcing jobs, and scaling back American operations. Maybe he contributed to some of the bad decisions by upper management, which has resulted in nine consecutive quarters of losses, and IBM’s determination to sell off their PC, low-end server, and chip-manufacturing units.

Last July, Rich was laid-off from IBM, after training his “replacements” in Brazil. He was 18 months shy of the earliest date he could have retired. Fortunately, he landed a good contract role at Microsoft, but he missed out on IBM’s retirement benefits, and he’s certainly not earning the same amount of money or benefits as previously.

I’m sure my mother’s friend’s husband retired with full benefits, and a generous pension plan.

Since having to leave Microsoft, I’ve struggled to land a decent job. While my current role pays well, it comes with no healthcare insurance, no sick time, vacation or holidays. I can either go without healthcare benefits (not a good idea) or sign up through the Washington Healthcare Exchange. I’m mortified that I need to use a government-sponsored program, but what choice do I have?

Republican beliefs I’m sure my mother’s privilege friend is in favor of repealing what she’d term “Obamacare.”

One of the quotes she sent said President Obama’s presidency [could be] summarized in a chapter… fitting on one page… as a single paragraph… holding just one simple sentence… which would be abridged.” If Obama’s accomplishment from improving the economy to reducing unemployment, increasing energy production and efficiencies, reforming healthcare, expanded anti-discrimination laws, increasing access to student loans, and remaining calm and reasonable in light of outrageous occurrences in American and around the world, than I can only imagine what would be written about Republicans in Congress.

Words that come to mind are inflexible, unpatriotic (i.e. involved in activities that harm your country), deceitful, and intolerant.

I’m hard pressed to think of anything positive ANY Republicans have done to help anyone who wasn’t in the top 1% or a corporation. They’re adamant about outlawing abortion, but unwilling to support programs for low-income children that provide access to food, housing, healthcare, and equal opportunities. They’re vigilant about gun ownership, failing to recognize the horrendous shooting that flood the news. They rant about taxes yet ignore the fact that millionaires pay less taxes than factory workers. And many corporations avoid paying any taxes while enjoying record earnings, and paying their executives, thousand-fold more than the people doing the work.

A quote I found succinctly pointed out Republicans define democracy as allowing billionaires to spend unlimited sums to buy elections, implement voter suppression tactics against seniors, young people, low income citizens, and people of color, and gerrymander voting districts.

According to Senator Bernie Sanders (I-Vt.), “At a time when 1 out of 4 corporations pays NOTHING in federal income tax, in a given year, and when many working people pay a higher federal tax rate than billionaire hedge fund managers, it is time for REAL tax reform. The wealthy and powerful must begin paying their fair share of taxes.”

Making the rounds on Facebook this week, Senator Sanders continued, “Here’s what income and wealth inequity is about. Last year, the top 25 hedge fund managers made more than 24 billion, enough to pay the salaries of 425,000 public school teachers. This level of inequity is neither moral nor sustainable.”

It’s inconceivable that Republicans can be so critical of President Obama and the democratic policies, yet so forgiving of eight years of the Village Idiot who not only burned through the budget surplus left over from President Clinton, but bankrupted the US Treasury, creating the largest annual national deficit in US history. Two million Americans lost their jobs during his first year in office. Personal bankruptcies soared, there were record home foreclosures, a massive drop in the US stock market, and we entered two groundless wars. While people perceive the Village Idiot was fiscally conservative, he increased the national debt by 115% versus 37% by President Clinton, and 16% by President Obama.

Yet, my mother’s friend found it necessary to share a Photoshopped picture of an African American girl handing money to President Obama who is holding a bag labeled “Deficit,” with a caption that reads, “Are you sure that’s your fair share?”

Other cartoons she sent are about President Obama going on vacation while the Middle East is in turmoil. Unless you’re a Republican, I doubt you’d see anything wrong with the infrequent vacations President Obama has taken to spend time with his young daughters and wife.

After all, Congress has been on vacation since the end of July, and is expected to work a handful of weeks between September and the end of the year.

In the eight years he was in office, the Village Idiot took 149 trips to Camp David, 77 visits to his Crawford ranch, and 11 trips to his father’s Kennebunkport mansion. That’s an average of 30 trips per year, at tax payers’ expense on Air Force One. Each trip to his Texas ranch cost over a quarter million dollars.

My mother’s friend lives in Reno, Nevada, where 20% (3% above the state average) of the people have incomes below the poverty level, which is $11,490 for a single person, and $23,550 for a family of four. The Nevada minimum wage is $8.25 per hour, which works out to a little over $17,160 per year if you work 8 hours a day, 5 days a week, taking off no time for holidays, doctor visits or mishaps like lack of transportation, sick family members, or having to attend to personal business like voting (unless you live in a gerrymandered district where your liberal votes don’t count).

I wonder how much my mother’s friend contributors to her local community? Does she realize the poverty that exists when she shops at her community, buys a hamburger from a middle-aged woman working at a fast food restaurant, complains about the condition of her upscale hotel room cleaned by underpaid cleaning staff, and loses patience with the kid pumping gas who couldn’t possible earn enough to pay his way through college and earn an engineering degree like her husband did in the 1950’s?

This discussion bring me to another theme, which ran through the collection of cartoons she shared, that of children from Honduras and other Central American countries making the dangerous trek to America, in hope of a better life.

The observation she shared, titled “Some food for thought,” provided an analogy about “3 year old to 8 year old” children walking from Houston to Minneapolis by themselves with no food or “belongs” to sustain them. The analogy continues, babbling (in 6th grade English) about avoiding towns and cities, having no maps or “sun protection,” and how the whole truth isn’t being shared. Concludes the missive, “Someone created and assisted this, and the media should be figuring out who it is.”

First, young children aren’t making the journey themselves. They travel in groups, usually at night, often with the assistance of smugglers. They don’t walk the entire way, they ride on top of trains, take buses, and maybe even hitch rides in cars. It can take months to arrive at the border. Many perish, get injured or are victimized.

Putting the journey aside, consider how desperate the parents of these children must be to sell everything they have, and trust them with shady smugglers with the hope, they’ll make it to America, and miraculously be allowed to stay.

No doubt, if my mother’s friend and her family lived in Honduras, with the world’s highest murder rate, coupled with rampant gang violence, and dire poverty, she’d do whatever was necessary to get her twin grandson’s to a safe haven, even if it meant selling everything she had, and making the gut-wrenching decision to send them on a dangerous journey. Maybe then, she’ll understand there’s no humor in poverty, corporations outsourcing jobs, protections for the rich, and the rapid disintegration of the American middle class.

Invocation #35: Justice

18 Monday Aug 2014

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It is commanded: Justice shalt thou pursue.

A worthy admonition, yet it is not enough to merely pursue; we must act and judge with justice. We must administer justice fairly, evenhandedly, and without bias.

For if we cannot extend equal justice to all, we cannot be assured of justice for ourselves.

Nor can the scales be reset for each one, pressing a thumb too heavily, or tilting the balance too favorably.

It is said Justice holds the scales, eyes blindfolded, lest she be accused of a blink, but O Lord, in our pursuit of justice for all, we must keep our eyes wide-open, and untarnished with self-interest or prejudice.

If justice we seek, justice we must ensure.

I initially read this invocation during the recent Supreme Court Hobby Lobby lopsided debacle, which is actually not as horrendous as the Court declaring corporations are people. When a corporation can audibly fart, I’ll believe it has the same rights as an unborn embryo, but certainly not as many as those of a Honduran or Salvadorian orphan who’s slipped across the US border, hoping to escape rampant violence and tyranny.

The point being, justice has become a travesty in America. Its definition twisted, depending on the political or religious slant-of-the-day. Forget the amusing analogy of Lady Justice pressing her thumb a bit too hard or blinking. What’s happening is frightening.

A fetus that can’t survive outside the womb shouldn’t have more rights than a pregnant woman who got that way because of incest or rape. And a teenager who’s seen his family and friends indiscriminately shot, shouldn’t be sent back to the same place after they’ve miraculously made the journey to America.

Corporations? Maybe they’re human. After all, they exhibit the human traits of greed, selfishness, and arrogance, distilling their efforts on making money for executives and stockholders rather than funneling earnings back onto their infrastructures: rewarding and motivating employees, strengthening their physical and virtual infrastructures, conducting research and development that supports and extends beyond their endeavors, and investing in their communities and environment.

While the definition of a corporation is a group of persons united or regarded as united in one body, they’re more akin to expecting the many to benefit the few. Case in point, Adecco has 31,500 full-time employees whose salaries is gleaned from the mark-up on the hourly rate of 650,000 associates in temporary positions. In 2013, 91% of Adecco’s revenues came from temporary workers.

In the United States, Adecco realizes excellent earnings by offering associates few benefits, including “preventive” rather than full healthcare coverage, no paid time off (sick time, vacation or holidays), and fluffy words like “Better work. Better life,” which does little to pay the bills.

For the first half of the 2014, Adecco revenues increased 2%, 5% in constant currency. Their gross profits were up 4% or 8% in constant currency, owing to a gross margin of 18.4%. To reduce costs in North America, they restructured, reducing full-time head count, branch optimization (i.e. fewer people, doing more work), and moving to a single headquarters.

While Adecco associates in America are forced to do without healthcare insurance, and take national holiday off without pay, Patrick De Maeseneireb, the CEO of the company, earns 6,072,310 Swiss Franc or around $8,134,000 per year.

No doubt, Adecco has a platoon of lobbyist, manipulating politicians’ and governing entities to ensure they can write-off as much as possible and skirt having to offer benefits, unless required by law.

At one time, America set the bar for civil liberties, quality-of-life, ingenuity, and opportunity. The bar is slowly inching down, compromising justice and equity for all.

Invocation #34: Honor Thine Own

10 Thursday Jul 2014

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It is commanded: Honor thy father and thy mother.

Who attempts to deny or separate themselves from a mother or a father would be denying the reality of themselves and who they are.

We are not born out of thin air, and mist at the touch of a magic wand. We are born out of a miracle of creation, the mating of a man and a woman, a father and mother.

In all of time, and space, no other pairing except this mother and father could have created the unique being that we each are. Nor brought us out of the void of nothingness into a life and its living.

We are made of what they are: virtues and flaws. If we resent the flaws in them, stress the virtues in ourselves.

For the miracle of our birth we must pay heed to the dictum, honor thy father and mother, lest in cutting our self away from the source of our being, we become spiritual orphans.

This invocation is particularly germane with my having to place my mother in an assisted living center in early June, due to her progressive lack of mobility, and tendency to fall while getting out of bed. My decision was overdue, but wanting to avoid her wrath, Rich and I kept procrastinating until her caretakers (Visiting Angels) resolutely recommended we move her into a facility, which could offer 24-hour care.

Previously, she lived in our house in Mount Vernon, with twice-daily visits by Visiting Angels, who helped with dressing, cooking, laundry, cleaning, and chores, like feeding the cat, bringing in the newspaper, and changing the linens. On weekends, Rich and I took over, giving the Visiting Angels a break.

We’ve been deeply involved in my mother’s care for the past two years from setting up and overseeing care when she lived in Oregon to moving her to Washington, refurbishing her Oregon house, managing all aspect of her life (i.e. setting up services, paying bills, purchasing groceries, etc.), and most recently, moving her into a care center.

My brother, meanwhile, who lives in Oregon (and at one point, worked a few miles from his mother’s house), has done little more than visit her a few times in the past two years. While he’s offered lots of advice over the years, he’s done little to remediate issues.

When my mother lived in a two-story house, and kept falling, and complaining about the stairs, it was Rich and I who drove to Oregon to move her bedroom furniture, clothing, and personal items downstairs. My brother managed to show up for less than two hours to help, while Rich and I were there for days cleaning, doing home repairs, and purchasing items she needed.

My brother’s participation in moving my mother was to spend less than two hours helping load her furniture into a U-Haul. Rich and I spent the subsequent four months, driving to Oregon (over 3 hours each way), every other weekend (and sometimes every weekend) refurbishing her house so it could be leased.

A year earlier, I’d asked my brother to coordinate services with Visiting Angels. He did nothing. Finally, I made arrangements for an initial visit, which needed to be done during the workweek. My brother agreed to be there, but at the last moment, backed out. In the end, a woman who cleaned my mother’s house – and proved to be a great friend – worked with Visiting Angels.

Returning to my grandmother’s invocation, she wrote, “We are made of what they are: virtues and flaws. If we resent the flaws in them, stress the virtues in ourselves.” My mother has many flaws, the most pronounced is her narcissism. She’s always placed her needs and feelings above others. When my brother and I got sick, we’d be scolded for getting sick, and promptly sent to school to minimize the possibility of my mother also catching our illness.

Even though my mother stopped working when she was 28, and was widowed when 40, she felt housework, cooking, and gardening was my responsibility. She resented that I had homework, and saw nothing wrong with forbidding me from going out and being with friends. She argued my chores were more important, and since my projected future was to marry, have kids, and build a mother-in-law apartment, there wasn’t a need for me to do well in school.

Fearing my brother would turn into a “mama’s boy,” my mother sketched a different plan for him, ensuring he had time to be with friends, participate in Boy Scouts, and attend school events. His room was relocated to the far end of the house so he had his own bathroom, and privacy. While I was cooking, cleaning, and sewing or doing needlework at night (my mother felt these skills were more important than school work), my brother was in his room with the door closed, doing as he pleased. Ditto for the weekends. When he was done with his chores, his time was his own.

My time was rarely my own.

When my mother’s parents grew older, my mother would visit once a year, and then spend the next three months complaining how stressful it was to visit them. Towards the end of her parents’ lives, my mother refused to fly from Portland, Oregon to Burbank, California to see them. She didn’t go to their funerals or participate in helping close up their estate. Instead, she complained it was taking too long to get her inheritance.

Now that my mother’s life is drawing to a close, it’s easy to see why my brother’s participate has dwindled. He has the same flaws as his mother.

While I’m equally flawed, I’m proud to have the character and virtue to do what’s right, even though it’s been burdensome. I don’t honor my mother. I simply do what’s necessary and expected.

Movie Mud Startling for Unexpected Reason

27 Friday Jun 2014

Posted by in Health and wellness, Movies, News and politics

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A few days ago, Rich and I watched the movie Mud, featuring Matthew McConaughey and two young actors in a drama set in De Witt, Arkansas. Wanting to learn more about the town, and the actors, I want online.

Mud-Movie-Poster-Matthew-McConnaugheyOne actor, Jacob Lofland, grew up Briggsville, Arkansas, 180 miles northwest of DeWitt. Unincorporated, Briggsville, is located in Yell County, which had a population of 22,185 in 2010, and per capita income of $15,383, making nearly 12% of the family and 16% of the population below the poverty line.

Briggsville, and Yell Country, however, is flush compared to De Witt. The county seat for Arkansas County, De Witt had a population of 3,292 in 2010 with a per capita income of $3,408. That’s not a typo. The median income for a household was $2,545.

A quarter of De Witt residents live in poverty, including a third of kids, and nearly 22% of seniors (age 65 or older). Arkansas County is slightly better off than Yell with the per capital income being $16,401 and only 18% of the population, living below the poverty line.

This is America.

It’s not a fictional, award-winning movie or some imaginary place. It’s the despair, and generation-upon-generation of poverty that exists across America in towns and cities of all sizes.

According to the website Poverty USA, one in six Americans live in poverty. To put this statistic into perspective, the number of people living in poverty is around 46.2 million, equal to the combined population of Texas, New Mexico, Oklahoma, Kansas, Colorado, Arizona, Utah, Wyoming, Nevada, and Nebraska.

The organization’s interactive poverty map, shows Arkansas has an overall poverty rate of 19.8%. Mississippi, on the other hand, has the highest rate with 24.2% people living below the poverty line.

Think about it. One in four residents of Mississippi probably run out of money by the end of the month, even if they’re working full-time. Earning $7 per hour equates to $14,560 per year or just $1,213 per month, which needs to be stretched to cover housing, utilities, transportation, healthcare, childcare, clothing, household supplies, and food. Earning a dollar more per hour, equates to a paltry extra $173 per month.

Now imagine living on $3,408 per year like people do in De Witt.

Poverty in America isn’t something you can switch off when the movie ends. It’s the stark reality of what 50 years of self-interest economic and social policies have wrought.

Chicken Pot Pie Success

24 Tuesday Jun 2014

Posted by in Food and drink

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Before we married, one of Rich’s favorite dishes was a plate of rice with a Marie Callender chicken pot pie turned upside down, and plopped on top. For years, he’d slowly wheel past supermarket freezer cases, reminiscing about the “good old days” of heating up frozen pot pies, taquitos, breaded shrimp, and fish sticks.

Whenever we were apart, due to travel or attending events, Rich would sneak off and purchase his old standby, a Marie Callender pot pie.  Pot pieA few years ago, I decided to make a batch of mini chicken pot pies. While they looked lovely in pretty ramekins, they were a culinary failures. I had invited a friend over for lunch, proudly serving my pot pies. However, she found them tasteless with too much crust, and a mediocre filling, sadly missing salt.

While disappointed, I reconsidered my use of salt. Because my father had a heart attack when I was nine, and it was believed high blood pressure had led to his condition, I got used to cooking with little or no salt. In reality, his arteries narrowed with cholesterol.

Nevertheless, my tasteless chicken pot pies, coupled with Rich’s proclivity for hiding his food under a layer of fresh ground pepper, pushed the issue over the edge. I needed to start using salt!

Last week, with a bin full of vegetables, and time on my hands, I decided to give pot pies another try. Happily, it was a success, with Rich declared my pot pie every bit as good as those made by Marie Callender!

Since I don’t use recipes, here’s an approximation of what I did:

Filling

  • Red potatoes (don’t peel)
  • Walla Walla onion
  • Carrots
  • Celery
  • Frozen peas
  • Bouquet garni: sage, oregano, parsley, rosemary
  • 12.5 ounce can of chicken (or cooked chicken)
  • Rice or tapioca flour
  • Salt
  • Pepper
  • Worcestershire sauce

Cut the red potatoes and onion in chunks, and place in a pot along with the fresh herbs, salt, and pepper, and enough water to cover. Cook until the potatoes are slightly hard. Add chunks of carrots and celery, along with frozen peas, and enough water to cover. Cook a few minutes longer to soften, but retain the color of the vegetables.

Drain the vegetables in a colander, over a bowl to catch the broth. Remove the herbs.

Strain the broth back into the pot, and add the juice from the can of chicken. Bring to a boil. Mix rice or tapioca flour with enough water to make a slurry. Add to the boiling broth, stirring constantly to make a gravy. Taste, and adjust flavoring and color by adding Worcestershire sauce, salt, pepper, and finely ground herbs.

Gently simmer to cook the flour, and stabilize the consistency. If you want the gravy to be thicker, add a bit more flour (always blend with water beforehand, and slowly pour in, stirring constantly to avoid lumps). If the gravy is too thick, add a bit of water.

Crust

  • 1 cup of whole wheat flour
  • 1 cup of white flour
  • 1 cube of butter
  • Finely chopped fresh herbs
  • Salt

Make the crusts by combining the flours, chopped herbs and salt. Blend in the butter. Add a few tablespoons of water, and use a fork to blend. Continue adding tablespoons of water until the dough forms a ball. Place on a floured board and lightly kneaded.

Divide the dough in half, and roll-out to fit a deep-dish pie pan. Trim the dough so it doesn’t overhang the pan. Roll-out the rest of the dough, including the scrapes from the bottom crust.

Pour the cooled filling into the pie pan. Place the second dough over the top. Trim and press the edges of the two crusts together to seal. To ensure they’re sealed, flute the edges or use a fork to mash the two crust together.

Use a sharp knife to cut a few slits in the top. Place the pie on a foil-lined tray (to catch spills), and place in a 375◦ oven. Back for 30-45 minutes or until the gravy bubbles out of the slits on the top.