I am small

I got to looking at all the other blogger types on the web.
My GOD! some of these people are so accomplished. I feel very intimidated. And insignificant.

Whenever I feel that way, I write.

I AM SMALL

I am small
No one needs to notice me at all
I want to use my talents too
But then I see all the others who
Have more to offer than I do
I am small

I am small
My poem belongs on a bathroom wall
I would at least have people read
The flowering of my creative seed
Even if they did it while they peed
I am small

I am small
I should not try to stand up tall
So many others have come before
Creative artists crowd the floor
I’m not even near the door
I am small

I am small
It isn’t even far to fall
I should just thank god that I’m employed
I don’t have the right to be annoyed
That my job is a soulless void
I am small

I am small
My words an insignificant scrawl
It’s not that I am not the best
I hate to think it is a contest
I’ll do my small small bit with zest.
Thank you; that is all.

Dave Matthews’ “Crash into me”

I’ve had this Dave Matthews’ album forever ( Crash ). I had seen him in concert at the H.O.R.D.E festival before I bought the album. I like him live, and I eventually bought the CD.

I hadn’t listened to it in a while, so when I saw it in my collection I grabbed it. I remember I liked it, but it was a vague memory.

The whole album is good, really. I love the fact that he uses horns! More horns, we don’t hear enough horns anymore.

But after hitting track three, I remember why I have a fuzzy memory about the album.

That song…”Crash into me”…Oh man…I LOVE that song…wow…SO much. It’s like chocolate.

Like really good chocolate
your favorite kind
Left in a bowl on the coffee table
Full

I can’t help but go back and back.
I try to get through the album and then I just go back to hear that song. It has this melt-me effect. It sort of turns me into a loose slithery heavy-lidded person.

WHICH I REALLY SHOULDN’T BE WHILE I’M AT WORK.
but that’s neither here nor there.

Anyway, I thought I would share that.

Maybe I’ll do another review later of other chocolate-type songs. I know I have a few of them.

War Protestors–What are they good for?

I am a huge fan of peace. Destruction, oppression of peoples, killing, people getting hurt or going hungry are usually part of war. I don’t want any of those things to happen to me, and I don’t want any of those things to happen to ANYBODY.

However:

Those sorts of things happen outside of war, too. And war can be necessary.

Not everyone agrees with me. I have been friends with Mennonites who believed that it was never ever right to take another human being’s life.

“That’s is God’s right alone,” they said.

“But what if a criminal were holding a gun to your wife’s head, and you could step in and kill him before he killed her?”

“I would have to let God take care of that. It’s wrong to take a life.”

I’ve lived with Quakers who had similar beliefs. I think that is a beautiful thing. I have tremendous respect for their determination to live by their values. I’m sure the world is a better place because they are in it.

I myself would blast the living crap out of anyone that threatened my loved ones. I would be so angry that someone was trying to hurt them.

This is so much of what I hear from peace protestors, too.

ANGRY ANGRY ANGRY

whoa.
Back it up, people. What’s so funny ’bout peace, love and understanding?

I like peace. I WANT to be on your side. My heart says, Don’t hurt people!
But the wiser grown-up part of me also knows that it takes hard measures to set things right after they have gone wrong.

And something has gone wrong. Saddam did stuff he shouldn’t do.

So did America.

So did the U.N.

And what do we do now? We can’t go back in time and make a better choice. We are now, we are here, living with the consequences of everything that went before.

What type of consequences do we want to live with in the future? The consequences of war? Or the consequences of not-war?

I say not-war, because I am not sure that the state of things in Iraq were what I could call peace.

Or the state of things in America.

I am not sure about it. I don’t know. I wish I understood. I wish that I had been reading things all along and learning about the situation before it had come to this.

Now, it’s come to this. And what am I to think? War is not a good thing. What can we do to not have war?

How can I know what is the most important?

I can’t devote my whole day to studying it out. Most people in America cannot do this.

BUT!

We have thought of that. This smart for-the-people-by-the-people place I get to live in, we came up with freedom of speech, and then later came up with University systems. We, taxpayers, pay to have people sit around and study important things out so they can get back to us and tell us.

Sometimes, it is in the form of a classroom, this telling us. But when something is so broadly important, I think that these people that I pay to study things should get the information out to more people.

I’m not saying tell me what to think, but laying out the options might be nice.

I feel very let down by the people who are supposed to be our intellectuals.

I think they are not doing their jobs.

Tenure was set up to give professors the security to be daring in their thoughts, to reach farther than others might with safety. I think its a good idea.

But all those people are not putting it out there.

Give me a break! If I can get 4 spams of Michael Moore’s stuff, why can’t someone whose opinion is vastly more informed give me an email that makes some logical sense?

This was first made clear to me with the “Not is our Name” petition that went around the ‘net after September 11.

The statement is one of great weight. I want to resist the bad things they talk about.

But I was not given one shred of evidence of the things they accused the government of doing.

If it is happening, why don’t they point to it?

We are only told to “resist.”

Oh, wait. We are also told to post little globes everywhere.

I feel betrayed. Many of the people who signed that list are people I admire.

Why haven’t they given us a better argument?

Truth shouldn’t be difficult to prove. The fact that no evidence is given makes me wonder if it’s true.

MORNING!

You know, I’ve had to be at work at 7 a.m. every morning this week. That’s not so unusual, but today I have to stay until 6 p.m. or even later.

I thought I would drive my car.

Driving at quarter to 7 in the morning is kind of nice, traffic is light, and it’s pretty. Usually I get to the parking lot and think, “I could have left even later.”

This morning was going to be a little tough; i had two video conferences to launch at the exact same time, on two different floors.

Launch time was 7:30, so I was glad to be getting to work early.

In my pretty car, listening to the first broadcast of NPR’s coverage of the bombings of Iraq, I pull onto the 5. ooh. Backed up. I listen to the traffic report, and nothing is mentioned.

Typical. They never talk about where I am. I guess that means traffic everywhere else is WORSE.

I am hopeful that when I pull onto the 110, the traffic will be faster.

I have a lot of time to cherish this hope. It’s 7 a.m. before I get on the 110.

There are a lot of very pretty wildflowers at the exit right now. I got to examine them in detail.

I also thought about the fact that I had no back up for the two conferences I needed to start this morning. NO one else was in today.

I made it to my parking space at 7:30.

RUNNING up to the elevator, my cell phone rings. It’s the New York site. “Murphy!” my tech says. “Someone has pulled all the cables out of the back of the video unit! I don’t know how to put them back!”

I tell her I”ll call her when I get up the room. On the elevator, I try to figure out which conference is what, and which one that New York room is involved in.

Clever tech, she figured it out by the time I got up to the room. With just a few minor adjustments, she was up and ready.

She says, ” I don’t know WHO would have done this, they had to get all the way behind the equipment to pull it out.”

“Michelle, ” I said. “It’s terrorists.”

Next on the list:
Find those folks who didnt show up and/or didn’t turn on the equipment. THere seemed to be a lot of them this morning.

I have to check on the other room, the one located a floor below. I dash off to the elevator and punch the button. I feel a little silly, thinking I should have just taken the stairs. Just as I start to try to think about where the stairs even are, the elevator opens, and I jump in.

It’s the wrong elevator. I figure that out when the doors close and I drop fast to the ground floor.

So I rush out, get on the RIGHT elevator, and move into the next room.

My cell rings again: “we don’t like the conference room we are connected to. We want to move to another one.”

Fine, okay, just tell me which one.

*Ring*

“Um? hello? I think I’m supposed to do something with the video?”

“Yes, you are, actually. Would you mind going to the room that you were supposed to be in a half hour ago and turning on the equiment? Thaaaaannnkkksss..”

“Half an hour? I can’t do that…I turned the TV on…”

“Yes, but you do need to turn on the actual video conference equipment. Do you know how to do that?”

“I guess…”

“Okay, why don’t you do that, and I’ll talk about showing up for the half-hour set up later..Okay? GOOoood.”

Now they are set up, rush back upstairs, get that one set up. Oh look, the main speaker is completely blocked by a chair positioned in front of the camera. But before I can tell him, the introducer guy starts in:
“Okay, let’s get started already…”

when he pauses, I have to jump in.

“Hello, this is Murphy Horner. I’m the Video Conference Administrator. Could the persons in Silicon Valley just step around the table and move the chairs directly in front of them and the camera? I’m sure the folks in this conference would prefer to see more of you, and less of the chairs. Thank you.”

They were good sports, they moved the chairs.

Shwew.

Thank god.

I’m finally set up.

I walk downstairs, very slowly, waiting for the adrenaline to seep out of my body.

Yikes.

What a morning!

I’m gonna eat my yogurt now.

Oedipus’s eyes

I like Dr. Phil. He’s not as judgemental as Dr. Laura, but they both have this get-it-done attitude. They both say, Why you do what you do may be interesting and important, but How to do what you wish you would do is way more important. So if you can skip the ‘why’ and go straight to the ‘how’, you should.

I remember Dr. Phil was giving this one woman advice, I forget about what, but he handed her what I assume to be a well-worn platitude:
You did the best that you knew how to do. When you know better, you do better. Now you know better.

I think he was right. I think the woman was trying to do the right thing.

But at the same time…
“best” is a squishy word. How do you know if you’ve done your best?

Doing your best…That would be when you stop and carefully think about something, judiciously decide on the correct course of action, and then put forth strong and consistent effort to take that course of action.

Boy, that sure would be doing your best. Gosh, i wish I did that every time I had a goal to accomplish.

But what if you did that–did your best–and you were wrong?

There are all kinds of ways that can happen.

Like, what if you did your best to keep your car in good shape. You noticed that the brakes were soft, you took it in to be checked. The mechanics looked at it, and said it was fixed. What if you drove that car, the brakes failed, and a child died in a car accident?

You did your best!
And the child remains dead.

What if
You choose to become involved in a relationship with someone, and because of what you know of that person, fall in love and get married. You tie your life and your future to that person.
What if that person had lied to you about who they were and misrepresented thier life?
You would remain tied to them.

What about this?
What if you looked at the world around you, saw suffering, injustice and poverty and decided you had to step in and help. What if you thought long and hard, and discussed with your friends, the wisest ones you could find, and read and studied books to find a solution. What if you came upon a plan to stop that suffering injustice and poverty, and you worked hard to put into place that plan. What if you were able to do it?

And then…
What if you were completely wrong? What if your cherished, well-thought-out plan did not end poverty, suffering and injustice? What if, instead, it brought on an inhumane system that was far worse than the previous situation? What if those same wise friends you talked with were persecuted, tortured, and killed? What if discussion were outlawed, and poverty increased?

And your plan, the one you worked hard for, had been the cause of this tragedy.

This is what the character in The Unbearable Lightness of Being contemplates. He is caught in the middle of the communist revolution in Czechoslovakia, as an intellectual, and he sees what was done in the name of communism.

He is shredded by what has happened in his country; and he remembers the story of Oedipus.

I hated the story of Oedipus when I first read it. He killed his father and married his mother. In a nutshell.

But the gripping drama is not in a nutshell. It doesn’t tell the story.

The story tells that Oedipus did everything he knew how to do. He really did his best. He didn’t want to kill his father; he ran away so that he wouldn’t.

but he did kill his father.

And do you remember his response? His wife and mother hung herself. Jocaste figured it out a split second before he did.

Oedipus put his eyes out.

And when I was a teenager, I was so upset by this! What else could he have done? He did the best he could! There was no way out for him, he tried his best.

But the consequences of his actions remained.

And what about the communist activists in Czechoslovakia? They were, perhaps, doing the best they could.

But the consequences remain.

Here is my story:
A married couple, tired of the middle class stifling morality and hypocrisy of suburbia go looking for sincerity and being REAL. They try the usual 60s things, talking, reading and thinking about new ideas. This path eventually takes them to becoming involved in community. They want to help build community in a church. They really join in.
They stop being around their old friends, and some family members. Those folks drink, and the church members don’t do that.
The woman gives up her feminist magazines. Church women aren’t feminists.
They dive in, work for the church even.
Then, the pastor of that church wants to move on. “God is calling me to leave the pastorate”
So a new pastor comes in. He’s dicey, because he is hyper-opinionated and has been insensitive to other people’s needs in previous situations.
But the couple wants to preserve the community. They think, we should be a loving and accepting community. Let’s work with this new pastor; we want our community to be healthy and intact.
And so they tolerate some things; it’s a transition period.
This dicey pastor moves in. He demands respect for his God-given opinion. And they aquiesce.

as time goes by, more and more toleration occurs. This man twists words, and pietizes all his actions. As time goes by, they learn to consult him in any major and many minor decisions, since he claims to have the special ordainment of God.

Their youngest child looks at them and says “Who are you? What do you really think? What is YOUR opinion?”
And her father says: “I sincerely believe what the pastor tells me.”

As time goes by, the pastor is not satisfied with his control. He decides to flex futher power. The youngest son, upon reaching adulthood, is instructed to shun his oldest brother. “Your brother is the enemy of Christ” the man says.
and the son says: “my heart is black with sin. I cannot trust my own judgement. I must always consult the pastor before I make a decision.”

The family is sick and wounded. The community is betrayed and sincerity is a word without meaning.

But the couple did the best they could.

Thomas, in Unbearable Lightness, was angry with the communist revolutionaries. He wanted them to understand that they had done something wrong.

Like Oedipus.

They were busy crying “We are innocent! In our hearts, we know we did the best we could!”

And what about the consequences? The consequences, the pain caused by their innocent best–what about them?

What about that poor dead child from the bad brake job?
What about that spouse, lied to?
What about the family, the church, the children that were part of the community?

Actions have consequences.

Bad things can come from good motives.

The greeks knew that. LONG ago. We know that still, even though it makes us profoundly uncomfortable.

“The Human Condition”

I heard a guy tell me once, and who knows? He was always spouting crap…
But he said he had done a study of lots of religions, and the difference between Christianity and the rest of them was that Christianity offered forgiveness.

Forgiveness.

Jesus said it: “All have sinned and come short of the glory of God.”

Like I said before, I don’t always do my best.

But sometimes, even when I do, even when everybody does their best, the consequences accuse.

THomas said, “You are responsible, you czech revolutionaries! This did not come out of nowhere! What intentions you had, good, bad, rose-colored from the past, these heinous consequences remain.”

What shall they, what shall we, what shall _I_ do with these consequences?

Oedipus put his eyes out.

I believe that Oedipus was a better human being than I am.

But what shall we do?

That is what haunts me, that is what made me pace up and down when I read The Unbearable Lightness of Being.

Tomas did not want the communists to put their eyes out. He wanted acknowledgement.

Because how do you move on, unless you acknowledge where you are?

I could stand and accuse. I could point my finger. The dicey pastor taught me that.

Or maybe I learned it before.

Or maybe I was born with it.

Or maybe it doesn’t make a damn bit of difference when I learned it. Maybe it is important to move on.

To open the hand, and give a hand out to others to move on.

Like Dr. Phil, who says it doesn’t matter why, only how to get to where you need to go.

I don’t think that covering up pain has to be part of the forgiveness.

Shame, judgement, accusations–guilt or innocence–these are not relevant.

We all have tried and we have all had the best of intentions. And we have all had not so good intentions at times.

That just doesn’t matter.

What if we could make forgiveness so much a part of life, that it is a given, just the way that we get by?

Just help each other move on, keep going and keep trying to do better.

don’t kill the story!

A quote from E.L. Doctorow’s introduction to The Best American Short Stories 2000:

“…it is a fiction in which society is surmised as the darkness around the narrative circle of light. In other words, the scale of the short story predisposes it to the isolation of the self. And the author’s awareness of loneliness is a literary dignity he grants his characters in spite of their circumstances…”

Oh my god. I would yawn if I weren’t completely paralyzed from boredom.

YES, I am about to rant.

I LOVE books. I LOVE short stories. I LOVE stories. Reading, hearing, creating STORIES.

I even went to school for a frighteningly long time and got a DEGREE in stories.

Well, that’s what I wanted to get my degree in. I ended up getting my degree in literature.

Which is not the same thing. But it was the closest I could get.

Do I think that Doctorow knows what he’s talking about? Certainly! It can be useful to dissect and label the pieces of stories, as you would a frog.

But the appreciation of frogs or stories is not dependent on such dissection! There is a more holistic way to approach stories.

This is one of my major frustrations with formal education regarding literature. I understand the lure of charts and diagrams and answer books.

But they are doomed to being incomplete and therefore false.

For what the codification and dissection have to offer, I appreciate them. But for what they exclude, I loathe them.

Mr. Doctorow, and all literature professors, don’t kill the story to examine it. It lives in the reading. At least let the readers read it before you tell them what they have to see in it.

There can be only two…

Green and Red.

These are the traditional jello colors. And jello, strange food that it is, is surprisingly traditional. American as apple pie. Or green jello.

There is a rumor, though I couldn’t find a website for it, that green jello conduct brainwaves.

What does this mean?

I first encountered jello as an abstraction when I visited North Dakota. That’s jello country. My youngest brother was attending the university there, and he had a lot of anthropological observations.

“There are only two acceptable colors for jello: Green and Red.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. But there’s more! Jello can be either a side dish, as in ‘salad’, or a dessert.”
“How do you tell when it’s which?”
“When it’s dessert, it has whipped cream on top.”

The reason I bring this up, is that I’ve been rediscovering the joys of jello in my own life. I use whip cream on it, so it must be desert.

I like orange.

And yellow jello. This same brother, when he was in the hospital getting his tonsils out, was offered jello.
“Yellow jello?” he asked the nurse hopefully.
“No, we only have green or red jello.”

He turned them down. If it wasn’t yellow, he didn’t want jello.

I have some yellow jello waiting to be made. But as I was at the grocery store, I thought I ought to give green and red a chance. Maybe they were popular because of innate qualities, not merely blind tradition.

Green jello is simple. It’s lime.

But red jello could be many flavors. Cherry. Strawberry. Raspberry.

And there was a new one. Cranberry.

I thought I would try it.

It wasn’t as good as I hoped. Not tart enough.

Just thought I’d let you know.

The Ends Justify the Meanness

(This is cross-posted)

Some days I go to work, and I can smile at people. We exchange pleasantries and stale jokes in the coffee room.

It is easy to forget that none of them want what’s best for me. NONE of them.

In a perfect world, we would all work together towards improved efficiency, lowering costs and bettering service.

This is not that world. Everyone has to watch out for their own interests.

And that’s not such a bad thing. Who is the one most qualified to watch out for your own interests than you? really, the scheme is an excellent division of labor.
In the system, NOT looking out for your own interests would really be letting your employer down.

A book that I picked up at a trade show after a cranky and frustrating morning at work reminds me of my duty to look out for number one.

What Would Machiavelli Do? the Ends Justify the Meanness

It’s pretty silly, but sometimes I have to remember that I am not among friends. I am among co-workers.

A Very Neat Open Letter

I have a job, and I am pleased that I have a job.

But there are times in any job that are less than pleasant. Times when you are faced on all sides with a Catch 22.

So today, I had a lot of those.

But the thing that took the cake…My Own Personal Point of Pride…Yesterday, a local deity asked me to write some instructions.

I lay aside the fact that to create these instructions is to create and distribute a sharp pointy stick than is meant for poking me.

It had to be done, and I understood why. A global deity needed appeasement, and it took this sharp pointy stick distribution plan.

Fine.

BUT! When I carefully WROTE the instructions, the local deity carefully took the beautiful succinct clear phrases and instructions and made them longer, more confusing and ugly…hoh..

it is one thing to write something badly, and never get around to finishing making the writing better.

I do that practically every day on this blog.

but to take pretty, crafted words and MAKE THEM WORSE ON PURPOSE!

it wounds me.

It wounds me more that I must send them out as if they were my own. It’s like wearing a sign that says “i’m stoopid”

SIGH

In desperation, I was avoiding the situation. I was surfing.

I found this letter.

I think it’s a very beautiful thought. Beautiful thoughts are good. And I wanted to share it.