Get out the hip-waders, it’s going to get ugly

Posted on August 2, 2010 by Lou Ann Thomas

            I recently heard an ad on television touting how someone would “stick it to” their opponent and was ready to “go toe-to-toe” with his competition.  Was it a commercial for a boxing match, perhaps?  Nope.  It was a political campaign ad.

            It’s time to get out the hip waders people, because as we move toward the general election the mud and muck is going to get thick!  We thought it was bad leading up to the primary, but those ads were only appetizers for a main course of ugly, followed by a dessert of disgust.  Those ads were about infighting, competing against those who shared the same point of view, agenda and political party.  We are now going to see how truly nasty our politicians and their special interest groups can be as they face off against members of the other party.

            Nothing reminds me more of why I dislike politics than the ads that accompany an election.  Our political system is going down the tubes – tubes filled with lies, misrepresentations, personal attacks and little of substance or of use to any voter who is trying to make an educated decision.  Most of the candidates are only concerned with attacking the other candidates.  They twist and manipulate the facts.  They sling and spin accusations like they’re Frisbees and we, as voters, are little more than over eager dogs who they apparently believe will run after anything that moves. 

            Several years ago I pledged I would not vote for anyone who slung mud, personally attacked, misrepresented voting records and didn’t clearly tell me exactly where they stood on issues of importance to me.  Because of this pledge I no longer have anyone for whom I can vote.  They all do it.  Every candidate is now running ads attacking the other candidates.  It’s true some have gotten into the mess in an attempt to defend themselves and I do allow them some wiggle room to do that.  If I didn’t I would be left scratching my head at the voting site, holding an unmarked ballot with no choice whatsoever. 

            Instead of telling me you are for “conservative solutions” or support “liberal social concerns” tell me how you believe you are the best candidate for all of us.  Instead of berating your opponents, or using rhetoric behind which to hide or to confuse, tell me how you propose to create alliances and work for the greater good – not just for a small segment of your particular political party, but for the big picture, the rest of us.  As a registered Independent I am not swayed by your political party affiliation.  In fact, you have a great obstacle to overcome for my vote if you profess allegiance to either party. What does impress me is honesty and integrity.  I want to know what drives you to run for office in the first place.  Do you really believe you can make a positive difference, or do you have some kind of Power Ranger fantasy life that you hope to fulfill?  Do you honestly believe you can serve fairly, or are you running because the voices in your head tell you to do so?

            Honestly, if you really wanted to do something good for this state, this country, even this world, why are you so invested in raising and spending thousands, even millions, of dollars for your political campaign?  If you have the connections, means, or other abilities to raise that kind of money why not use your power for good, rather than evil?  The money that is spent on political campaigns could make a big dent in the national debt, could help rebuild our decaying schools, could provide much needed services for our soldiers, their families and the rest of us.  It could mend so much of what needs tender care in this country.

            So, I don’t want to hear how you can “knock off” the other guy or gal.  I’m not interested in half truths and how many ways you can accuse your opponent of being untrustworthy all while you are being a sly manipulator.  What I am interested in is hearing words like “working together” and “compromise,” but you don’t hear those words much these days in our political system.  What you do hear is a lot of blaming, accusations, name calling, even calls for violence against those with whom some don’t agree.

            Will the system ever change?  We all say we hate the negative campaign ads, but they appear to work, and they are getting more abrasive, more divisive and more negative with every election.

            It’s enough to make me wonder why I even bother to vote.  But I do vote – whether I have any real choices or not, every election I vote.  Mostly I vote because it’s a hard fought right.  When my mother was born women weren’t allowed to vote.  I vote for all the women, and men, who fought for my right to do so. 

            But mostly, I vote because I then feel justified in bitching about the outcome.

Posted in As I see it, Uncategorized | 8 Comments

Why DID the chicken cross the road?

Posted on July 21, 2010 by Lou Ann Thomas

     Why did the chicken cross the road? One possibility is that it did so to prove to the opossum it could be done.

     And by the looks of our roadsides this summer, opossums aren’t the only ones finding road crossings challenging. A recent, unscientific study conducted from the driver’s seat of my car, indicates there are an average of at least four flattened animals per mile of roadway. Those numbers greatly increase on Interstate highways.

     This brings up some interesting questions: First of all, what would motivate a perfectly sane rabbit or raccoon to attempt to cross multiple lanes of speeding traffic, dodge gigantic semi-trailer trucks, numerous mini-vans and large recreational vehicles just to get to the other side? Perhaps they are not sane at all, but are the more unbalanced of their species. Maybe they are simply taking the most direct route to the nearest Fur Family Pharmacy to get their prescriptions for Prozac filled. Possibly enormous gambling debts at the Rabbit Hole Casino finally caught up with Pauly Porcupine and after a night of drinking with his buddies he makes the ill-fated decision to take the expressway home. Or maybe deer whistles actually sound like dinner bells to the deer. Could it be the victims of road death are simply the more introspective of the animal world and are attempting to peel back the layers of their existence to discover the inner-opossum or inner-raccoon? If so, I’d prefer they not share it with me.

     Could the increase in road kill along our highways be the result of peer pressure or bullying? Are there animals that are bad influences on otherwise good and trusting raccoons and coyotes? Are the flattened and sun-swollen deer, skunks and bunnies we see along our highways victims of a cruel dare or inhumane teasing by their fellow animals? I can’t help but wonder how many of the rabbits, deer, skunks, raccoons and other animals I see laying lifeless along the shoulders of the road were actually unmercifully pushed. Is this proliferation of squashed animals along our roadways the result of survival of the fittest? Do the quick, the healthy and the strong make it across the ribbons of death leaving only the slow-witted and -footed to be struck down by an 18-wheeler heading west? Or is this a test of intelligence, much like our ACT’s or IQ tests? Those who pass get to move on to a higher level of learning, while those who do not, well, to look on the bright side, they don’t ever have to be tested again.

     And I wonder if the animals that make it safely through the maze of SUVs and speeding semis are met by an irate parent asking, as many of ours have asked us after doing something carelessly stupid, “If all your friends ran across a busy highway, would you do it too?”

     Maybe trying to get to the other side of the road is a form of high-adrenaline sport, like bungee jumping or skydiving is for us humans. Does opting for running across four-lanes of highway make any less sense than jumping off a bridge with a rubber band tied to your ankle?

     But there is some comfort in knowing that not all of these fur and feathered friends have given their lives uselessly. A friend in Southern Georgia tells me that road kill is often considered dinner in her part of the country. As she explained it, if you were actually able to read the license number of the vehicle that struck the animal, then you can consider it “good eatin’”. If you did not get a good glimpse of what vehicle was the demise of that particular animal, then it is best to leave it where it lay.

     I am relieved to learn there are such strict standards of freshness when scrapping dinner off the expressway. But, I think I’ll pass. If my appetite ever returns I’m sure there’s a fast food drive-thru just down the road. After all, you know what they say, “It always tastes better when someone else cooks it.”

Posted in As I see it | 7 Comments

You can take the kid off the farm, but she may still find her way back home

Posted on July 15, 2010 by Lou Ann Thomas

            I love the graphic at the top of this page.  It reminds me of where I am, even who I am.  And it reminds me of why I moved back to this farm.

            I may have always loved this farm, but there were many years where you might not have discerned that from my conversations or behavior.  Growing up on a farm carries a lot of baggage.  I didn’t like being known as a Farm Kid because we, as country folks, were generally not held in very high esteem back in the 50’s and 60’s.  You could even say we were “looked down on.”  When I went to high school in Wamego, the bigger town nearby, all of us from this small, farming community of Belvue were placed in remedial classes.  We were never tested to see if we actually belonged there.  It was simply assumed we would not be able to keep up with those who had attended the larger school. 

           That would never happen today, so things have changed for the better, but I still get the impression some people don’t understand the lure of a Kansas farm, or appreciate the contribution farmers make to everyone’s life.  I have often told people to be sure they don’t criticize farmers with their mouth full.  But farming, as a lifestyle, is still often misunderstood.  When telling people I grew up on a Kansas farm I frequently notice expressions of romanticism or pity flicker across their faces. 

            “Did you grow chickens?” my friend Debbie, who grew up on Long Island, once asked me.

            “Well, we did the years we didn’t plant them too deep,” I answered with a deadpan expression.

            She eventually chuckled at my joke, but it took her awhile.  At dinner the night I brought Debbie to the farm, my mother asked her if she’d like a homemade pickle.  Debbie was flabbergasted that you could make pickles.  When my mother explained that pickles actually began as cucumbers, you would have thought Mom had just told Debbie that if she stood on the table and flapped her arms hard enough she would surely fly.  Debbie had never heard such a thing.  Honestly, she had never much thought about where her food came from, beyond the fact hers always came from a store.

            To Debbie, living on a farm was filled with wonder.  For others it offers a dream of a past time, when we assume things were easier.   But growing up on a farm wasn’t always easy.  It was a lot of hard work.  As a Farm Kid I grew up learning to drive tractors, trucks and combines.  While my townie friends spent their summer afternoons at the swimming pool and hanging out sipping cold beverages in a booth at the local drug store, I spent mine bouncing up and down on the back of an old red Farmall tractor.  There were days, many days, when I resented that.  Now I treasure those experiences because they taught me responsibility and teamwork.

           Although I often complained about it, I liked doing farm work, mostly because at the end of a long day in the fields you could look back over your shoulder and see exactly what you accomplished.  It may have been a long, hot, dirty day, but you could feel good about having spent it participating in honorable labor.

          Now when friends visit me here they often comment about how quiet it is.  There aren’t traffic noises and you don’t usually hear voices other than your own, but that doesn’t mean we live in a vacuum.  There are plenty of sounds out here on the prairie.  In the morning dozens of different birds call and sing with such glee and enthusiasm that I often wonder if they are singing for themselves, each other or possibly for me.  During the day I can hear quail calling out their “Bob White” and cicadas buzz sometimes so loudly it can seem deafening.  But if I listen more closely I can also pick up the sounds of frogs croaking along the edge of the pond, crickets chirping away in the grass, coyotes yelping from the hollows and owls hoo, hoo, hooting from the tops of trees. 

         No matter how quiet or peaceful the country life seems to be, it is teeming with life.  That’s what this land is about — supporting life.  That’s its purpose, its mission and why I am so honored to be a steward of this patch of farmland and prairie.

         When my friend Jason stepped out onto the deck the first evening he was here, he took in a deep, audible breath and said, “Wow!  You can really breathe here.” 

         Yes, indeed, you can.

         And that’s why I love the graphic at the top of this page, because it reminds me how much I love this land.  Where once I yearned to flee this farm and head to the cities to live among high rises, bustle and people, and after spending years doing that, I now realize this Farm Kid is finally where she belongs — home.

Posted in Transitions | 19 Comments

Don’t know what you have until it’s gone

Posted on July 9, 2010 by Lou Ann Thomas

     Sometimes we don’t appreciate something until it’s gone. 

     Since moving back to my childhood home last November I have experienced extraordinary service.  Not just good customer service, but truly exceptional service. 

     For example, a few days after moving back my cable television and internet service went kaput.  Since it was Thanksgiving Day I called the telephone company, which provides those services, expecting to get a recording and hoping to get my name on a list for service the next day.  My first surprise was when a real person answered the phone.  It startled me so much I almost hung up, but I’m glad I didn’t, because not only was the voice real, but after hearing my problem I was told a technician would be right out.  I explained I could live without television or internet until morning, but she insisted and within 20 minutes someone was at my door!  The technician worked several hours until he located the problem and fixed it, at no charge to me. 

     My previous satellite television company would have promised service sometime in the next couple weeks or so and then, because I had not had the foresight to purchase their “insurance” would have charged $100 for coming out, in addition to whatever they charged for actually fixing the problem.  And with my previous telephone/internet company I would likely still be trapped in their endless computer loop, trying to determine which button to push to get placed on a list for service at some point down the road…a long road, with few real people available to help you.

     Another example of the level of service I’ve come to expect was provided when I needed to replace a couple tires on my car.  I called the local tire and muffler shop, CR’s, and was told the “tire guy” was back from lunch at 2 and to show up then.  When I did I was greeted at the door and picked out my new tires without being pressured into buying more than I needed.  Since I knew I would be waiting while the tires were put on the car, I had taken a plethora of reading materials to help me fill the time.  I barely got the first magazine open before the job was completed and I was heading home, marveling at the efficient and prompt service I had received. 

     This level of caring customer service quickly became the norm, so I began to expect it.  That’s the thing about expectations and taking things for granted.  At some point, you will likely experience the opposite, and this run of extraordinary and caring service ended this last week. 

     When my water line developed a leak past business hours, I planned on catching the water in a bucket and dealing with it as best I could until the next morning.  But within a couple hours the leak became unmanageable and was soon flooding the backroom of my basement.  I had to do something, so I called the “emergency number” provided by my rural water district to ask for assistance in turning the water off to my house.  I was told I’d have to turn the meter off myself.  It didn’t matter that I was without the needed tools to do so, or that I had, in fact, already tried to turn it off to no avail.  The guy was not budging and pointedly informed me that it was past his business hours, he was comfortably at home and he expected me to take care of the problem myself.  Case closed.

     Now, let me reiterate, this was the person at the other end of the “emergency number.”  This was the person who is paid to maintain the system and I assumed, apparently mistakenly, to assist the district’s customers when they experienced problems.

     Fortunately a neighbor drove by and noticing me ass up, half submerged in the tube housing my water meter, stopped to help.  If he had not done so, I have no idea what shape my basement would have been in by morning.  I also have no idea what elderly water district customers, or anyone else in need of help, would have done in this situation, but I find the prospect that they might be treated as I was frightening.

        The irony of this is that if this guy had offered to help, it would have taken him no more than 30 minutes of his time, for which I would have happily compensated him and the water district, and he, as well as his employer, would have had a cheerleader for life.  I would have enthusiastically touted the district’s service and this man’s dedication to serving and helping its customers.  As it is, the story I am left to tell is of someone who not only missed a chance for invaluable public relations for the organization for which he works, but also missed an opportunity to demonstrate a commitment, or even an interest in, helping others in a time of need.  

     Sometimes companies and organizations, as well as we as human beings, get one chance to win someone’s loyalty and to instill a feeling of confidence and compassion.  If we miss it, it may take a long time, if not forever, to gain that person’s trust and loyalty back.  Of course, the rural water district doesn’t compete for customers like other businesses and the person at the other end of the “emergency number” was obviously not the least bit concerned about the image he was portraying of the district or himself, or the level of service to which they are dedicated.  When you are basically functioning as a monopoly I guess you don’t have to be that concerned about whether your customers are satisfied with you or not.

     But, I did receive a very valuable gift from this experience.  And that was, that by experiencing, what was in my opinion, substandard and inconsiderate service it has provided the contrast which allows me to more fully value the times when I receive good, caring and respectful treatment. 

     It’s true; sometimes we really don’t know what we have until we no longer have it.

Posted in As I see it | 14 Comments

Staking my claim, moving my stake

Posted on June 24, 2010 by Lou Ann Thomas

     It can be dangerous to state things that we believe as though that’s the way it is, and by golly, that’s IT.  The danger is that we might learn or experience something new, take in differing points of view, or any number of things might occur to alter our perceptions and eventually create a new “that’s the way it is”.  This can result in a wide variety of consequences ranging from looking mildly foolish to being publicly exposed as a charlatan, a fraud or hypocrite.

     Recently I wrote a column in which I mentioned I had given up drinking water from plastic bottles after learning that it takes 17 million barrels of crude oil to make the 29 million water bottles that we Americans buy each year.  That is enough oil to keep a million cars going for twelve months. 

     I still find those numbers staggering, but I’ve had to retrace my steps a bit regarding my no longer buying bottled water.  You see, ever since I discovered how much I like that vitamin-enhanced, fruit-flavored water, I’ve been hooked.  I’ve also been, technically, buying bottled water again.  I recycle, but in my column I clearly pointed out that it took petroleum to get to and from the recycling center, as well as to actually recycle the bottles.  That’s all true.  And I am fully conscious of those numbers each time I unscrew a bottle of my new favorite beverage, but I still buy it.  I like it.  It tastes good, it’s good for me and it makes me feel good. 

      This isn’t the first time I’ve drawn a line in the sand about something and then had to go back and, like a cat in a litter box, quickly cover it up.  You may see this as hypocrisy, and if you must put a label on it, I suppose that one is as good and accurate as any.  However, I prefer to see this as cultivating a flexible mind.  I believe it is my right to be able to change my mind, especially when there is new information to consider.  I hadn’t yet tried this newfangled vitamin water when I wrote that column.  Now that I have, I have decided to make an allowance for the container in which it is delivered. 

     My friend Robin recently questioned how people can “make up their mind.”  I quickly suggested we use bright red lipstick and blue eye liner.  Robin didn’t respond to my witty comeback, possibly distracted by all the eye rolling and head shaking he was doing.  But, he was, after all, trying to be serious.  And when you ponder how it is we can “make up our minds” it does sound quite rigid and unforgiving, doesn’t it?  Of course, we probably all have some instances that we could share when we “made up our mind” about something only to have it changed by something else.  As a kid, I decided I hated Brussels sprouts.  I thought they were vile and I swore I would never eat one.  Then one day I tried one that had been lightly steamed and marinated in a delicious balsamic vinegar dressing.  It was amazing!  Come to find out I do like Brussels sprouts; at least when they are prepared that way. 

     I changed my mind about Brussels sprouts and there have been many other times when I’ve done the same thing.  Maybe I’ve met someone and it was obvious from the first moment that we didn’t care for one another.  Then, over time we got to know each other better and we become fast friends.  Of course the opposite also happens.  We meet someone who we are quite smitten with, only to find out later that smitten has turned to smiting. 

     It’s a good thing to be open to changing our minds.  My friend Darlene taught me many things, one of those was the importance of being able to “stake your claim” where your beliefs were concerned.  But even more important, she taught me, was to always be open to, and reserve the right to “move your stake.”  That’s how I see my recent backtracking on the bottled water issue, and so many others.

     I don’t believe making up my mind is something I can do just once and not ever go back and evaluate if it still makes sense to me, if it is something about which I still feel passionate, or if it is where I continue to want my mind set.  I don’t see it as being hypocritical or wishy washy, or anything negative at all. 

     I see it as simply staking my claim and then having the right to move my stake.

Posted in As I see it | 8 Comments

Letting go of control

Posted on June 21, 2010 by Lou Ann Thomas

          If there is one thing that can remind us that we are not in control, it’s the weather.  We may convince ourselves that we are the master of our ships, until those vessels are tossed about like toys at the mercy of a power much greater than us or that we can even imagine.

           For the last week heavy rains, frequently accompanied by high winds, have been tracking over my area of the country.  The storms come one after another and we have yet to have a 24-hour period without rain, and storms are predicted every day for the foreseeable future.

            This morning I awoke to sunny skies and less humid conditions, and gratefully felt the frayed edge of hope within my grasp again.  But, alas, it was short lived.  Within an hour the skies turned a deep black-blue and the winds and rain came again.  I am feeling beaten down and defeated.  The roof is leaking, dirt is being washed out behind a rock wall which now bows precariously, the basement is struggling to remain passable and the pond now overflows with little more than heavy dew.    

            I have never experienced anything like this before.  The rains just keep coming, and there is absolutely nothing I can do to stop them.  Believe me; I’ve tried everything I can think of to get them to stop.  I’ve used every method of positive thinking I can come up with, but even repeating, “I now see the sky sunny and dry,” a thousand times has made no difference.  I’ve offered prayers and deals and tried negotiating with God, the Rain Goddess, or whatever is in control, but still the rains come.  I’ve even gone out in the middle of the storm, raised my fists in rage to the sky and demanded it stop — NOW!!  But one storm after another continues to move over the same ground, leaving it, and me, saturated to the max. 

            I feel completely helpless as I watch waves of water wash over my soybean fields, knowing it means little, if any, farm income this fall.  I am powerless to do anything to save the crops or anything else in the path of these storms.  As much as we humans like to think we have some amount of control, the weather can always trump us.  Wicked rains, winds, earthquakes, tsunamis are all part of Mother Earth’s diverse bag of tricks that teach us we are not in the least control of anything happening outside of us. The only control we have over anything is within us.  But the frequency and intensity of the rain is wearing on me. 

              My “within” is in a constant state of anxiety, and I am always looking at the sky, checking weather reports, so hoping to hear that good weather is on its way.  The only time I find peace these days is during the moments I allow myself to surrender and let go of any illusion of having control over what is happening with the weather.  I can’t stop the rains.  I can’t do anything about the flooding they create.  All I can do is trust that, even though it may appear doubtful at times, I am going to be okay and that sunny, dry weather will come again.  At some point, the rains will stop and the ground and I will have an opportunity to dry out and regain our balance.  When that does happen I will not hesitate to offer my appreciation and gratitude for it with the same verve I have cursed this trail of storms.

           I just hope that occurs before I grow gills and my toes start to web.

Posted in Nature | 2 Comments

Giving up gossip

Posted on June 16, 2010 by Lou Ann Thomas

            I’m on a gossip fast.  I had no idea how difficult it would be to stop myself from participating in gossip.  Giving up chocolate would likely be easier.  Okay, just kidding about that, but I am finding it truly challenging to not join in when people I am around start talking negatively about someone not present.

            I started my gossip habit as a teenager.  I liked feeling like I was part of a group and was being included.  Gossip is seductive that way.  It lends itself to the “us” and “them” dynamic.  As long we’re gossiping about someone else we’re on the same team and from there it is a short road to travel to feelings of slight superiority.

            Another aspect that I liked about being part of the gossip group was that as long as the conversation was about other people, it wasn’t about me.  Of course, I am not now so naïve as to believe that as soon as I leave the room the topic of conversation doesn’t swing in my direction.  That’s the thing about people who love to gossip.  If they gossip about others in front of you, it’s a pretty good bet they are gossiping about you in front of others.

            But the bottom line was, I simply stopped feeling good about myself after participating in gossip.  Even if I felt included and part of the “cool kids” while gossiping or being present for gossip, I never left a tittle-tattle session feeling like I had been part of something good and worthwhile.  In fact, I usually left feeling quite the opposite.  I felt guilty and judgmental and other things I generally try to avoid feeling.

            I still find it way too fall back into that pattern of sitting around discussing, and frequently laughing about, others, after which I feel badly for having done so.   Now, I don’t believe any of us intend to be mean or to truly hurt anyone, but it seems we all often walk a fine line between having a good chat and stepping over into gossip.   I kept finding myself on the side of that line that I was trying to avoid so I set up a criteria for gossip.  To me, gossip is saying something about someone else that I wouldn’t want said about me.

            So, using that criteria, I decided to go on a gossip fast, not knowing how difficult it would be.  In several instances I’ve had to change who I spent time with and now choose who I do share time with based on what we talk about when we’re together.  I now choose to be around those people who, if they do talk about others, do so positively and with respect and compassion.  Conversations that run others down, make fun of people, or express pleasure in someone’s misfortune are off limits.  I choose to spend time with people who are positive in their conversations and attitudes.

            And you know what?  I recently found the courage to ask someone to stop gossiping in my presence.  They looked at me like I had lost my mind and had very little to say in the absence of gossip mongering, but they did stop…for awhile.  But gossiping is a habit and they were unable to stay away from it for long. 

            I can understand that.  I still catch myself listening in, even adding a catty comment now and then when the conversation swings toward someone not present.  But I’m getting better at stopping myself, even excusing myself and leaving the scene, if necessary. 

             The best part of my gossip fast is that instead of getting smaller, my circle of friends seems to be growing larger.  Even better — I like myself a lot more after sharing time with them.

Posted in Health and Well Being | 4 Comments

Under the Weather

Posted on December 29, 2009 by Lou Ann Thomas

Between the Holiday Blizzard and the nasty cold I got for Christmas, I have been under the weather. That blizzard was something extraordinary. I can’t remember ever seeing snow blow with quite the intensity and for as long as it did during that storm.

It did, however, bring back memories of big snows from my childhood. We seemed to get more big snows back then. There was always plenty of snow for building snow families, sturdy forts and for sledding. But I don’t recall the snow ever drifting to the heights it did during this last onslaught. Drifts several feet high still obscure my back steps and hold my car hostage in the shed.

Fortunately the old farm truck, parked in the driveway, was easier to dig out so by mid-week I was finally able to escape the house that had begun to feel like a prison – a well-appointed and comfortable prison, but still the area of my confinement. But after seven days without leaving these walls I swear the rooms were getting smaller, my own company was becoming much less interesting and my tissue supply had vanished. It was time to get out of the house and find some connection with other people, not to mention more tissues.

I’m not sure I have ever been as excited about a trip to the grocery store as I was for that first outing after the storm. I have never enjoyed going somewhere – anywhere – as much as I did that excursion. As I parked the truck I realized my face already hurt from smiling so broadly. I greeted everyone whose path came anywhere near mine with a warm “Hi!” and that smile. I did notice some taking a rather circuitous route to their cars and for a moment thought my enthusiasm might be putting them off, but I didn’t care. I also didn’t care if I knew those I was greeting or not. They were people, other human beings, and I was thrilled to be out and among them.

Even before the storm, I had tried to stay away from groups of people. I believed that those infected with evil germs are more easily camouflaged in large groups of not-yet ill people, therefore more difficult to avoid. This strategy proved successful and I remained a model of good health – until the Sunday before Christmas. That’s when I bumped against one of the largest breeding grounds for seasonal germs. It wasn’t at the work place, or at a big raucous party, but rather at church! By the sound of it the sanctuary was filled with sick people. As soon as I sat down I heard wheezes and sneezes all around me. I could hardly hear the sermon for all the coughing and tissue rustling. I held my breath as much as I could and tried to not touch anything that anyone else had already touched.

And then the most frightening thing occurred – the minister told everyone to rise and shake each other’s hands. My biggest nightmare played out before me as one of the people who was exhibiting the most serious symptoms of coughing, sneezing and potential fever walked over to me with her hand extended. What could I do? To turn away would be rude, so I smiled warmly, nodded and desperately looked for someone healthy with whom to quickly interact. There was no one and Fever Girl stood resolutely in front of me, hand inches away and ready to shake mine. Well, this was one of those times when any God-fearing person might ask, “What would Jesus do?” Since Jesus didn’t turn away from the sick, I weakly shook the hand. I don’t know what Jesus might have done after he crossed paths with the ill, but I did my best to keep that hand away from any other part of my body until I could get home and thoroughly sanitize it, as well as the rest of me.

But it was too late. Within 36 hours my throat was scratchy, my eyes watery and my nose began running a marathon. And that’s why several days later I found myself happy to be alive and once again among people. However, I would like to apologize to the strangers I may have made uncomfortable with my spontaneous hugging in the grocery store.

On the bright side, I’m pretty sure I’m no longer contagious.

Posted in Health and Well Being | 6 Comments

Happy Birthday Woodstock!

Posted on August 15, 2009 by Lou Ann Thomas

            The Woodstock Music and Art Festival turns 40 this weekend.  Hard to believe, isn’t it?

            Of course, I didn’t make it to Woodstock in 1969, and there have been times since that I felt like the only person from my generation to not be there.  But I was 16 at the time of Woodstock and 16-year-old girls from my world didn’t go halfway across the country with anyone except their parents, and my middle-aged parents just weren’t really into rock ‘n’ roll that much.

            But, if Woodstock had been held three years later, when I was a 19-year-old college student, I would have so been there!

            I have friends who went. At least they say they did.  Since they actually seem to remember it, I’m a bit suspicious of their claim.  But it sounds like fun.  Not now, but back then it would have been fun.  Gathering with a half-million of my peers in a pasture in upstate New York these days sounds like a fresh kind of Hell!  We would likely spend most of our time bitching and moaning about our aches and pains, and how much our backs hurt from sleeping on the ground.  We’d stand around, fully clothed (God, I hope!), in sensible shoes that likely cost more than the vehicle most original Woodstock attendees drove to the festival, complaining about the conditions and loud music.

            And if it rained, like it did at Woodstock, turning Max Yasgur’s farm into a mud hole, we’d be long gone and rushing the nearest Holiday Inn.  As for walking 20  miles to get there because of traffic jams, I don’t think so.  There would have to be convenient shuttles and certainly adequate, and clean, porta potties.  Woodstock had neither of those things.  Those gathered there were rained on for three days, got little sleep, endured food shortages and had sparse sanitation facilities.

            I wonder if that many of us, of any age group, could gather together in such large numbers in such unpleasant conditions and still maintain a weekend of “peace and love.”  Woodstock was an amazing phenomena, in that for that one weekend a generation half a million strong gathered together to play, dance, make love, and do other things they weren’t suppose to do, and it all pretty much worked out okay.  It wasn’t perfect, by any means.  According to police reports, there were 2 deaths, but there were also 2 births!  And, although there were more than a few drug busts, there were no reports of burglary or violent crime in the surrounding communities.

On the positive side, 500,000 young citizens were virtually left own and discovered the words Sharing, Helping, Consideration, and Respect to be very powerful. Thousands left the Woodstock event with a totally different outlook on life.  And, as a side note, clean up of the 600 acre site was accomplished in five days by the Woodstock crew and attendees who stayed to help.

            Woodstock has never been repeated.  There was never another gathering like it that didn’t generate some kind of violence or extreme drama.  That weekend, 40 years ago, changed music and it changed society. 

            I wish I had been there to experience it.  If I only could have gotten Mom and Dad interested in a little road trip!

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“Are there any GOOD reporters out there?”

Posted on July 14, 2009 by Lou Ann Thomas

            Have you ever heard or read a comment that immediately made you puff up like a cat?  You know, where you can feel yourself start to fuss and hiss, and you get more indignant than you ever thought possible?  It may have been something said as an off handed remark or a dig at the end of a rant.  Whatever it was, you immediately felt the need to “set the record straight” or defend yourself in a knee jerk reaction.

            One place where I often see these kinds of blood pressure raising comments is on the internet, especially on some of the social networking sites.  Facebook, Twitter and the others are amazing ways to connect and reconnect with others, as well as for everyone to have a public platform from which to spout their thoughts, beliefs,  as well as to perpetuate misinformation and to attack others.

            Recently I ran across a post on Facebook which read:  “Why does no one know the names of the 13 soldiers killed in Afghanistan the day Michael Jackson died?”  The comment ended with:  “Are there no GOOD reporters out there?”  (Emphasis, by capitalization, of “good” was the poster’s.)

            Now, I was totally sympathetic to this comment as far as soldiers being killed and we not hearing anything about it, but were instead overloaded with coverage of Michael Jackson’s death and all that followed it.  I was totally sympathetic until I got to that last line, which served as nothing more than a stinger – an unnecessary dig at my fellow journalists.  First of all, how many reporters decide what gets into print or on air?  And secondly, didn’t the fact this person heard that 13 soldiers were killed that day indicate that a reporter, somewhere, was doing his or her job well?   But I also wanted to know the names of the soldiers killed that day.

            I checked Our Fallen Heroes website and quickly learned 13 soldiers had not been killed on June 25.  However, two had.  Army Spc. Joshua L. Hazlewood, 22, of Manvel, Texas; assigned to the 614th Automated Cargo Documentation Detachment; died in Arifjan, Kuwait, of injuries sustained from a non-combat related incident, and Army 1st Lt. Brian N. Bradshaw, 24, of Steilacoom, Wash.; assigned to the 1st Battalion, 501st Parachute Infantry Regiment, 4th Airborne Brigade Combat Team, 25th Infantry Division, Fort Richardson, Alaska; died in Kheyl, Afghanistan, of wounds sustained when an improvised explosive device detonated near his vehicle.

            Apparently only reporters are held to standards of accuracy when dispensing information, because multiple requests for the source of the report of 13 soldiers killed on June 25 referred to in this post were met with silence.  But it is not only our soldiers who are losing their lives in these wars.  Are you aware that 70 journalists were killed on the job in 2008?  Another 673 were arrested and 125 were imprisoned in 2008.  Eighteen journalists have been killed so far this year.  That’s a fraction of the number of our soldiers, but these journalists were not armed with anything other than a camera and/or notebook, and as a percentage of the number who are in war zones the numbers of journalists killed is extremely, and alarmingly, high.

            I also found the information regarding the two soldiers killed on June 25 in The New York Times, The Washington Post and several other large metro newspapers, so in answer to the question “Are there any GOOD reporters out there?” the correct answer is:  Yes.  Yes there are!

           Some are even risking, and giving, their lives to bring us accurate information.

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