Bumping It Up

Just because of who I am, I tend to confront problems by seeing what has to be done, putting my head down, and just getting on with it. It's probably the residual British in me--just get on with it and don't make a fuss, as my mum used to say.

I used to believe this grim sense of determination was how I made my way through a doctoral program while teaching full time and keeping up my end of family life. I just kept plodding until I was there. The race, in this case, nopt going to the swift, who may have won the initial prizes, but to the steady and persistent.

From the vantage point now of an approaching birthday, however, things seem more complex and in some ways more poignant. I find myself asking sbout human motivation and how the impact of a single life is to measured.

When I was in the president's office at the University of Hawaii, one of the regents told me to advise my workaholic boss to take more care of himself. "Institutions have no memory and no gratitude," he told me. Many people would agree with him, and it's almsot a truism to repeat the observation that no one on their deathbed wishes they had spent more time at work. Yet I'm not at all sure that my boss would or could have agreed with him.

The reasons why people behave as they do are myriad and complex, which makes me wonder whether the behavioral research really has the universal application with which it is presented to us. I'm not sure my boss would have been happy kicking back at that time of his life. He was in a drive to succeed mode, building a university legacy. He needed to accomplish great things (which he did) and he had the family and staff around him to support him. Whether the university remembered what he did was immaterial. He had an intrinsic drive to achieve that he measured by his own standards. In other words, he was in control empowered by what he needed to do at that time in his life.

It seems to me that we have constantly shifting needs and reward structures throughout our lives. Those who later regret their efforts at work might have confused their need for respect with the trappings of their career. As King Lear was to find out, "a dog's obeyed in office." Once they left the job, there was no basis for their public authority. But that doesn't mean what they did in their career was unimportant; it just means that the validation of their career did not last for a lifetime and they are stuck in a rut.

It reminds me of the old public relations mantra that when faced with a media blowup (frequent in a university president's office), a good response was to "bump it up a level." For example, when faced with a protest march on the president's residence, talk to the media about freedom of speech. Politicians do this all the time, except they also manage to drop in something about this being a great country.

Bumping it up is probably a good idea when it comes to human motivation. The most profitable question is not necessarily "Am I identifying too much with my work?" but "How is the work I do at this moment and the way I do it an important part of my progress as a human being?" Not "How important am I?" but "How important is this experience in my life?"

For some reason, I must have needed to plod my way to that advanced degree, possibly involving some element of competition. It must have fulfilled an intrinsic need because once I had earned the doctorate, only my assistant ever used doctor in front of my name. Whatever part of me was stirred by earning the degree apparently had been satisfied by completing it.

As I read him, John Milton was dealing with the need for self-examination and self-validation when he talked about the need to test our "virtues": "I cannot praise a fugitive and cloistered virtue, unexercised and unbreathed, that never sallies out and sees her adversary, but slinks out of the race where that immortal garland is to be run for, not without dust and heat."

Perhaps that's what we are all here for: to place ourselves out there in the race for the immoratal garland, whatever that may be for us.

When the Cuckoo Says Cuckoo

Back in the days when Switzerland had the monopoly on cuckoo clocks, my mother brought back two from a stay in Geneva. Hers was a bit over the top. It had a musical box, which played “Never on Sunday” on the hour and had a set of gaily painted dancing figures that came out with the cuckoo. When I inherited it, my son became famous for hiding the pinecone weight from the chain that controlled the music box. Couldn’t blame him since the clock was on the wall not far from his room.

Mine was more traditional. It had the stag’s head and rack, with carved game down the side of the box, all in a shade of dark brown. It did not have dancing figures, but it did have a full-voiced cuckoo. The bird’s voice was ambiguous, however. It didn’t really sound like the bird—more a two syllable bark that could be interpreted in a number of ways. In fact, it took an act of will to make out “cuckoo.”

Of late, I’ve been involuntarily hearing the bird pronounce the word “trouble.” I suppose it must mean I’m in a rather discouraged mood. We’ve been getting the house ready for sale and discovering that we need to correct things that were never right to begin with—like not done properly by the original builders. There was supposed to be a fixed ladder in the window well, for example. The crawlspace was supposed to have insulation installed. I am left to wonder how these things—now corrected—got by the original inspection. But then, considering that a gas stove had been installed in the house without a required safety vent (that was spotted by my house inspector), I’m surprised that the previous owners didn’t gas themselves. Probably didn’t cook much, I guess.

It doesn’t take much for a latent personal cynicism to creep into my thoughts these days. The announcement by Tom Tancredo is a case in point. I’d previously thought of him as a one-issue person (illegal immigration) until I read the platform of the party he has now joined. My heavens: talk about trying to recreate the past—turn back the voting rights act, repeal the endangered species act, remove protection for women seeking abortions, eliminate the IRS (well, I might be tempted on that one) and the Food and Drug Administration (untested food and drugs anyone?), and that's just to name a few.

I find it hard to believe anyone really wants all that—it strikes me more as a type of protest against what the world is becoming. It reminds me of what I had Bill, one of the characters in my novel “The Way to Dusky Death,” say meditatively: “This isn’t the world I grew up in, and I don’t like it.” The world Bill hungers for is predictable because it is familiar. I suppose that is what lies behind the Tea Party movement as well. The world is changing too quickly and the nation is evolving into something very unfamiliar.

Even given the fact that most of us feel displaced in one way or another—I shudder to think what will happen if those who look backwards get back into power. Admittedly, my house is one small example—but if these flaws got past the original inspectors, what would have happened without any inspection at all? Contractors cut corners for profit—that’s well known. Without the threat of inspection, I imagine they would have cut many more. My house might not even be standing. Yes, I’m pretty cynical and I’d send a house inspector through even a new house.

Actually, right now I’m trying not to think about things I can’t do anything about. I need a rest from the panic our media promote. Trouble is, people want to feel panicked about something, in this case, the future.

The nonsense over Obama’s birth certificate is cuckoo (sorry, couldn’t resist) and anyone reasonable would have laid it to rest long ago. The reason it continues is because the birthers don’t like Obama—he’s the minority future and it’s not familiar. Doubting his birth certificate is an insult to Hawaii (where I am from) because the state has repeatedly said the certificate is genuine, and it was reported in the Honolulu newspapers (as was my marriage—that’s how Hawaii does things) and to have fabricated the birth certificate would have meant changing the newspaper archives, where it has been found). Sorry, birthers, you have to get beyond forging an African birth certificate and address the real reasons you hate him.

One of these days, I hope all this craziness will be done. I suppose it can’t happen until people feel more secure and hence more rational. Until then, I’ll try to hear the word “cuckoo” whenever the bird comes out.

Lockerbie and Oil

The news from the gulf is mixed. On the plus side, maybe they've got some of the oil capped. No one is allowing themselves to be too optimistic, but anything that stops the oil flow is a good thing.

On the negative side is BP's possible role in the release of the Lockerbie bomber.
It seems (see how careful I am being) that BP lobbied the UK government for the release to facilitate an oil deal with Libya. Now, I know that politics make for strange bedfellows, but this particular deal (and BP isn't exactly denying it while also not quite admitting it)has a very unpleasant odor--think the stench of dead wildlife along the Gulf.

I suppose in some way I'm not surprised. Corporations, as I have said before numerous times in this blog, have no souls, memories, or regrets (except for being caught). In this respect, corporations are sociopathic or psychopathic (depending on whom you ask)--if one can apply the same standards as one does for human beings. something the Supreme Court recently ruled is appropriate. If corporations have protected free speech, I guess they can also have mental diseases as well.

Until lately, my UK cousins used to chide me about US corporations and how money grubbing and unethical they appear to be. While I'm certainly not happy about the spill--or the role of arch-corner-cutter Halliburton--I'm grimly smug that this was a UK corporation. Corporations are corporations the world over and once they get big enough to affect national politics, they seem to morph into something extraterrestrial where they think their self-interest should be the dominant political reality of wherever they happen to be based. Piss us off too badly, they say, and we will move off shore and then good luck getting your tax base and kiss goodbye to all those jobs we provide.

That the UK released the bomber in return for an oil contract is crass. This is not honorable national policy and I think honor is still, or at least used to be, part of the British heritage. The US might do that sort of thing (although it would have been political suicide given that many US citizens were among those littered around the Scottish countryside)but that the UK government did it convinces me that the land of my birth is no longer what I remember. I suppose my cousins will now claim that the UK sold out to US capitalism. Hell, the US sold out to US capitalism, but so did anyone who ever tried to make money on the stock market. And don't get me started on banks.

We used to say in the president's office that two things were capable of bringing down a university presidency in very short order. One was athletics and the other fraternities. Given what is happening these days, I'm starting to think that corporations are what can bring down a national presidency. All of this wouldn't be so frightening if a large portion of the country hadn't allowed itself to be distracted by specious arguments; there's a reason why the conservative right is leading the charge against financial regulation--they are doing the bidding of their corporate masters without even realizing it. The release of the Lockerbie bomber merely brings the relationship between the corporate world and a national government out into the open. Anyone who thinks this is an isolated instance is just fooling themselves.

It's Not the Economy After All

These days, we're accustomed to media polls telling us that the primary focus of our lives is the economy. Day after day we are bombarded with information on job creation and the number of jobless claims to the point that we might--or I at least--might assume there is some objective thought being dedicated to understanding how the economy came to be what it is and which approaches show more promise for the future.

Judging from the same media reporting on joblessness, such an assumption would be wrong. Ten percent or so unemployment is a sobering number when put into perspective of the 20 million unable to find jobs. But turned around, that same statistic means that ninety percent do have jobs--whether they like them or not is another matter--and that ninety percent probably doesn't much care about the others. In fact, the ninety percent have proved themselves much more interested in the political/culture wars than in the economy.

Colorado Springs is a case in point. The Springs is a bastion of conservative thought. Focus on the Family is located there, along with myriad retired military whose prescriptive outlook had led to one letter to editor writer describing the residents as misers and scolds. The Springs is also home to various initiatives to cut government spending that have now constrained city government to the point where parks are now closing, street lights are being turned off, and fire and police services curtailed. Rather than being disturbed by the potential impact, wealthier Springs residents have solved the problem by adopting their local park as well as a personal, residential streetlight which they are paying for to be turned on. This, of course, means that the poorer neighborhoods will remain dark and without places for children to play.

This economic survival of the fittest is nothing new. There has always been a streak of moralistic judgment among the conservatives. In its simplest form it goes like this: there is a self-evident tautology: people must be poor because they are lazy; if they were not lazy, they would not be poor. In order to prove this point, Colorado Springs is perfectly willing to deny services to the poor, even if it means decreased fire and police protection for everyone. It would seem the residents of the Springs are willing to see their houses burn down in order to prove they are right.

Being proved right, in fact, is the prime motivation of much political discourse these days. It's much more important than the economy. Conservatives in particular--although they are not the only ones--are willing to distort and deliberately misconstrue facts that do not conform with their preconceived political positions. These positions have most likely been inculcated since childhood, and by adulthood have solidified into a stonework that is oblivious to any type of reason. Unfortunately, these cemented opinions are vulnerable to anyone wishing to manipulate them. In its worst form, people holding these opinions hear only what confirms their own ways of thinking. No growth is ever possible among these people, yet they do not see themselves as the victims of absolute thinking that they are. In fact, they see their mission as making sure they pass on their ways to their children.

Perhaps something positive may come from the experience of the Springs. Perhaps some people may even think for a moment about the lunacy of indiscriminately squeezing government spending. I for one hold out little hope. These same people are agitating to put back into power the same failed economic theories that started with Reagan and have proved again and again that they do not work. The sad thing is that the fact they didn't work is not the issue--the issue is proving who is right.

Moving

I remember reading somewhere that a fire is as good as a three moves. At the time I thought that draconian—after all, who could possibly want to lose all one’s possessions, not to mention a house, in a set of indiscriminate flames? After weeks of packing in preparation for putting the house on the market, I have a better appreciation of the sentiment.

Packing is extreme weightlifting for the soul. It’s not just the physical part of finding, packing, and storing boxes that’s the challenge, but the intellectual and emotional workout of deciding just how much of the past is indispensable, how much of the present is worth keeping, and how much the future might have need of anything from the other two.

Of the three, parting with the past is the most fraught because of the emotional baggage that attaches to every little souvenir or memento, particularly if it belonged to departed family members. Getting rid of Mum’s thimble and salt and pepper shaker collection, for example, became akin to rejecting her. She wouldn’t have had any trouble saying 'Oh for heavens sakes get rid of it' if something was worn out, but I struggled with letting go of anything. Once or twice I dumped something and then went and took it back from the trash.

I guess it’s just me. When Mum’s things were delivered to me after her death, I found she’d thrown out my brother’s Hornby train set, something I was never allowed to play with and would have liked to have. Apparently, she didn't have any trouble parting with it where I would have agonized. I was upset because getting rid of his things felt as if she’d shut me out of his brief life yet again. I used my perturbed feelings to finally put the thimbles and salt and pepper sets out for Goodwill, so I guess downsizing can also be a way of settling old scores. I still have plenty of her things, you understand, but my final criteria became keeping the things with happy, mutual memories. It was hard, but I did manage to get beyond keeping things just because they were hers.

Almost as challenging is parting with the present because the memorabilia is connected to lives as they have been lived: family, education, hobbies, marriage, children, career, friendships and everything else. It devolves into “What won’t be missed?” Well—as it turns out--it depends. For us it became three questions: “Is it replaceable? Does it have value?” but most important “Are we willing to pack this and pay for it to be shipped across the country?”

Under this rubric, every object had to prove its own worthiness, even art projects left over from the children’s school years. Of course, certain things had defenders and many times Sid said “It doesn’t eat much,” meaning that it’s something small enough, easy enough to transport, and—dammit he wants it—to slide into some packing box somewhere. In my experience, this part of moving generated the most discussions. We had an ongoing one over a TV table with sixties pointed legs that Sid had had for twenty-five years; our compromise was that it went as long as he was prepared to make the case he would use it in his workshop. Parting with a shabby kitchen storage unit became easier when it was presented as either this or that (that being a favorite kitchen table with a cutting board top).

Which brings me to packing for the future. This part requires clairvoyance. “What kind of life are we going to lead where we are going?” This begs the further questions of who are we? and what are we becoming? The danger here is to assume that moving automatically means we change as people. Probably not. For a time the skiing equipment was in danger, but cooler heads prevailed since we liked the idea of having it regardless of whether we used it as much as we have in Colorado. On the other hand, given my years, I think I can predict safely that I will not be using my ice skates again—white, size 10 ladies, hardly used, anyone need them?) Sid has finally parted with his technical climbing gear in recognition that he and I will probably lowland hike rather than try charging up fourteeners. Similarly, I got rid of a lot of baking pans—cake decorating is not in my future—and a bunch of cookbooks—who am I kidding about how much I plan to entertain?

Yep, moving is fraught. But the difference between it and a fire is vital. I get to choose what we keep. A fire makes the decision without any knowledge of me or what I value. So I’ll take the packing boxes any day although they’ll have to carry me out of wherever we move to—I’m not doing this again anytime soon.