osama bin laden is dead

From the comments section on a CNN report of Osama bin Laden's death: It wasn't him. We need to see a picture. Obama interrupted Celebrity Apprentice on purpose to make Trump mad. Obama is making the whole story up to try to get re-elected. Obama had nothing to do with this victory. It's suspicious that they 'buried' him so quickly. Obama is taking credit for what the military did. We want a DNA test result. Etc. Soon, Trump (or Palin or Bachman) will be suggesting a conspiracy theory - or simply an anti-Obama message - that will echo some or all of these ideas.

I never cease to be amazed at some people's need to demonize or minimize our sitting president. It seems that there is nothing he can do that is right. Often, these are the same people who suggested that criticism of Dubyah was 'unpatriotic' because we were at war and we should all support our president when we are at war. Right. Now, it's patriotic to disagree with the sitting president because we are in America, where we can freely disagree!!!

I'm glad that Osama bin Laden is dead and buried. I'm proud that President Obama gave the order to take him out. I'm proud of the Navy Seals who pulled off this mission, and the many service men and women who put their lives on the line every single day. I'm proud to be an American!!!

the nesting dolls

The oddest items, events or scents can trigger powerful memories of my childhood in Nishinomiya, Japan. The family was home on furlough when I was born in 1958 and we returned to Japan in 1959 when I was about ten months old. I'm told that I learned to walk on board the ship as it crossed the ocean. Maybe that's why I don't get seasick?

Sometimes it is as simple as hearing the Japanese language spoken. Hearing it makes me smile. I spoke fluent Japanese as a small child. My English, however, was atrocious. That created problems when we returned to the States - more about that later.

Today, the trigger for memories of Japan were some kokeshi (Japanese wooden dolls). I came across them as I unpacked one of the last boxes I brought to Pennsylvania in late July. These kokeshi were painted red and green, one nesting doll set was boys, the other was girls. The Japanese celebrate Boy's Day, which is coming up on May 5th, and Girl's Day, which just passed on March 3rd. There are many, many boy/girl doll sets in Japan.

The dolls I came across this morning were nesting dolls, which means if you opened one up, a smaller doll was inside. As I handled them, the old paint flaked off just a bit. This flaking of paint made me feel very tender inside. I immediately had the thought that my own paint was starting to flake a bit too.

Sometimes I wonder how much of my personality was shaped by those early years in Japan. Yamada-san was an older Japanese lady who lived in a small house attached to our slightly larger house. Her adult daughter and grandson lived there with her. Yamada-san took care of me, her grandson and my sister. All three of us were born within the same 10 month period, so it was like having triplets, I'm sure. How did she do it? She fed us Japanese food. To this day, the scent of soy sauce or the taste of ginger brings a warm, satisfied feeling to my soul. She must have loved us very much.

I put the dolls on the secretary where I could see them every day. They'll make me smile, I know, each time they catch my eye.

ready for spring!

The heat didn't kick on during the night and I felt no need to bump up the thermostat when I woke up this morning. Could this be a sign of impending spring-like activities? Punxsutawney Phil did say that we can expect an early spring. Oh, I hope that is true!!!

snow delay

This morning, I got up at about 4:15 a.m. so I could begin the process of determining whether I should close my campus for the day, have a delayed start or just open as usual. I have employees and students who must be at the campus by 7:00 a.m., so I try to make the decision no later than 5:15 a.m. This gives me time to record a message on our Inclement Weather Hotline and contact the local television and radio stations. Getting that done early allows the commuters to avoid driving to the campus, then turning around and driving home.

Here is my process:

Step One: Turn on the television and check the three major networks and the weather channel to hear the weather reports and see if there are any school closing reports. This morning, the news reports indicated that all public schools were delayed and that main roads were pretty clear, but the secondary roads were still dangerous. I knew right away that we would open, so now the decision would be whether to have a delayed start or not.

Step Two: If possible, get in my car and drive to the main road, which is about a half mile away from my apartment building. This morning, the snowplow had not gotten to my section of the complex. But I could hear the scraping noise of the plow, so I walked around the side of the building and watched as the plow made a long, slow first pass in front of the long building next to mine. It was quite a sight. There was a beautiful spray of snow that flew up through the air on either side of the machine, so it looked like it was snowing again. He actually stopped the machine when he was close to me and got out to make some kind of adjustment. I waved to him and he came over. I asked him when he thought I might be able to drive up and look at the highway. He said he would clear a path for me next. I wanted to ask if I could ride in or drive the snowplow, but I instantly had a fantasy photo montage in my head of me driving the snowplow over a row of cars and into the Schuylkill River. Maybe not.

Step Three: Back inside, I climbed the stairs to my loft where my office is. I started up the computer and checked myfoxphilly.com to see what all of the other private colleges were doing. This morning, all that were listed were announcing delays, most until 10 a.m. The University of Phoenix was actually announcing an 11 a.m. start.

Step Four: Compose message for Inclement Weather Hotline. I always type this on my computer and read it into the phone when I call to record the message. That way, it will sound smooth and I will only have to record it once. But I don't record it yet. I want to consult with colleagues first.

Step Five: Text my counterpart at my sister school in Cherry Hill, New Jersey. We like to compare notes and we typically take the same action. This morning, she was having an in-service, which meant a later start with no students in the building. I was on my own this time.

Step Six: Drive up to the highway. I just like to look at Highway 422 to see how the road looks and to see how many cars are out there on the roads. This morning, 422 looked pretty good. The plows were still clearing, but cars were beginning to get through.

Step Seven: Check myfoxphilly.com again. This time, more schools had posted delays. I made the decision to go ahead with the delay.

Step Eight: Text my supervisor with my decision. This gives him an opportunity to weigh in on my decision. This morning I waited a while, but did not hear from my supervisor. It was getting close to 5:30 a.m., so I went ahead with the delay.

Step Nine: Call Fox news and go through the automated process to announce our delay. Usually this takes a while because everyone is calling in at once. I usually get a busy signal the first 3-5 times I call. This morning it was more like 7 times! But I finally got through.

Step Ten: Call our own Inclement Weather Hotline and record a message. This morning, I changed my message slightly because our students got a little confused last time.

Step Eleven: Call all managers, just as a courtesy. This is not strictly necessary, since we have the Hotline, but I like to do it just to make sure. Some of them like to call their employees, so I call them to let them know.

At this point, it is about 5:45 a.m., sometimes closer to 6 a.m. I am wide awake, so I go downstairs to make breakfast. That first cup of coffee is wonderful after all of this activity.

I have to say that this is a process that I absolutely HATE. I would love to abdicate the decision to someone else, but that really isn't an option. It is really impossible to make everyone happy. A closure or delay makes some people happy and other people furious. NOT closing or delaying makes some people happy and other people furious. It is simply a no-win situation. And no matter what you decide, multiple people always step up to question your decision and tell you that they would have done something differently. But then, that is the description of all leadership decisions, I suppose! But I will admit that it is very hard to listen to the criticism of any snow day decision! It makes me want to punch people in the nose! I always think that if they knew what I go through that they would just shut up!

All over the country, there are school administrators that are faced with this decision when there is bad weather. I truly sympathize with them, especially public school (K-12) administrators. They get the worst feedback. Like me, they simply can not make everyone happy. But again, it goes with the territory.

But let's end on a beautiful note. Here is a lovely photo of the Schuylkill River in the snow. This is the view from my apartment complex. Isn't it gorgeous? It makes me hate snow just a little less - but not much!!! Stay warm, everyone!

Martin Luther King, Jr. Day

In 1985, I accepted a job as a Human Resource Technician, Sr., at a mental health center in South Georgia. My job was to meet with mental health clients and make an assessment as to how they were doing on their current regimen of medication. There were four of us at the mental health center; a woman who served as the center director, a woman who provided day treatment activities, a woman who performed secretarial duties and me. All three of my co-workers were natives of the small South Georgia town.

On Tuesdays of each week, I conducted intake appointments with brand new clients. Theoretically, we had an M.D. on staff, but in truth we had a retired, hard-of-hearing, elderly doctor (age 91), who really depended on us to diagnose and determine starting dosages of the psychotropic medicines available at that time.

I had a great big Physician’s Desk Reference (PDR) on my desk, along with a Diagnostic and Statistical Manual (DSM). I was given a list of the most common psychotropic drugs and told how to determine starting dosages for the most common mental disorders. I would meet with a client and run through a barrage of questions designed to determine what their problem was. Sometimes I had a little information before I met with them. (“Johnny exposes himself to the grocery clerks at the Piggly Wiggly. He says Jesus tells him to do it.”) Sometimes I didn’t know a thing.

After I had met with the client, I would go to see the doctor. I would present the information I knew, in a very loud voice, along with a suggested diagnosis and a suggested medication and starting dosage. The doctor would say, “That sounds fine”, and then he would sign my case notes in the client’s file and sign the prescription that I had written up.

All of this seemed very reasonable to me. Years later, when I was working on my graduate degree, I realized that I could have killed someone, or that a misdiagnosis or an inadequate dosage could have caused the client to go do something terrible, which could have caused harm to someone or to themselves. But I didn’t think about any of that at the time. I was just following directives given to me by the director. It didn’t occur to me that she might be being stupid herself. She was a LOT older than me and had been working in the mental health field for a long time. She seemed very confident in my abilities and I stupidly allowed her confidence to persuade me that all of this was quite normal.

I was so unconcerned about what I was doing that if I had talked about my 15 months working there any time within the first two years following my departure, I would not even have mentioned the fact that I was diagnosing patients without the benefit of any training beyond a Bachelor of Arts in Social Work. No, what I would have talked about is Martin Luther King, Jr. Day.

You see, the three women I worked with at the mental health center all used the N-word with ease. To them, all African-Americans were called the N-word without hesitation. They weren’t angry or being combative when they used the word. That was just what they called people who were African-American.

My parents raised their children to believe in the equality of the races. They worked very hard to ensure that we understood the importance of race relations and they made sure that they taught us to be keenly aware of racism and the insidious nature of inequality. By the time I was working at this mental health center, I had lived in North Carolina, Japan, Massachusetts and Georgia. I had spent quite a bit of time in Virginia as well. I had seen racism and I had heard people say shocking things and I had seen people do shocking things.

But these three women purported to be professionals in the field of mental health. So I was shocked! I made a critical error when I spoke up about how I felt. I specifically asked that they not use the N-word around me ever again. I said that I was deeply offended and would appreciate their cooperation. But they saw me for the unarmed, inexperienced woman that I was. My request simply incited them to do everything in their power to annoy and offend me.

That brings me to the Martin Luther King Jr. holiday of 1987. My boss told me that although that Monday was a holiday, that they would all three be coming to work and that I needed to be there too because it was a stupid thing to be taking a day off to celebrate the birthday of that n!&&@$. The other two women laughed when my boss said this to me. I summoned up enough courage to say that I would not be in and not to look for me. They harassed me up until the minute I left the office that Friday afternoon. “See you Monday!”, one of them yelled out as I exited the building. I could hear them laughing behind me.

Like I had on so many other days, I went home and cried on my husband’s shoulder. I was five months pregnant with my son and I’m sure my hormones were a wreck, but the situation created enormous stress. I would cry and cry when I got home. Then we would fix dinner, eat, watch TV, and then go to bed. I would wake up during the night and cry some more. This pattern continued for the entire length of my pregnancy.

I didn’t go to work on that Monday. Instead, I attended the MLK Day event at a local university. The speakers focused on perseverance and doing right and God’s expectation that we treat each other with dignity and respect. Sitting in that auditorium, in the midst of men and women who were celebrating justice and good, I felt so empowered and comforted. My battle was such a small one. I knew that I would survive and that things would get better for me.

Things did get better. My healthy son was born three weeks early in April. I used all of my sick leave and all of my vacation time. Then I quit. I was never so happy to leave a job, before or since! Within the next six months, I started a new job at that same local university where I had attended the MLK event. I would be working with high school students, many of whom would go on to be the first in their family to go to college. Those students lifted my heart almost every day. Many are still my friends today.

So, for me, MLK Day is symbolic of embracing the lessons of the past, both small and global, and letting my heart be filled again with the hope that there will be better days ahead. This lesson never ceases to be fresh for me. I need to learn it over and over again! So I thank Martin Luther King, Jr., for teaching that lesson to me. Happy Birthday, Dr. King!

Martin Luther King, Jr.
by Gwendolyn Brooks

A man went forth with gifts.

He was a prose poem.
He was a tragic grace.
He was a warm music.

He tried to heal the vivid volcanoes.
His ashes are
reading the world.

His Dream still wishes to anoint
the barricades of faith and of control.

His word still burns the center of the sun,
above the thousands and the
hundred thousands.

The word was Justice. It was spoken.

So it shall be spoken.
So it shall be done.

western union

So, today I tried to send money to a friend via the online Western Union process. Let me see if I can list some appropriate words that would all fit into a description of my experience:

Debacle
Fiasco
Rip-off
Frustrating
Annoying
Time-consuming
Unsatisfying
Infuriating
Catastrophe
Unfortunate

I could go on.

So, this is what happened:

I went on the Western Union website to see how to send funds to someone. My first step was to set up a profile. When it asked for my phone number, I entered my cell phone number, because that is the number I use for everything.

I then set up the payment, entering my friend's name and the city. Then I entered my bank account information. When I clicked on the button to complete the transaction, I got a new screen that instructed me to call their customer service number.

I called the number provided and spoke with a woman who was very difficult to understand. She was speaking very fast and I don't think English was her native language. I tried to understand what she was telling me. It had to do with my phone number. They needed to call me to verify that I was really me. I told her that we were speaking on the phone that she would need to call me on, so I didn't see how that would verify my identity. She explained, but I couldn't understand. I asked her to slow down and pronounce each word carefully, but she made no change to her speech. Finally, I asked to speak with a supervisor. She put me on hold and I waited. There was no hold music or anything else to confirm that I was on hold. I kept looking at my phone to be sure I was still connected. Then there was a click and when I looked at the phone, I saw I was disconnected.

I called the number again and got a different person. I gave her the transaction number and she looked it up and told me that the transaction had been canceled because my identity could not be identified. I asked her if there was any way to re-activate the transaction. She told me no, that I would have to start over again. I thanked her and hung up.

Back on the website, I entered a new transaction. This time, when I clicked on the button to finalize the transaction, I got an error message. I called customer service again. This time, I got a third agent. I explained what was going on. She indicated that my phone number needed to be a land line that was listed in my name at the address I had indicated for myself in the transaction. I gave her my land line. She asked me to hold. When she came back, she indicated that their third party verifier could not verify my phone number. I asked what that meant. She said either my number was not listed OR the address was different. While still keeping Western Union on the line on my cell phone, I called 411 on my home phone and asked for a listing for myself. Information had no trouble confirming that my name and address matched.

I asked the Western Union agent for a supervisor. The supervisor explained to me that because their third party verifier could not verify my phone number, that they could not allow my transaction to go through. I explained that I had no trouble verifying my phone number by dialing 411 and wondered if he could do the same so we could complete the transaction. He indicated that he could not do this. So, once again, I was told that my transaction would be canceled. We ended the call.

At this point, I decided to go out on my bank's website and just create a check to mail to my friend. I was shocked to find B-O-T-H Western Union transactions posted as debits to my account. The total was just under $1000. I almost fainted. I called the Western Union customer service number and explained my situation. I was told that I would have my money back in 1-2 weeks. I explained that this was totally unacceptable. I asked for a supervisor.

The supervisor indicated that she would call my bank and take care of the issue. While I stayed on the line, she called my bank. She explained to the customer service agent at my bank that the transactions had been canceled and asked him to take the authorizations off my account. My bank's customer service agent said he could not do that at her request. The request needed to come from me (the bank customer). I spoke up and said I was on the line and that I was making the request. My bank's customer service agent indicated that I would need to call back and enter my identifying information, then ask to speak to an agent. The Western Union agent disconnected us from the bank agent.

She dialed the bank again. This time, I entered my SSN. The bank's automated voice began to repeat my SSN back to me and the Western Union agent. I interrupted before the whole number was repeated. I indicated the the Western Union agent that I did not think that this was a very secure way to handle the situation. I told her I would call the bank directly. I ended the call.

I called my bank, got through to an agent and explained the situation. The agent indicated that I could not request that the authorization be removed, that only Western Union could do that. I explained that another agent had indicated the opposite. I asked for a supervisor. I was placed on hold until once again, I was disconnected.

At this point, I have almost $1000 being held from my account and my friend still has no money from me. I decided that I should wait a bit before I call anyone again. I might have a stroke if I allow myself to get any more upset than I am at this moment.

Suffice it to say that I will NEVER use the Western Union online site again and I will tell everyone I know to avoid it like the plague.

invisible and irresistible

About twelve years ago, I made fun of an older colleague because it was clear that she was drawing her eyebrows on her face and I thought it looked ridiculous. The person I was talking to made a funny face, which I now think meant, "just keep on living". This morning, as I was drawing on my own eyebrows, it occurred to me that life truly does teach you everything you need to know. Sometimes life just takes its own sweet time.

Each time I can't find my car in a parking lot, for instance, I remember another colleague who once offered me a ride to my building because it was raining. I accepted and followed her up and down multiple aisles in a parking lot before she remembered that she had parked in the OTHER lot. I finally gave up and ran to my building, getting soaked in the process. I stopped telling that hysterically funny story when I started losing my own car.

I also remember pointing to older, chubbier women and whispering, "shoot me if I ever start to look like that". I'm not sure whether to be thankful for the fact that none of my older friends own guns or that they have simply forgotten my unnecessary, rude comments. Because I look like that. I look just like that.

The year I became permanently invisible to gorgeous young men was a transition that has been difficult to accept. I'm fortunate that the same man who found me irresistible at age 20 still finds me so at age 52. He apparently still thinks I am the same size as well, judging from the items he purchases in size Petite Small. (This is both charmingly sweet and annoying.) But turnaround is fair play, so I still find him irresistible too.

Now I am on the sharp lookout for the next stage of life, so it will not catch me off guard. My brain tells me that it isn't possible to really prepare. Each change will hit me square between the eyes, just like it does everyone else. Heck, aging on Sims3 was a shock! How do you turn that off, anyway? You can't. Just like you can't turn aging off in real life. Just jump in and hold on for dear life!

philly serial killer

The Philadelphia police think there is a serial killer on the loose in the Kensington area of the city. Two bodies have been found so far, and one woman has reported surviving an attack that is similar to the modus operandus of the two other victims. It's early for the police to be trying to make such a connection, but I suppose they want to be sure that they get the warning to potential victims. Scary!

demanding air passenger amazes and amuses

If I had the ability to personally thank the idiotic young woman who provided the entertainment on my trip home from Miami, I certainly would! There I was, in seat 26C (when my reservation had indicated that I would be in 6D), seething about the fact that I was in the LAST ROW of that darn airplane, with my boarding card mocking me by claiming that mine was a CHOICE seat on that U.S. Airways flight. The plane took off and the entertainment began.

A young Asian woman climbed out of her middle seat a few rows ahead of me, and came down the aisle towards the toilets. She was wearing skin tight jeans, a short sleeved t-shirt and a baseball cap covered in pink sequins and rhinestones. As she approached, the gentleman seated just in front of me stood and joined the short queue for the toilets. The young woman made a loud noise, similar to one that a Beverly Hills teenager might make if someone offended her in some way. "Uh!," she huffed and rolled her eyes. Instead of standing behind him, she plopped down into his seat and began to complain loudly about the ridiculous wait that she had to endure in order to use the toilet. Three more people joined the queue while she whined and complained. When a flight attendant happened by, the young woman stood up, stopped her and demanded to know why she could not go use the toilet in the first class section of the airplane. The flight attendant, having probably answered this question about a BILLION times, politely answered the young woman. "That is RIDICULOUS!", the young woman responded. The flight attendant simply walked away.

The cartoon about the Angry Little Asian Girl (drawn by Lela Lee) popped into my head. At this point, I could contain myself no longer and I burst out laughing hysterically. The young woman looked at me in shock. I think she imagined that she might have a sympathetic audience. I said, "You've been watching too much reality television." She just looked at me as if I was from outer space. At that point, the short line moved forward and she stepped into a toilet. Now I don't want to speculate as to what she was doing in there, but at least nine people, including a young father with two children in tow, entered and exited the other toilet before she finally came out. As she returned to her seat, she talked loudly about the ridiculous inconvenience of the airplane toilet.

Since this pathetic young woman was occupying the middle seat in the back of the plane, I doubt very seriously that she was entitled to any rock star treatment, but she certainly behaved as if she was entitled. I thought about the unhappy life she had ahead of her. Nothing will ever be good enough. Nobody will ever satisfy her. Food will be returned. Service personnel will be berated. Shopkeepers will be taken to task. She is destined to leave a trail of unhappy people everywhere she goes.

Or - maybe she will grow up. I hope so! Life is far more pleasant when one is kind to people and one expects kindness in return. The older I get, the more I see that the attitude I bring to each day is such a huge factor in how that day turns out. The more I can talk myself into a happy place, the easier my day seems to progress. I hope I don't forget that as I get older! If I do, please remind me!

emmaus

This is a beautiful grave marker that I spotted while riding past a cemetery in Emmaus, PA. I thought it was so beautiful. I was in the back seat of the car, but I yelled out, "I want to take a picture of that!" Emily Jean drove around the block and returned to the spot. I got out and went over to take the photo. When I got closer, I still thought it was a gorgeous carving of Jesus. But I was shocked to see a huge bird dropping on Jesus' head. The poop had trickled down into the hand of Jesus. I took the picture anyway, thinking that I would eventually think of the perfect thing that this was a metaphor for. But it still hasn't come to me. What do you think?