In Government We Trust?

            Last week, the anchor on a cable news program announced that fully 63% of Americans don’t trust the government. The alarm in her voice suggested this is a bad thing. I don’t see it that way.

            When I started teaching high school in the mid-eighties, I was required to teach Animal Farm.  For me, that seemingly simple, 125-page novel by George Orwell shed more light on the workings of government and politics than anything I’ve ever read. Because I was teaching the book, I couldn’t just give it a quick read. I had to delve into it, study it, understand its underlying messages and nuances. The more I “delved,” the more I came to recognize the genius behind the book’s simplicity. And like any good work of literature, it raises a lot of questions. Questions such as: What happens when people aren’t educated to think for themselves? When they stray from their founding principles? When they become dependent on government to provide for their every need? When they look to government to solve their every problem? When, little by little, they give up freedoms for comfort or safety? And a biggie—a question I’m sure Orwell, an atheist, never intended to raise—what happens when people trust government as the ultimate Authority and Power?  

            In the mid-nineties, after the collapse of many communist governments, there was a call from some educators to remove Animal Farm from the required reading list in high schools. They considered it no longer relevant. But people who think this book is about the rise of communism have missed the point almost as completely as one of my former students who wrote on a test: The theme of Animal Farm is to show that animals have feelings, too. Notice I said almost. (My reaction to that answer was not one of the finer moments of my teaching career.)

            The overriding theme of Animal Farm—power corrupts. When ANY government gains too much power, it wanders far afoul of its purpose, and it becomes abusive of that power. In almost step-by-step fashion, Orwell—using the rise of the Communist regime in the former Soviet Union as an example—shows how that happens.

             Through his animal characters, he cleverly, humorously, tragically shows factors which contribute to the corruption of government and the downfall of ideas. The reasons are many, and they overlap and intertwine, but basically corruption of government occurs when people no longer hold their elected leaders accountable. They trust them too much. They question them too little.

            Sixty-three percent of Americans don’t trust the government? I’d say that’s a good thing. The day I hear we trust the government one hundred or even ninety percent? That’s when I’ll start worrying.

 PS  Are you a political junkie? Here are some shows that give “interesting” insights into the workings of government. I’m not so totally jaded I think all politics work this way, but these shows definitely underscore the need to keep a watchful eye out. And if it's been a while since you've read Animal Farm, you might re-visit it.

House of Cards – both the BBC and the NetFlix mini-series; Warning: Triple R-rated!

 

 

 

Yes, Minister and Yes, Prime Minister-- BBC sitcom from the 1980s; a hilarious, more lighthearted approach to exposing the shortcomings of government 

 

Winner of a Necklace and Winner of a Recipe

            A couple of weeks ago I celebrated a personal milestone in my blogging life with a give-away. To those who commented on that post, I loved hearing how you realized your own personal goals. One of the perks of getting older—yes, there are a few—is the awareness of all the amazing people around you. When I was young, I tended to think truly gifted or talented people were only those who had achieved fame or fortune. These days, I realize I’m constantly surrounded by or in touch with people of remarkable abilities. Thanks to all of you who shared and to those who read and follow my blog! I wish I could give a necklace to everyone.

            But since I can’t do that, I’m giving one to the lucky winner, Marie Hancock. (I happen to know that, fortunately, Marie is a bird lover.) Congratulations, Marie! I’ll be getting in touch with you.

            Here’s something I can give to every reader: a recipe. Previously, I mentioned that Carol hosted the Circle of Friends Book Club and served chicken divine divan. She was out of town at the time of the post, but when she returned, she graciously gave me the recipe. Thank you, Carol, for this winner of a recipe!

Polly's CHICKEN DIVAN

4 c. sliced cooked chicken (poached so it's tender)
1 or 2 large bags frozen cut up broccoli-- enough to fill bottom of 9 x12 in. pan
4 cans cream chicken soup
2 c. mayo--I use "real" for this recipe
2 tsp. lemon juice
1 tsp. curry powder
1/3 c. sherry
I also add : 1 tsp. dry mustard & 4 tbsps. heavy cream to sauce mixture.
1 c. shredded cheddar cheese
1 c. soft buttered bread crumbs for topping

Par boil broccoli so it's still firm & arrange in buttered 9x12 baking dish.
Place chicken on top.
Combine all remaining ingredients except cheese & bread crumbs.
Pour sauce over all.
Top with cheese & bread crumbs.
Bake 350 about 30 min. till bubbly & breadcrumbs look golden.

            Enjoy!!!           

Clap Dancing Shoes

             Cleaning a closet the other day—or at least thinking about cleaning it—I came across some scuffed and battered little shoes. My heart smiled. I thought I'd lost them. But I knew I hadn’t thrown them out. They were too valuable.

            I remember well the day they were purchased. My three-year-old daughter Kristin and I were strolling the aisles of J.C. Penney when she spied them. There was no way we were leaving the store without those shoes. Not without a scene, anyway.

            The threat of a tantrum wasn’t what convinced me to buy them. We had recently purchased the video Annie, and it is understatement to say she was enthralled by that movie. She knew the words to every song, the names of all the orphans, at least half the lines. She also had her own versions of the tap dances, which she labeled “clap dancing.” As she explained in the store, she desperately needed those shiny red shoes to properly execute that activity. I could see her point.

            Those inexpensive shoes well might have been one of the best investments I ever made. The bows became tattered, the soles wore thin, and the buckles and insoles disappeared completely. But it made no difference to Kristin. Even after they were too small for her, she’d cram her chubby feet into them and dance with pure joy, oblivious to the pain. By herself or with other people present, she’d shuffle her feet, flail her arms, and, of course, throw in the requisite claps. Because most of our house was carpeted, our small brick hearth became her stage.  

            Fast forward seventeen years, and she was a college sophomore home for summer break. We’d just had a ceramic tile floor installed in our den, and she and I stood in the doorway of the room, cleared of all furniture, and admired the hard new surface. “Man,” she said, her voice filled with awe, “wouldn’t this be a great place to clap dance?”

            She declined my request for a demonstration. Although I laughed, a part of me was sad. I realized that—as is the case with most of us—somewhere on her journey from childhood to adulthood, more than her feet had outgrown her clap dancing shoes. But at least I have a priceless memento of  a pint-sized free spirit who, before the phrase was ever penned, “danced like nobody was watching.”

            Today, Kristin has babies of her own, the oldest almost three. He is as taken with the movie Cars as Kristin was with Annie. I’m picturing her one day in the future, cleaning out a closet and coming across a toy model of Mater or Lightnin’ McQueen. I’m betting she doesn’t throw it out.

Have a “worthless treasure” you’re not willing to part with? (It doesn’t have to be kid related.) Share, please!

           

Gem of a Give-away...or Give-away of a Gem?

           Are pearls gems? I wasn’t sure, so I googled the question, and one source identified them as “organic gems.” That works for me. And these organic gems happen to be nestled in a silver  wire nest with a mama bird hovering above. (I’m sure it’s the mama, as hovering over our babies  comes naturally to us.) Bird and nest are attached to a silver chain, the creation of Jill Gladfelter of DreamRose Design. She designed it for my niece Amy Bird to sell in The BookNest, her book “nook” in Springfield, OR.

            Now that you have all the information about what’s being given away, I’ll tell you why.  If any of you have followed my posts since March of 2012, you know I entered this whole blogging experience Screamin’ and Kickin’. I like—make that love—to write but didn’t want to commit to a blog. Many reasons fed my reluctance, but the main one was fear. What if I shared some of the zillion thoughts rattling around in my head at any given time and no one really cared? What if I bared my soul and no one read my words? The night I launched my blog, I clicked “Publish” with trembling finger and trepidation. The next morning, I checked my stats and discovered I had thirty-three hits. Yes, thirty-three!!! I was thrilled. Even if those hits came from men in Russia needing wives or insomniacs mindlessly surfing the net, at least my blog hadn’t died from loneliness during the night. And from there it started to grow—slowly and steadily—to the point I recently passed my 10,000^th hit. (Actually, over 11,000 by now.)

            Okay, okay, I can hear the virtual snickers. I know some bloggers get that many hits in a day...an hour. But I don’t do this for a living, I’m not selling anything (except my book), and I’m not Gwyneth Paltrow. All I know about “search engine optimization” is that it exists. So for me, 10,000 hits is a personal goal realized. I’m breaking out the bubbly and the noisemakers and celebrating. I’m also giving away this necklace as a way of thanking followers, readers, and all those who clicked on “baby boomers exercise” and didn't find the useful exercises for baby boomers they were expecting.

            Now for the how. If you’re a follower, your name is already in the drawing. If you make a comment (i.e. share a personal goal you’ve achieved), your name goes in. If you’re a follower AND make a comment, your name is in twice. If you sign up to follow me, your name goes in once. Sign up AND make a comment, name goes in twice. The deadline is June 17, 2013.

            Hope to hear from you, and again, thank you for making blogging a gem of an experience for me! 

 

           

Circle of Friends: The Lost Wife Offers Inspiration in Midst of Tragedy

 

           A lot was special about the Friends’ meeting this past week. First, we had almost record attendance, as only two of our active members were absent. Second, we didn’t have to cook! Well, one of us did. Host Carol prepared the entire meal for us, featuring her wonderful chicken divan, which I think should be called chicken divine. She said it was her way of saying “thank you” for the support she received last fall in the loss of her husband. Third, we met on Tuesday rather than Monday night, since danger and uncertainty churned across much of Oklahoma on Monday. Relief and thankfulness prevailed at this meeting, and there was a special joy in realizing we were all alive and able to gather. But, in true Friends’ spirit, there were also sadness and sympathy for our neighbors in Moore—fellow Okies who were picking through the ruins of demolished homes and nursing the raw emotional wounds of losing precious loved ones. For Faye, one of our members, the tragedy touched very close to home. Her son and his wife lost their house and belongings.

            Our reading selection for this month was The Lost Wife by Alyson Richman. As with most

historical fiction, the story is based on an incredible yet true scenario. After being separated before World War II, a husband and wife reunite after sixty years and thousands of miles of separation. Richman takes that seed of reality and adds many more facts—some horrifying, some intriguing—about the Holocaust. She takes the reader inside the Jewish ghetto at Terezin with its inhuman conditions. But she also shows the intrepid hearts and souls of some of its occupants, particularly those who chose to fight the Nazis the only way they knew how—with their art. In juxtaposing the worst and best of humanity, she weaves a tale that is at once heartbreaking and uplifting.

            I felt this novel was particularly appropriate for the Friends this month. If ever people need to be reminded of the strength and resiliency of the human spirit, it is in times of heartache and disaster. The Lost Wife answers the call. Her female protagonist Lenka, offers valuable insight for surviving tragedy: “...not to look back, but to focus on each new day.” As evidenced by the photos below, Oklahomans excel at that.

Devastation, Moore, Oklahoma May 23, 2013

Focusing on a new day...worn by woman helping her sister
and brother-in-law salvage their belongings

Rising from the rubble

                      

iScream

             Hubby Bill announced he was going to the AT&T store for a phone update and asked if I would like one, too. I tagged along with mixed emotions—excitement and dread. Yes, it would be nice to have more speed and to take sharper pictures. But entertaining no delusions about my computer skills, I also knew I was in for a lot of frustration.

            To preserve her anonymity and to ensure I don’t get sued, I’ll call the AT&T sales rep Holly. Holly was pleasant and, no doubt about it, knew her stuff. After she sold Bill and me two new iPhone 5s, she downloaded our contacts into them. Then she told us the instruction pamphlet in the box contained everything we needed to know. But I had a question:  “Can I transfer all the photos from my old phone onto this one?”

            Any grandparent will understand the importance of this request. For most of my life, I’ve carried no more than two or three pictures in my wallet, but now I need all 491 of my pics and videos with me at ALL times. I never know when someone will ask to see my grandsons blowing out birthday candles. Or sliding down a slide. Or turning over. Or...You get my point.

            Holly said, “Oh, sure. You can do it through iTunes. It’s simple.”

            Her language shocked me. I couldn't believe she used the s-word: simple.

            AT&T might have done an excellent job training Holly to sell and program phones, but they fell short in the customer-relations department. Did the girl even look at me? Were my gray hair and Clarks sandals and the leopard-print case on my old phone not enough to scream, “BABY BOOMER!”? And did she not know that to a Baby Boomer NOTHING associated with technology is ever REMOTELY simple?

             It’s not that Boomers are stupid. It’s just that, unlike her generation, we weren’t trained to use a computer before we were trained to use the potty. And while they might be able to text with their thumbs, I could teach them a thing or two about using the nominative case of pronouns correctly.

            But not wanting to appear stupid, I asked no more questions and took the phone home.  After hours of googling and searching without transferring a single photo, I returned the next day to the store and to Holly. She patiently punched in some numbers on my phone and explained my pics had been stored on my iCloud. All I had to do was download them. Right. 

Thanks, Apple, for shattering my "cloud" fantasy.

            For all my life, a cloud has been a cottony puff of bliss, associated with floating above life’s problems and experiencing euphoria. But Apple has shattered that fantasy. Now, for me, cloud is just another word for stress. My photos were somewhere, floating on my own, personal iCloud. Obvisously they liked it there, because I couldn’t convince them to leave and take up residence in my new phone.  So three days later, not caring if I appeared stupid, I went back to the store and...success! I have no clue what they did and don’t want to find out. All I know is I have my pics on my new phone, and I’m satisfied.

             But if you yourself don’t want to be shocked, don’t mention the iC-word in my presence.

Don't Just Listen to Your Mother--Watch Her

            When the producers of the show Listen to Your Mother called for auditions in Oklahoma, the word listen threw me for a loop. I couldn’t think of anything to write. I mean, yeah, when I was growing up, there were plenty of time-honored, universal “mommy-isms”: Wear clean underwear in case you’re in an accident and must go to the hospital; if you keep making that face, it will freeze like that; and in my particular situation, nice Baptist girls don’t dance. (They did. They just didn’t admit it to their parents or their pastor.) But I couldn’t think of anything my mother had told me that was particularly unusual, funny, or riveting and certainly not enough to be the focus of an essay.   

            But at last week’s Oklahoma City performance of Listen to Your Mother, I realized that most of the stories weren’t so much about what mothers said. They were about what mothers did. And with that epiphany, I had lots to tell.

            As with most mothers, there’s not enough time or space to list every loving, selfless action I saw my mother perform. But here are a few that stand out in my memory:

Sewing. In a home where there was plenty of money for needs but little for luxuries, my sister and I were very well dressed. Easter, Christmas, even an end-of-school picnic—any occasion that called for something special to wear sent Mama to her sewing machine, making sure her girls were fashionistas before fashionistas was even a word.  

Traveling. Mama inherited her own mother’s love of travel and insisted our family do a lot of it. Money might have been tight, but I don’t recall a single summer without a vacation. I’m not talking about fancy cruises or airline flights to exotic places. I’m talking about treks across the country, sometimes in a car with no air conditioning and sometimes towing a camping trailer. But these were trips to places that were exotic to us: Washington, D.C., Yellowstone Park, New York City, Canada, Mexico...the list goes on and on. Compared to some of our friends whose total traveling experience consisted of a three-day trip to Six Flags, my sister, brother, and I received a quality, fun (most of the time), and first-hand education as a result of our journeys. And on that topic...  

Mama still models a love of
reading and learning.

Teaching by example. Neither Mama nor Daddy went to college, but both valued and modeled reading and learning. I cannot remember anyone ever overtly stating that I would go to college, but I always knew it was expected of me. And to ensure it happened, my mother took on an extra job of driving a kindergarten van to help pay for it.  

Worshiping. As in many homes, Mama was the spiritual leader in our family. She was the one who insisted we go to church and the one who made the effort to get a family of five ready every Sunday. I didn’t always appreciate this, and there was a time in my life when I stopped going to church altogether. When my mother told me I needed to take my daughter to church, I responded that as a teacher I’d seen a lot of students who were “church-goers” and I hadn’t noticed it helping them all that much. “That’s probably true,” she said. “Taking children to church doesn’t guarantee they’ll turn out well. But it does guarantee parents did everything they could to help them turn out well.” She offered wise advice, and in this instance, I listened.   

            There isn’t enough space or time to mention all my mother’s caring actions over the years. And I’m sure many of you have your own endless list. You might not be able to write them all down, but why not share one or two of them with me and other readers? And, if possible, you just might share them with your mother.

Happy Mothers’ Day to Mama and to all mothers everywhere!