Category Life

one of one-plus

Michael 11 Comments

Last week I took a shot at regaling you with tales of spending a week in the hospital and coming home alone. Naturally the perfect followup to that would be (to take a shot at) regaling you with tales of spending that recovery week not quite alone. Yes, even though I made a big thing out of how hard it is to not be well and be alone, versus when you are a one of two, I wasn’t completely alone in my recovery week. Not quite not alone but definitely not alone.

I closed last week’s post with, “When one of two is missing, the void seems bigger than when one of one is gone. And when one of one returns, the welcome home is much less welcoming. I can probably write an entire post on that. Maybe I will someday.” Never to not pick up such a tempting gauntlet as that, I will accept my own challenge. Sort of.

First, to those who had asked, I am fine and anticipate I will grow even finer as the days march by. I made it through the first week out of the hospital without returning to the hospital and that’s not something I can say about all of my discharges. Fortunately, I had a lot of help. As I said, I was not completely alone last week. I had help. Not “one of two” help, maybe more like “one of one-plus.” Between my daughter and my sisters for some physical assistances and a handful of friends for mental, emotional, and at times even comical support, the week moved along faster than I figured it would.

It is a big boost when someone you typically connect with primarily through text messages makes time in her schedule to call at least once a day every day to check on how things are going. It is as big an aid to recovery as having someone stop in to do the heavy lifting portions of the never-ending household chores that one with a newly prescribed 5 pound lifting limit and prohibitions against bending and stretching cannot take on alone. Yes, it is not a secret that physical recovery does not happen, or happens very slowly, without mental and emotional recovery tagging along.

I recall that first discharge from so many years ago, the physical helpers were there but there was a distinct void where someone, some ones, or anyone who might call just to see how things were going could have been. What was most disheartening was that there should have been at least one someone, but the call that came rather than a message of support was of the “I didn’t sign up to be a nursemaid” type. And with it a rather rapid descent from the stratospheric one of two to the heartbreaking loneliness of a one of less than one.

Fortunately, over the years I discovered a handful of contenders willing to be part of my one of one-plus entourage. True, the other one of a one of one-plus won’t be there to help you into bed, or to wake you when your due for medication or a dressing change, or tell you, “Sit still! I’m perfectly capable of making us breakfast,” as I imagine the other one of one of two would, somehow it is easy to imagine they would if things might had been just a bit different. And a one of one-plus will always be there on the other end of a phone call or text message, or email, or even a card or letter when you least expect it, or at least when you least are thinking about it for a while and add to your emotional recovery.

The best one of one-pluses are those who take their role seriously, as seriously as a one of two partner would. Maybe even more. Let’s face it, a lot of one of two partnerships exist because of some compromise or even a little unspoken quid pro quo. Sometimes a lot of quid pro quo. A one of one-plus is more selfless and unconditional. There is nothing you are getting back for your love and concern except maybe someone’s love and concern. A friend of mine, a one of one-plus with me, said “Being one of one can be isolating. Being one of two is ideal. But being one of many makes a community. We all need each other and do better when we feel cared for and important to somebody.” I suppose if we put all my one of one-pluses together we can make a “one of many” community. (Now that might make for an interesting blog too. In fact, that sounds like just the thing we’d post at the ROAMcare blog, Uplift!  Maybe you should make a note in your calendar to check that out this Wednesday.)

Speaking of Uplift! In the latest post we wondered, if “In case” added to your declaration is a positive account of caution and a potential response to a situation, is “just in case” just a poor excuse for a poor choice? Read it here to see what we had to say about that.

Hey, here’s an extra thought if you know someone who could use a hand and you’re feeling one-plus-like. Dinners that can be heated and eaten are great but think outside the oven. Rides to labs or tests are great stress relievers and don’t often run unpredictably late like a doctor appointment may. And back in the food arena, if your someone is a big breakfast eater, a prepared morning meal is just as appreciated, if not more than an evening meal. A French toast casserole, or stack of frozen waffles makes a nice change for someone who may be too unsteady in the morning even to work a bowl of microwave oatmeal. My best meal “gift” ever was a bag of frozen breakfast burritos my daughter worked up. A few minutes in the microwave and a cup of yogurt with fresh fruit and I had a breakfast that kept me well through lunch and the only thing I needed to work was a spoon.

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one of one

Michael 13 Comments

The chances are very good that while you were reading last week’s post, I was in the hospital. I don’t know how I ever decided on the time, but for years I have had the posts scheduled to published between 4 and 4:30 prevailing eastern time Monday mornings. Last Monday at 7:30 in the morning I was in route to the emergency room. I’d say don’t worry, it’s nothing serious, but seriously, can you ever say that with a straight face with an emergency room visit a part of the equation. But I can say, don’t worry. I’ve been down that road before.

There are parts of me that pretty much resemble a high school science experiment and to be perfectly honest, work just about as well. Things leak, things creak, sometimes things need a better tightening than the local mechanic, er the office physician can provide. So please don’t worry. In fact, that’s kind of the whole point to this post.

I have a feeling I’ve said sometime before that I had never been inside a hospital other than to work or to visit someone in one for the first 55 years of my life. No broken bones, no falling off bikes, no unexpected allergic reactions. Once I did take a nasty fall while rappelling but that was dealt with in a first aid tent so I’m not going to count that. No, that first part, probably first and second parts of my life, involved minimal medical management. But man did I make up for it since. And all that time, I’ve done it without a significant or even insignificant other at home, rolling bandages, and preparing for my return with anxious anticipation, overflowing TLC, and bowlsful of chicken soup. Nope. Just me.

Oh, please don’t mistake that for self-pity nor misunderstand that nobody is in some home, some where worrying a tad that I return to my home. And they will even stop by with chicken soup or its 21st century equivalent. But there will not be that person who when she might step out into the porch for the day’s mail, holler back to the neighbor “No, he’s not on a trip but was admitted to the hospital a couple days ago. How nice of you to notice and ask. I’ll be sure to tell him you did.”

Kind of funny isn’t it.  An odd thing to think about. But it’s been thought before. I had one hospitalization that went on for several weeks. At the time, it wasn’t unusual for me to be away for some days at a time for something work related. No one might have even realized I wasn’t at a conference in Las Vegas until the priest on the second Sunday I was in the hospital included me when he asked for prayers for our sick parishioners. I know no one would have noticed because that’s exactly what my next-door neighbors said when they popped in to visit that Sunday afternoon.

When one of two is missing, the void seems bigger than when one of one is gone. And when one of one returns, the welcome home is much less welcoming. I can probably write an entire post on that. Maybe I will someday. Not today. Today I’m going to try to get to sleep a little earlier than usual. Yesterday was my first full day home. Hopefully whenever you get around to reading this, I am still home.

Gene Kranz was the director of NASA mission operations and is noted for the modern mantra, failure is not an option. Or is it? We say what we think in the latest Uplift!

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Believe in your shelf

Michael 6 Comments

What is the motivated librarian’s morning mantra?

“I believe in my shelf.”

I have to admit that just tickles me! I’m working on adding a new piece to my collection of positive presentations. Clearly that’s the opening line for a self-motivation module. Actually, that’s the only line so far and I fear for its inclusion in the final product because I do like it so. Or should that be I do so like it? I so do like it? Now wait a minute. I don’t fear for its inclusion because I like it. I like it and therefore I fear that it might not be included. Oh, this is all too complicated. Hmm. How about – I hope it’s still around when I’m down to the final draft because I like it. That’s better.  Now if I can come up with another 5,000 words to tack on the back end of it, I might have something.

Words have always fascinated me. So has motivation. Motivating words though…sometimes they can come off either preachy or disingenuous. I like the ones that have a bit of humor about them. Even somewhat punny like believing in your shelf. Find that hook that will make people laugh, smile, or even groan and roll their eyes, and from there you can’t seem to be anything but genuine! I think I’ve found a good balance in finding a way to ease into a motivational speech without it sounding like a motivational speech. At least that’s my goal. Why? This might sound like justifying myself, I think all motivation is self-motivation. I don’t believe I, or anybody else, can motivate anybody else. I can encourage you. I can try to help you create a positive atmosphere. I can show you some positive examples of what I’ve done. From those you will find the reason you want to do or not to do, and you, I believe, are the source of all of your motivation.

In you recall form the post Motivating the Motivators from earlier this year, I wrote, “We’re not psychologists, behaviorists, sociologists or any kind of -ist, just a couple people who’ve been through and seen a lot and want to share our experiences with others,” when I was speaking of how my ROAMcare partner and I go about prepping our Moments of Motivation. I’m still just a person who’s been there and done some of that. And some of that has been to read and listen to some of the seemingly most motivating of motivational speakers (based on reviews and numbers of times they’ve been cited in other’s motivational writings and speeches). And to be honest, I don’t always get it. I don’t even often get it. I know I am not in a position to be critical of that which I hadn’t formally studied but aren’t those (as in we, which includes me) to whom these guys are directing their words?

Personally, I think I’d get a lot more out of a talk on motivating myself if the speaker or author (or, let’s face it, never either, always both), began with a cheesy librarian pun and then spoke across the table to me rather than standing on stage, flailing their arms as they exhort me to remember that it’s never too late to be what I might have become. All due respect to Mr. Eliot, or rather Ms. Evans and those who quote her, often not citing her, yes it can be. And if it isn’t, then pray how or how not?

I on the other hand, might lean toward a different Eliot/Evans quote. “What do we live for, if not to make life less difficult for each other?” Now that is an idea I can get into, helping others, being there for them, easing burdens. Listening for the opportunities to help others. There is the potential to be a source of comfort, and by extension motivation, for the giver as well as the receiver. As a non-ist, that’s what I want to hear.

And so, I’ve started my file and have happily typed out, “What is the motivated librarian’s morning mantra? ‘I believe in my shelf,’” and just as happily have stared at that screen for a few days waiting for more to fall out of my brain. It will happen. Why? Because I believe in my shelf too!

It is your choice how you act toward others, but it is not how they react to you. Their responses are as much out of your control as the weather. Or are they? Read what we think about that in the latest Uplift!, To everything a season.

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Happy Places Revisited

Michael 12 Comments

I presented a program last week based loosely on a blog post from last year. I had titled the speech “Finding the Happy Places,” and right from the start I wanted to make it clear that you could be right thinking I meant happy places as a plural because I was speaking to a group of people, but in fact, I would have still referred to multiple places even if I was speaking to a single person.

I publicly eschewed the notion that there is a happy place we strive to reach where we escape the world and its problems. In fact, the premise to the presentation was that each of us has many, many happy places that are of the world, and there are where we relive happy times even though consciously, we may not remember the event that led to that happy memory. “The memory may have long faded while the space remains a special place for you,” I said more than once. An example I shared is a large, overstuffed chair in my bedroom. This particular chair is old, maybe older than I am (gasp), but my daughter cleaned it, repaired it, refurbished it, just for me. At least once a day I sit in that chair, and at least once a day I smile to myself and feel good about it. While I sit in that chair I may or may not associate it with the work and the love my daughter put into it, but each time I sit in it I feel welcome, warm, loved. I feel happy. It is one of my happy places.

I’m not sure how I got interested in these miniature moments of happiness and their attendant places of lasting good will. I think I am more sure of why we experience them. And to be clear, I’ve never heard this explanation before although I’m sure someone much smarter than I already figured it out and perhaps even wrote one of the perennial bestsellers in one of the many sections of the local bookstore I rarely walk through. But I think, I think, they are there to keep us if not young, at least upright and moving forward.

Every now and then I’ll reveal some small part of me although I can’t imagine anyone reading these words having a complete picture of me. For the record, I’m feisty enough (I suppose that is the polite word) to be certain I will live to be 100, but realistic enough to question whether I will be around to blow out the candles on my seventieth, and that is coming up, just past the next couple stop lights. Although for almost all my adult life I have worked in hospitals or their related clinics, I was 56 before I ever experienced a hospital from a patient’s point of view, and it was 8 months after that first admission that I was eventually discharged to home, all that just the first in a series of ins and outs over the next 6 years. So you might be correct thinking happy places may not abound in my recent life. You might be.

Very few would mistake a hospital as a happy place except perhaps those visiting the maternity wing. But of all those nights I spent sleeping in a hospital bed, there were very few when I would say, “Ugh, another day and another one like it to look forward to tomorrow.” No, no! Most nights I know I fell asleep thinking, “this wasn’t a bad day, and I know tomorrow will have to be better.” Yes, maybe for the first few weeks I grumbled and groaned myself to sleep, but after a while, even the hospital held its places of positivity. Where were they? I don’t know. More correctly, I don’t remember. As I said (more than once), “The memory of the event may have long faded while the space remains a special place for you.”

Is there a point to all this rambling? (Other than it’s Monday and you’ve come to expect to see ramblings from me on Mondays.) The point I tried to make, that I wanted to make while I was speaking, is to stop running away! You don’t have to escape the world to be happy. Happiness is within your reach and comes from how you interact with the world. You won’t find happiness “out there” at that mythical place where society wants to escape. It’s “right here” at the mystical places where our memories live, where our loves live, where we find the good from all the days past, and where we know it will be there in the days left.

I closed my speech with this. “Someday you will be walking along with someone and for no clear reason you will start to feel a warmth about you, a glimmer will hit your eye, and a smile will break out across your face. Whoever is with you will look at you and say, “What?” And you will answer, “Nothing. You wouldn’t understand.” And that’s how you know – you just walked through a happy place.”

So tell me…where are some of your happy places?

There is no shortcut to success and the most successful are those most passionate about being patient. That’s why we say Patience is a Passion in the latest Uplift!

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Encore again

Michael 7 Comments

Don’t look at me like that. I thought I was done too, but you know, sometimes it takes more than one trip to the curb.

When I’m not writing or speaking, I’m reading or listening. Listening to a really good speaker is fun because I can imagine what the speaker was doing or going through as I hear the words, see the movement, and feel the emotions as the speech unfolds. It gets interesting when the speaker speaks with an accent unlike mine. (Yes, we all have accents. Ask anybody who didn’t grow up in your block!) When the speaker’s first language is something other than English, I rarely have trouble understanding the words. While listening to a speaker who speaks English other than American English, I may have to listen a little closer but it too usually is not a problem (except for someone from Georgia who still isn’t sure the North won). But a writer who writes in English other than American English…well, I’m sorry, but I’m just not enough of a world traveler to be comfortable reading “colour” and not want to correct it to “color.” I’m getting better. It only took 60 some years of reading but I am getting used to the alternate spellings and the odd idioms, but, but … but I don’t think I’ll ever get used to “maths.” It makes more sense than the American “math,” given that it’s a shortened form of “mathematics,” but it just sounds too weird. There. I said it.

I walked into my daughter’s house a day last week and everything, everything was out of the kitchen cabinets and on the counters. (You remember her, the human the dog let join him on vacation in last week’s post.) “Moving?” I hesitatingly asked. “Oh good. I’m doing it right,” was her reply. Apparently, it’s a new (to me) cleaning strategy. When you want to do a serious declutter, make like you’re moving to a smaller home. If you wouldn’t take it to your new downsized abode, don’t put it back in the cabinet. I kind of like that. It seems much better than what some people refer to the Shinto method of decluttering. Hold something and if doesn’t bring joy to your life you don’t need it in your life. I have no proof of it, but looking at the sequence of events, I’m pretty sure that’s how I became an ex-husband.

A morning news article one day last week brought home the closeness of winter in a big way, which is most impressive considering it is not yet autumn. Folks at Pikes Peak woke up to six inches of snow. Here at the base of the mountains on the other side of the country we’ve been having cool nights and days alternating between deluge like rain and desert like heat. A wonderful combination to make weeds along the sides of the road flourish and flower.  They make a very pretty contrast the orange barrels that typically line the highways as an homage to the states that actually maintain their roads.

Yesterday was Constitution Day in the U.S.A.. If you missed it, don’t worry. Almost everyone did, including the local governments who order the fireworks displays for every other holiday or event you can imagine. Let’s travel through time. On July 4, 1776, the colonies’ representatives to the Continental Congress (the Second Continental Congress to be specific) signed off on the Declaration of Independence. [Yay, fireworks!] So we had a country, sort of, but no framework for the government to uh govern it. On November 15, 1777, that same Congress approved the Articles of Confederation that went into effect on March 1, 1781 when all the states ratified it. [Yay, but hold the fireworks.] The Articles established a framework, but it was more a frame of balsa instead of steel. In other words, it wasn’t terribly strong. From the government’s point of view. It treated the 13 states as 13 states, 13 independent states (as in little individual countries) bound together by the “Perpetual Union.” (Yep, that’s what it was called.) Then in May of 1787, a new batch of representatives from those sort of independent states saw the Articles needed a bit of an overhaul, and maybe they were a little rash not letting the central government do too much. So they convened the Constitutional Convention. Instead of fixing, they rewrote, and on September 17, 1787, the states’ representatives signed off on the new Constitution of the United States. [Yay! But wait, still no fireworks.] Finally on June 21, 1788, the required number of states needed to ratify the Constitution had done so and now we had a government to go along with the country. [Yay, but the fireworks people got tired of waiting (like we need another summer holiday anyway).] And so, in 2004 (yes, 2004!) Congress approved September 17 to be Constitution Day (technically Constitution and Citizenship Day) because why not. [Yay, still no fireworks but we’ll have them for Black Friday instead.]

Also for those residing in the U.S.A., today (September 18 to be clear in case you’re not reading this today), is National Cheeseburger Day! “Cheeseburger, cheeseburger, cheeseburger.” (Bonus points if you can identify from whence that line comes.)  Discounts throughout this great land of ours can be had from penny burgers to full price but we have a new flavor. Check here for what is certainly an incomplete list of participating burger bistros.

And I bring this up only because it is so stupid it begs to be included.

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At least it wasn’t a handgun.

I certainly hope my brain is empty now. It would be nice if my sinuses followed suit, but you know, seasons change and all that.

How about changing your mind set whenever you stop and question, “What if..” You know the What-Ifs. The questions that start with “what if” and end with tragedy. We say we have the right answer to any What-If that comes your way. Check out our latest Uplift! for how we do it!

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End of Summer Spring Cleaning

Michael 11 Comments

Perhaps it’s because it is the end of summer and I am naturally doing some brain cleaning (I always empty my brain as the seasons change) (don’t you) but even though I recently de-cluttered, I still have more random thoughts I need to clear out. Maybe even more randomer than usual.

Last week was a busy few days for my mail carrier. Every day (Sunday and holiday excluded) he brought me nearly a handful of solicitations for credit cards and personal loans. Here’s what I think happened. The week before I had made a fairly large purchase and was offered a same as cash for a year deal if I opened an account with that store. I could have paid cash but I more likely would have used a credit card and stretched it out over a few months anyway, so why not use their money and save the interest. Now I think that turned on some switch and all the algorithms got together and said “Hey! We got a live one over here! Let’s get him now while he’s in a spending mood!” For as much as I detest spam email and unwanted phone solicitations, regular old junk mail doesn’t bother me. For one thing, it gives the post office some income, and I’m going to recycle it so it’s not like that paper is wasted. But what is annoying me are all the envelops that come with the little windows and you can see “to the order of” and then your name through them, yet when you open it and unfold the letter it tells you “This is NOT a check.” Well then, stop telling it to do something to my order, like I don’t know, maybe pay. Sounds like a clear-cut case of liar, liar pants on fire to me!

This reminds me of something you may not know about your letter carrier. The National Association of Letter Carriers sponsors a program to keep an eye on older Americans through the USPS Carrier Alert Program. The carrier places a placard in the mailbox to alert all carriers to watch for signs of distress such as accumulating mail. If they notice anything unusual they will try to connect with the resident or notify local social service agencies of their concern. Interested parties can inquire if the program is available in their area by asking at or calling the local post office.

Did you see in the news last week that Nany Pelosi is planning on running for office again. She’s 84! Did you see in the news last week that Mitch McConnel hosted another episode of the Twilight Zone. He’s 81. Let’s not even talk about the guys who want to be President. Don’t these people ever retire. Have they no hobbies to occupy their remaining minds, no friends to meet at McDonalds for coffee? And it’s not just the politicians. Harrison Form is out exploring at 81! Eric Clapton just began a new world tour at 78! The Rolling Stones just released a new studio album. The band is 61 years old. Mick Jagger started with the band when he was 19 and he is still performing. I’ll do the math for you. (Hmm, I have a calculator somewhere nearby.) Let’s see… 61+19 = EIGHTY FREAKING YEARS OLD! Maybe he’d like to run for Senate over here. We could use some young blood. I’m 67 and I’ve been retired for 5 years. Sort of. I admit I still work a day or two a week, but my pension is being handled by the firm of Dewey, Cheatham & Howe and to be honest, I like eating. I’ll like eating at 81 too. But I’ll want a few days off to enjoy dinner for gosh sakes!

Speaking of old people, I saw an article from NBC News stating seniors were the victims of internet scams in 2022 to the tune of $3.1 billion dollars. That’s almost the net worth of the average US Senator. Somebody please tell me the collective members of both houses of Congress are actually doing something besides trying to get re-elected. Yeah. I didn’t think so either.

My daughter has a dog. He’s a cute dog. Around here people are so used to seeing him that not many IMG_7850people make a fuss over him. He was recently on vacation (just him, but the humans went along to carry his food and toys), and when they returned she told me everybody was fussing over him and he just ate up all the extra attention. He’s cute and all that, but to be the center of attention for a week in places where people generally went to soak up sights, see magnificent architecture, swim in the ocean – that’s where he was high point of perfect strangers’ days. And I get it. It’s his coloring. If you put a gold car in the middle of a show room of black and gray cars, they could be BMWs and Mercedes and people will still be drawn to the different one, the gold one, even if it is a 40 year old Pinto.

Okay, my brain feels lighter now. Thank you for your help!

There is no reason the world must be black or white. We come up with some good reasons to embrace the many shades of gray in life and take the first step in creating a more colorful world in the most recent Uplift! Take a look!!

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A day of laboring

Michael 14 Comments

Given that today is a day from labor for laborers in observance of Labor Day, I thought I too would take off even though my labors hardly qualify as labor, and labor to reduce the clutter that so laboriously filled my brain since I last labored to lessen the load.

Did you know you are not the only potential victim of identity theft? That’s you as the general, plural you not the specific, singular you that you are as you read this. Yes, it’s true. Your car may be a potential victim of identity theft. I recently read about the increasingly prevalent crime of falsifying VIN plates, metal stamping, and ownership papers for antique and collector cars. Because I own a classic vehicle, I read that article with more than just an academic interest. I probably did not need to do that because I’ve owned my classic since the days it was just another old car, so I am more than fairly certain that what it’s in my garage is what the title and tags claim it to be, but there is a growing business among criminals to falsify records and sheet metal to make just some old car seem to be more than it is. Why you ask? Because the collectible car market is a huge business. The classic car specialty insurance company, Hagerty, estimates there are 45 million classic vehicles registered just in the United States valued at over $1 trillion. Auction sales for 2022 were nearly $3.5 billion dollars. When a single fraudulent transaction can net a bad guy a seven figure take, they are willing to spend a few thousand of those $$ to pull it off.

Here’s another did you know. Did you know that 8 of the 10 drugs Medicare care can begin negotiating lower prices for are also 8 of the most advertised prescription drugs in the US? Actually in anywhere because the United States is one of only 2 countries in the entire world to allow direct to consumer prescription drug advertising, and they do it to the tune of over $6.5 billion dollars. (That’s almost twice what Americans spent on classic cars last year and they don’t need somebody’s permission to buy them. Except perhaps a wife’s or husband’s.) Why would drug makers spend that much money advertising something to people that the people can’t just walk into the store and buy? Because American people are stupid. (And I say that lovingly.) Only in America can somebody watch a commercial for a diabetes medication then rush to the doctor and ask to have it prescribed for them, demand to have it prescribed for them, even if they don’t have diabetes. You say that’s crazy. It is but it’s also true. I know. Trust me, I know. According to a March 2023 release by the USC Schaeffer Center for Health Policy & Economics, “As much as a third of drug expenditure increases can be linked to the prevalence of drug ads.” Johns Hopkins Bloomberg School of Public Health reported in February 2023 that while direct to consumer advertising is associated with increased patient requests for advertised drugs and the increased chance that clinicians will prescribe them, most of those drugs are rated as having low added benefit compared to other drugs. As someone who has spent over 45 years working with drugs and the people who prescribe them, I say to America (or to the small part of it reading this blog), we know what we’re doing. Please let us do it.

Finally, I’m always harping on losers and big men with small manhoods who “forgot” they had a loaded firearm with 2 extra fully loaded clips, let’s give them a break although they hardly deserve one. Because it’s a holiday and even losers and big men with small manhoods deserve a day off, let’s check in with the TSA and see what the most commonly confiscated items at airport security check points are. The most often removed items from carry-on baggage screened at airport check points are liquids, and the most often of the most often are plain old water, shampoos, sun-block, and peanut butter (yes, per TSA rules, peanut butter is a liquid (and is also the most common hiding medium for firearms but we aren’t talking about those things that losers and big men with small manhoods “forget” in their carry-ons). After liquids come, those things that losers and big men with small manhoods try to sneak by with by claiming they forget about them, then knives and other weapons, drugs, multi-tools, and screwdrivers. What are some of the more unusual things picked up by the TSA screeners? How about a boa constrictor, a pair of ceremonial scissors used in a ribbon cutting ceremony, canon balls, a chain saw, frying pans, and a taser built into a lipstick tube. (I wonder if that was a big woman with a small… nah.)

That’s it for today. I’m going to make sure the garage door is closed and my VIN tag is still attached to the car. Happy holiday!

Words alone are not an effective means of communication but when that’s all you have you better use them wisely, and that’s why we say to say what you mean what you say what you mean in the latest Uplift! Go on and read it. It only takes 3 minutes.

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words matter

Michael 5 Comments

This week I was proof-reading the post that will be published this Wednesday, August 30 on Uplift! the ROAMcare blog. It’s about saying what you mean, meaning what you say, the joy you feel when you can, and the consequences when you don’t. As I started writing the first draft for this post, I had no inkling the two would intertwine. This post, like the previous two posts to this blog, was to be about words, though not necessarily the saying and meaning of them. In between the reading and the writing of these two blog posts, I was also reading some local news. There was an incident here in town involving a man barricaded in a house, and suddenly, I found an overlap.

  • The barricaded gentleman was the target of an order of eviction. Rather than accepting the paperwork, he fired on the sheriff deputies attempting to serve the order. And that began a 6+ hour standoff during which thousands of rounds of ammunition were fired. The county Sheriff reported that the suspect was pronounced dead at the scene. What does that have to do with words? One moment please. I did some further investigating. 
  • Checking the sports pages, a local college football booster donates $20 million to the college athletic department to enhance the school’s football program. The same donor previously founded a collective of like minded donors to set money aside for Name Image and Likeness payments for the school’s athletes. I know, one more time. What’s that have to do with words? Please hold.
  • A local Home Depot was reported to have been the victim of theft. “Thousands of dollars worth of equipment was stolen from a local Home Depot, police say,” the report begins, then it continues, “State troopers say two men and a woman were responsible for the thefts. Two microwaves, a stove, a gas grill and a John Deere riding mower were all stolen from the store.” The report goes on. “The thieves are also believed to have taken drinks. Overall, the stolen goods were worth $4,697.60.” One of these words is not like the other. Don’t go away. We’ll be right back. 
  • And an oldie but a goodie. Earlier this month a man was stopped by TSA agents at the local airport with a fully loaded 9mm handgun and 2 additional loaded magazines for a total of 22 rounds of ammunition. He forgot. Two words. Yeah, right.

Let’s look at the words used. 

Working backwards, yeah, right. Come on guy, just say you don’t trust women to recognize you’re happy to see them so you keep a gun in your pocket.

The report of the theft at the outsized home center knew exactly, what was stolen, the value of what was stolen, and who stole it, yet they aren’t quite sure about those couple drinks that are missing. Was the reporter on a word count and needed those eight words to satisfy the editor’s line budget?

Enhancements to the athletic department that also references the the NCAA NIL policy. Sounds like a personnel budget to me.

And the one that started me down this rabbit hole. One person inside a building. Thousands of shots from inside the building. And with all deference to the presumption of innocence, “the suspect?”

Isn’t it time we start saying what we mean?

Now, other than the common theory of say what you mean, mean what you say, this is nothing like the ROAMcare post will read. If you want to know how post that comes out, be one of the ones to read it as soon as that post comes out. You can subscribe to Uplift! here.

Speaking of words, the words “good enough” don’t conjure thoughts of expert performance, but is good enough ever good enough? We explore times when it might, and when it definitely isn’t, in the most recent Uplift! The approximate reading time is just 3 minutes

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Hack no

Michael 13 Comments

After last week’s mini diatribe (would that be a monotribe?) I started thinking about word usage more than usual. As one who writes and speaks, words are my tools, and usage has to be precise if I expect to be understood. I decided if I could bump off any word, have it struck from all dictionaries, pulled from thesauri, and eliminated from internet searches, the one that stands out more than any other as offensive to my ears, more so than even the inappropriate use of weaponize, practicability, and disenfranchisement that will escalate over the next 15 months, that one word would be “hack” when used as a tip, hint, or suggestion. (A word I’d like you to consider not considering is “run-on” as in sentence.)

The word hack comes to us from Middle English, hakeney, a horse used for riding. It has been in common use as hackney, a horse of small stature appropriate for riding or pulling a small carriage (versus one used for plowing or pulling wagons) since the 1600s, perhaps earlier. Hack, the obviously shortened version, it along with its adjectival form hackneyed, almost immediately took on more sinister uses.

The hackney pulled carriages became a favorite for rides for hire throughout London, the horse and carriage combination commonly called a hack (which is why we still call taxis, cars for hire, hacks), and anything or anyone offering himself or his property out for hire, also was considered a hack. At this same time, the hackney pulled carriages became so prolific, hackneyed was coined to describe anything commonplace.

Hack continued to grace the pages of English dictionaries as a carriage or vehicle for hire or, in a pejorative way, one of common upbringing, skills, or expectations, and it continued without much controversy as such until Americans got involved. Through the early twentieth century, hacks here were also cabs and commoners but we expanded hack to refer to one who did the bare minimum to earn his pay in almost any field, whether a hack writer or a hack surgeon. And then, just about mid-century, something weird happened. Hack took its turn as a verb in American verbiage, as in, “That’s too much for me, I just can’t hack it anymore.” And that may (MAY) be its entry into computerese.

Mid-century computer programming was a long, difficult, and often trial and error experience. Those who were successful at programming proudly claimed they could hack it. And hack, hacker, and hacking became positive references to those proficient with the inner workings of computers and programming languages. About the time Matthew Broderick was changing grades for him and his high school sweetie, hacking with reference to computers, regained its negative connotation.

None of this explains why today, hack is synonymous with a handy dandy household hint. Etymologically there is no connection. Yet today there will be no less than 48 billion headlines in cyberspace addressing life hacks, kitchen hacks, productivity hacks, dating hacks, health and beauty hacks, and probably hacking hacks. Perhaps 48 billion is a tad hyperbolic. I’ll check for a writing hack on how to get large numbers across in dramatic fashion.

Perhaps it is as one Quorum user suggests, “It sounds edgier. “Tips” are merely interesting and useful. “Hacks” sounds as though you’ve been devious and insightful, perhaps even forbidden. “Hacker” used to be somebody with exceptional skill at computers. “Hacking in” to a computer system was something that required a lot of knowledge and cleverness. “Hacks” carries some of that sense of astuteness, along with some of that sense of having inside information that others don’t have. So it makes people feel important.” He goes on to say, “To me they just sound like a…” but I’ll stop there. This is a family blog. I’d had to get hacked and have my posting privileges revoked.

Etymologically, bias is assuming something. Cognitive biases, nobody listening or discussing, assumes outcomes based on past behavior and can have significant consequences. In the most recent Uplift!, we discuss how with respectful communication we can live, work, and play well together. Take 4 minutes to read it and see if you agree.

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No more word smithing

Michael 7 Comments

I was building discussion points for a project in another part of my life and I got stuck for a word. I needed something to describe what someone who originates an idea does – or did. I thought “introduce” didn’t capture the work involved, “create” sounded too supernatural, “instigate” seemed somehow sinister, and “initiate” was much too formal. Well that exhausted the listings in my mental thesaurus. Time to dig up Mr. Roget’s best seller and see if I could find just the right set of letters to satisfy my word quest. I was actually out of the chair when I slapped myself in the forehead, fortunately not wearing a heavy ring, when I sat back down, keyed in o-r-i-g-i-n-a-t-e, hovered, and right-clicked on it.

  • Create (already eliminated that one)
  • Invent (no, not the feeling I’m after)
  • Initiate (again, I thought of that one without anybody’s help)
  • Instigate (still sounds sinister)
  • Make (dull)
  • Devise (wouldn’t have thought of that in a million years but that’s ok because I don’t like it anyway)
  • Patent (I’d argue that’s the same as originate but that’s just me)
  • Coin (ooh, good word – not the right word but a good one)
  • Begin (blah)
  • Derive (again, I argue that derive and originate are not synonymous)
  • [ ] (notice, they didn’t even come up with “introduce” like I did, not that it mattered)

In the end, or actually middle given that I’m still working on the project, I went with “originate” knowing I’ll never be completely satisfied that I did my best at creating an original set of discussion points. (See what I did there? Hmm?)

Although my mini-search hadn’t satisfied my curiosity for an appropriate substitute for “originate,” it raised my curiosity about words. I seem to end up with three of four posts about words and language each year. That’s a lot of words! I’ve gone back and forth to suggesting we need more words to we have too many words to we need better words. I know we need still need better words and I offer my ambivalence toward “originate” for proof. I’m not so sure we need more words, yet we keep inventing them. In one of those posts up yonder (or should I say heretofore mentioned), I wrote, “The English language is said to have close to a million words in it. I’m not sure who counted that but the most complete, or as they would put it unabridged dictionary of the English language, the Oxford English Dictionary, has about 620,000 words. But language doesn’t equal vocabulary. And vocabulary doesn’t equal language. The average educated English speaking person knows around 20,000 words and uses but about 2,000 words in a week.”

That was in 2017. Now things are even more confusing. The OED still contains over 620,000 listings, listings not words, many are duplicates because we use the same word for different uses. (See that. I did it again.) It lists (yep, again) 171,000 different words. But now those same sources say the average American English speaking person knows about 40,000 words. How did we double our word count in six years? For comparison, Classic Latin is composed of (comprised of?) 39,500 words.

There’s something not right here. I’m just not sure exactly how to express it.

Looking for your own perfect word? Practice your vocabulary. They say practice makes perfect, no? No! If no one can be perfect, why practice? Practice has to make something. What practice makes is a more positive you! Our most recent Uplift! digs into how that can be.

Go take a look for yourself. You can be there and back in about 3 minutes.

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