Monday, January 31, 2011

Morning Coffee


MORNING COFFEE

OK.
I get it.
We’re at war!
So says the coffee cup,
full to the very top,
of this morning’s fresh brew.
Would that you would have
sipped that first ritual sip,
and let on that the little thing I daily did,
for you
might have meant something.

Sunday, January 30, 2011

The Creative Mind

THE CREATIVE MIND, by Signe Crawford and friends
Wednesday, October 27, 2010 7:57 PM

The Creative Mind,

Listens openly,

Brainstorms fearlessly,

Practices intently,

Integrates organically,

Waits patiently,

Invites God,

Discovers Miraculously!

My Thanksgiving Prayer

MY THANKSGIVING PRAYER

        Given the state of the government, the world, humanity, the environment, and numerous offshoots, I've been in a funk for the last few years.  But when Karl called to remind me about the City Band performance for the Veteran's Ceremony at the Americal Legion, I replied reluctantly that I'd be there.  Truthfully, I was getting sick of receiving, then deleting, emails relating to the war, the election, and new patriotic songs.  I'd just listened, then deleted, a new one called A Pittance of Time, which was circulating through the ranks.  It was another self-righteous guilt trip, as far as I was concerned.  "They fought and some died for our homeland---now it's our land".  Well, yeah, now that things have settled out from the time we did the same to the Natives of this country.
        So on Saturday morning, I was getting set to be there at 11:00.  I looked again at my calendar, and discovered that the assigned time was actually 10:00, giving me only 15 minutes to get dressed, run a brush through my hair, (forget the shower), and go!  Fortunately there was a granola bar in my glove compartment.
        The band was set up already, and getting music in order.  As I climbed up onto the crowded, funkier than funky stage, I apologized for being late, and Karl replied "that's ok, you're on the third clarinet part".  Fine.  So, with no elbow room, and the cymbal about four inches from my ear, I began pulling out my clarinet and sorting my music.  My hands were freezing.  So was my clarinet.  Great.  Finally, with the preliminaries done, I had a few moments to sit on my hands.  I looked at the audience and counted twenty people--about one person for every four or five seats.  I looked at the band.  I'd estimate there were about fifty of us.  We warmed up.  We played our first march.  We sounded great.  We finished, and there was no applause.  Not one clap.
          Three more songs into it, a few people started applauding, and the seats were starting to fill.  But I was bored and didn't want to be there.  I think the Armed Forces Salute was our fourth number. There I was, barely going through the motions, when I eyed a man in the front row by himself, maybe 80, wiping a tear.  Apparently what we were doing meant something to someone, bless his heart.  I started playing for him.  Those anthems, and all they stood for, started to permeate my soul, and I found it hard to maintain my composure, wondering what specific story or group of stories prompted him to react so.  Were his politics anything like mine?   Does he feel it was worth it to go through whatever it was he experienced?  What if it were me?  The band kept on, and the room kept filling up, almost to capacity.  The people were a little late, but they did get there.
          The older I get, the more the answers elude me.  What is freedom, really?  For what will I be giving thanks this Thanksgiving?  This man sacrificed what?---so that I may advertise a "Girls Gone Wild" video on Comedy Central?--or if I want to make a billion dollars, I'm free to merge, then downsize into oblivion?  I'm reminded of a book--what was the name of it?-- about Tecumseh, the brave warrior who fought against us in the French and Indian War.  His likeness now graces our best selling baking soda product. I've often looked at soldiers as the hired protectors of other people's wealth.  Sure we all have a chance to "make it" in America.  It's just easier for some than for others.  What must the terrorists think?
          We kept on with the marches and anthems.  My hands were thawing.  Then came the ceremony.  There was a lot of standing and sitting, which I had to do carefully because of the uneven floorboards.  I knew the eleventh month was November, and I knew the eleventh day was Veteran's Day.  I even knew that the eleventh hour was significant to veterans, since I'd played at numerous Elk's Club functions.  I'm embarrassed to admit, though, that it wasn't till then that I put it all together and realized that the end of WWI, the "war to end all wars" was ended on the eleventh hour of November eleventh.
          Overseeing the ceremony was the commander of the American Legion.  Uniform clad ladies and gentlemen solemnly placed flags into their holders as we played soft strains of Danny Boy.  There was an explanation for the table setting to the side of the flags--a small table with a white tablecloth, symbolizing the loneliness, and a single red rose, symbolizing the blood that was shed.  Then, like in a funeral, vets were asked to come to the microphone and share their stories.  Half way through it, I recognized the words of one of the storytellers: "Look at his little child.  There's no fear in her eyes.  Could he not show respect for other dads who have died?"  Those words were from the song!
          The veterans and one wife told a few more stories.  "Flags of our Fathers" was highly recommended.  I plan to see the movie soon.  We finished up.   I went home to my husband, a Vietnam vet.  I plan to show him my appreciation tonight.  I thanked God for the VA, which has helped us through some tough times.  I pray for guidance for our country, both the leaders and the led.  I felt I'd honored some truly significant people.  May we bless them with a country that is worthy.

Saturday, January 29, 2011

Music Is a Drug---Really!!

This is a comment I posted on Jazz Times in response to an article by Bela Fleck:

BF:  "There's a lot of psychological stuff that goes into this."

This is something I've been wondering about for about 50 years.  Why are musicians so invested in their own versions of what's happening, musically?  One guy is thinking it's "doot do do doot doot do," and another guy  thinks it's "do doot do doot doot do", and they're becoming belligerent and irrational over their own understanding of it.  They're just notes, and they're not going to hurt anybody!!  Why come so unglued?   I'm the same way, and I view my own frustration as a sign of mental instability, to some degree.

Now I'm learning about the brain/music connection, and I think I'm finally getting it figured out.  Last weekend I was listening to CBC Radio 2, and there was an article I half-caught, concerning the high percentage of certifiable craziness that was inherent in the greatest composers.  I'd like to see a study of which category each of them would have been assigned to by today's mental health specialists.  Would they be bi-polar, psychotic, schizophrenic, or merely neurotic?  Schumann died in a mental institution.  The list they reeled off was impressive.

This bit of information in conjunction with the new research on the chemical nature of our emotions, are getting to the nub of the question.  Whenever we experience an emotion, the brain emits specific chemicals which are received by all of the cells in our bodies.  Each and every cell has a special receptor which receives its own  specific chemical.  It's like the chemical is the key, and the receptor is the keyhole.  The good chemicals, i.e. the ones that make us feel pleasure, are the same chemicals as those prescribed by psychiatrists, and also, they're the same as the ones you can buy in the streets.  Of course, it's healthier to create your own chemicals, and you can't really overdose on your own production of seratonin, dopamine, and the like.  These days, though, if you're not producing your own set of happy chemicals, you can be prescribed Prozac or whatnot, and often you can regain mental health.  But it's now believed that if the great composers were alive in today's world, they wouldn't have produced their musical wonderments.  The reason for this is that they were treating their own mental disorders with their MUSIC and their COMPOSITION!  We've always been aware that there is a connection between music and our emotions.  You couldn't have a good movie without the music.  It's the music that gets to the core of the feelings the actors are portraying, more even than the words they utter.  We all understand that.  But to think that the composers were self-medicating, well, to me that points to the fact that it's also central to our core, to our mental health, and to our overall well-being.  So when you feel like ripping someone's eyes out because they're not playing their 16th notes evenly, think of the chemicals.  It's really quite astounding.

By the way, if you've ever seen the DVD of Bela Fleck and Edgar Meyer on the road together (Obstinato), you can witness two of the planet's most evolved musicians becoming mental over their conflicting musical concepts.  It can reduce even them to the level of mortal humans.

Why I'm a Liberal

WHY I’M LIBERAL

                It must have been over a year ago when we all met after band practice at Steve and Setsuko’s lovely home on Hidden Valley Road for a potluck.  Sets is an excellent cook, and Steve’s tequila oysters were the highlight of the day.   This is what is considered the good life---where you can share your hospitality with good friends.   Steve is a retired Army Sergeant who played in the Army Band.
                We were warming up in the sun together, sharing stories of bands and bad entrances, when the conversation turned political.  There was only one other person of liberal persuasion in the crowd, so I girded myself.  Steve’s comment was that he thought Fox News was fair and balanced.  This comment made my neural pathways flare up, though I wisely didn’t jump into the conversation.   When I was asked specifically who my favorite newscaster was, I answered “Rachel Maddow”.  Nobody knew who she was, so I knew they didn’t watch MSNBC.  I did manage to voice my distrust for FN, but didn’t make a big show of it.
                Shortly after that, Steve sent out a mass email encouraging those of “us” who were dissatisfied with the government to consider what was going on with the Tea Party.  I’d already heard of it.  In fact, I’d just viewed a rap video of the black kid who was co-opted to rally for them.  My cynical reaction to that was “how much did they pay him?”  I’d already decided that the Tea Party wasn’t my cup, so I sent Steve a long email about why I was a liberal.  I was rooting for Barak Hussein Obama in a big way.  His had to be the hardest job on the planet, but I had faith in him.  This was shortly after the Reverend Wright controversy, I believe, and I strongly admired his speech in reply to those accusations.  Why weren’t people giving his policies a chance?  It started to look like a conspiracy to me, based on the “Birther” and the “Deather” arguments, which I thought would go away of their own accord, due to their lameness.  In addition, if the opposition were able to halt the policies before the results were in, they would render those policies ineffective.  Then, since they didn’t work, they could handily blame the President.
                I believe there are good points to be made for both liberal and conservative persuasions, and conversely, there are negative aspects to both.  If I were defending conservatism, I would point out the danger of overspending, and it would be hard to argue unless you could make an airtight case for a good return on your investment.  I would also argue that I earned it, so I should decide how to disperse it.  I can still be a giving, loving person who is full of charity, but it should be my call.  Entitlements are a drain on the system.  Corporations employ the masses, so the healthier they are, the better for the people who need jobs. 
                The point to be made for liberalism is that in order for human beings as a species to survive, they have to create societies that give mutual support.  We don’t have sharp claws or teeth, so we have to use our brains, and we have to work as a group.  We have to keep monitoring these pesky animal instincts that keep threatening to thwart the whole project of becoming human.  The unfortunate thing is that there are many representatives of the human race, both liberal and conservative, whose brains are their tool for aggression.  They lack compassion.  So there is a need to monitor, or “regulate’, to use the “R” word.  I see what is scary about regulation.  It impinges on freedom.  It can lead to fascism. 
                It isn’t all black and white, though.  Ideally, there should be a balance.  In reality it just keeps going back and forth (read Hegel—the part about his dialectic) like a pendulum.  If you have too much freedom, the balance tilts toward animalism, which is how I see Wall Street, Madison Avenue, and especially, the banks.  That can go that way for the weakest, as well, which would be your welfare scammers, etc. 
                So the point is to keep working on it until maybe one day we can find a balance.  Maybe someday we can figure out how to combine freedom with responsibility.  Or maybe that’s what Heaven is—where we all live together freely, and in balance.  Ideally, we could all be totally free, if everybody had a moral compass, but to make matters more complicated, most of us think we have a moral compass, when really we’re just justifying our own behavior.  This is called “self-righteousness”, and has been a terrible force over the ages.  I admit I fit into that category myself.  So, even being moral has to be monitored, as with separation of church and state. 
                For me, it boils down to this:  which is more of a threat to society, the welfare scammer, or Citibank?  I vote for Citibank, and their ilk.  So I depend on a responsible electorate and a system that keeps these ideals in mind.  Don’t know if that’s possible.  Liberals seem to come closer though. 
                               




Goldilocks and the Three Banks


GOLDILOCKS AND THE THREE BANKS

This is the story of Goldilocks and the three banks, whose names were Citi, Chase, and Of America.  The bank named “Chase” had to change its name from “Washington Mutual”, or “WAMU”, about two years ago, due so some mismanagement issues. 
Recently one evening, Goldilocks was sitting around half-listening to The Rachel Maddow Show, when she was reminded that none of these three specified banks had produced any corporate taxes this last year, and that they had all turned a mighty profit---one that was record-breakingly lucrative since the taxpayers throughout the land had given them enough of a little boost to keep them from failing entirely.  She was trying not to feel victimized, but a nagging knot in her stomach kept reminding her of the spiraling monetary vortex into which she had descended. 
Here is how it happened:
On 10/12/08, Goldilocks received a letter from Of America informing her that due to a late payment, her credit limit had been lowered from $7,000 to $3,500.  This action lowered her credit score and put her debt to the bank over the new limit, causing more fees.  She called the next day to explain the late payment to an Of America representative, who was very understanding, encouraging and helpful.  Goldy explained that the bill got buried, was neglected for a month, and that a double payment was on the way.  The representative researched it while Goldilocks was on hold.  When she finally returned, she said that the actual reason (not stated in the letter) was that there was a problem with payments on a part of a HELOC (home equity line of credit) that Goldy and her husband had signed jointly, which had been taken out with Washington Mutual (aka Chase).  She asked her to clear this up with WAMU, and that after that, they (WAMU) would get with the credit reporting companies to restore the rating.  This is where it gets complicated, but the problem was caused by WAMU, as I will explain:
First, let me mention that the payments for the HELOC were taken out of a joint checking account from WAMU, though Goldy had a separate account from another local bank, and Hubby used the joint account.   Hubby wasn’t the best at keeping track of his checking account balance, but he did receive a VA disability check every month for $2,700.00, and out of that, any monthly payments he was responsible for were automatically taken out before the 12th of each month.  This was how they’d always set it up, and this included the house payment, the HELOC, and a truck payment.  They did this so that no matter what, these payments would always be made.
On Mar. 19 of that year, he received a notice about a payment to WAMU that went into collections.  This was without any prior warning from the Bank.  It was for a total of about $600.  Hubby was never able to explain what it was to Goldilocks’ satisfaction, but it was paid off.  Goldy was angry because she thought it would affect her credit rating, and so she went to WAMU with him, where they closed their joint account and opened a new account just for him.  At the same time they were informed that there was over $2000 available for a loan on the top of their HELOC.  They were looking for funds to keep going on his project of building a shop, so he signed for that, and in their understanding, the payments were to be taken out of his new checking account.
Well, they weren’t .  They were being drawn on from their closed account.  When Goldy went to check on it, it was explained to her that the $2,000 loan was being treated like a revolving credit card, so the minimum that was due was the interest on it.  So every once in a while, Hubby would get a notice that there was $40, $20, or $60 owing, and, because he was uncomfortable dealing with banks, Goldy would rush in and make the payment.  She didn’t even know what she was paying for until she finally decided to get pro-active and get some counseling from a WAMU Associate, Misty.  Misty looked over the letter from Of America, and since the letter indicated that the lowering of her credit rating was due to a late payment, Misty had a hard time understanding that really, it was due to the problem with the WAMU HELOC.  At that time, they reset the automatic payment.  Goldy then asked about Misty’s bank’s responsibility to restore her credit score.  Misty wrote down some information and sent it to her supervisor; however, to Goldy’s perplexity, she didn’t sound too hopeful.  She said she’d do what she could, and told Goldy to expect a letter from their credit department.  About a week later, the letter arrived---a survey!!  In the meantime, Goldy received a letter from Of America’s Customer Credit Department stating that, as she’d requested, they had reviewed their decision to reduce her credit line.  Well, she had requested a review, but she was still in the process of hashing it out with WAMU, so it was too early to be considered at that point.
Finally, Goldilocks received a letter from WAMU dated 10-2, stating that after careful revue, her FICO score could not be restored.  This was because the proportion of balances to credit limits was too high (partially due to the lowered limit).  Also the time since her most recent account opening was too short, a number of accounts were in delinquency (which they were, since each affected the other).  There was also another black mark based on the length of time revolving accounts had been established, which, since the loan was just established, would have only been a few days. 
On 10/6, she received a phone call from Carrie at WAMU, asking her to bring in a voided check from her husband’s account so they could SET UP THE AUTOMATIC PAYMENT!!!  “What???” thought Goldy.  She garnered her civility and went in on 10/9, hoping that the third time was the charm.
From then on, her interest payments went up anywhere from 19% to 29%.  At the same time, her own self-employment was dwindling, due, she surmised, to a failing economy.

Now, every month, Goldilocks was receiving maybe 15 credit card offers a month.  She was in denial at this point, just trying to drum up the payments on the cards she already had.  She had accumulated about $15,000 in debt, and was faithfully listening to Dave Ramsey in the afternoons every chance she could, hoping that his wisdom would impart to her.  She did pay off her smallest card, the one with a $500 limit.  That felt great, and kept her in denial about her monthly routine for about another year.  Then she heard Arianna Huffington suggest that we should all be boycotting the Big Banks, and we could do so by talking to the credit departments of our local banks.  “That makes sense”, though Goldy.  She composed a letter explaining the situation top to bottom, and handed it to Eva, a very helpful gal in the right department to turn around her life, she thought.  Eva read the letter and replied: “Wow!”  She went right to work, trying to secure a loan at about 12%, which sounded good to Goldy.  But when Goldy went in the next day, it turned out that her earnings ratio was too low for the debt she’d incurred.  Goldy went home sad, but not mad.  She knew that Eva would have helped if she could have.

Another year went by, and offers were forthcoming.  Godilocks gave it some thought, but every time she considered it, her stomach would tighten up, so she just kept paying the money, which also made her stomach tighten.  It was hard to tell which source of the stomach-tightening was worse. 
Finally, an offer came from Citi, and though she’d heard terrible foul things about the big corporation, she bit the bullet and read through the paperwork.  0% interest for over a year.  That would save a bunch.  $300 transfer fee.  Well, that would be ok, she guessed.  24% interest if a payment is missed.  She promised on her mother’s grave that she’d never in a million years ever miss another payment.  She figured out that presently her interest payments were amounting to almost $250 a month, and decided that she would take a new direction in pro-activity, and make the call.  Pretty soon.  Well, actually, it needed to be thought about some more.
Then, the final finally arrived.  It was in the form of an “All Things Considered” report on NPR.  This was the trusted source that put Goldy over the top and got her to contact Citi.  They were interviewing a girl who avoided all interest charges by signing for the 0% cards whenever she needed to.  She’d pay the transfer fee, but at the end of the story they summed it up as if she hadn’t paid anything.  In her head, Goldy’s addendum to the story was “Yeah, but there’s a fee, so don’t forget about it.”
She called a couple of days later.  There were three cards to transfer.  After the information was taken for the second card, the Citi associate tried to sell her a few other things; insurance and the like, but Goldy stalwartly replied “no” to all inquiries.  They tried to send her the free trial periods, and she clearly reiterated, “no, please don’t send me anything that I have to cancel”.  She tried to remind the associate that there was another card to transfer, but the associate had selling on her mind.  She forgot entirely about the third card.  She then tried to wrap up the conversation, and Goldy interjected, “What about my third card?”  It was too late, the associate explained, blaming Goldy for withholding the information.   “You’ll have to wait until you get your card, and then you can continue with the transferring.  There was that knot again, but Goldy was too worn out to pursue an argument, and replied, “Thank you, I’ll do that.”
The day came when her card arrived.  Goldilocks took a breath and tried to quell her disgust for partnering with one of the Big 3 corporations.  “Maybe they’ve learned their lesson”, she thought.  She had to admit that it made her feel relieved----empowered, even.  She was down to two credit cards, one with 0% for a year, and the other one, the one that was only 19%, was cut more than half.  The evil 29.99% cards were history!  So, “Hurray!!” she uttered.  “Maybe I’m out of the belly of the Beast”.
Two days later she got the bill for the remaining card from Chase, and on it, there was another $300 transfer fee.

















Wonder Woman?

"Wonder" in the sense of "wondering", not the bionically engineered muscle woman of 40 or so years ago.  50 years ago?  Whenever.

Could anyone else, anyone ever, live my life?  That's what I wonder.  I think not.  I think I'm the only person capable of accomplishing such a feat.  I wouldn't trade it, but neither would anyone want to trade for it, so it works out well.  I constantly amuse myself, though there's never a guarantee the joke will  infuse to another party.  Witness the lack of "likes" on my Facebook page.  Maybe I need to choose my friends more carefully. 

So I'm reserving my blog spot for complete strangers.  I'd like to test the waters of the ethos, and see what the response might be.  I like being me.  I know how to handle rejection, and how to process the disapproval of others.  It took a few years--almost 64 now.  It also took a few experiences, which I will gradually offer to you.   I still don't think I got it entirely right, as far as God's plan for me goes, but I'm working on it. 

My  first entries will be comprised of some already written pieces, some of which were mildly well-received by my friends on Facebook, and some of which were ignored.  Each entry was fully-composed in my head before it was written.  I'm not the type of writer who says "I'm a writer, therefore, I write", so I don't make it a daily discipline. But every entry was written with a feeling of urgency.  I always think they are monumentally important, and don't see why Newsweek wouldn't want to publish My Thanksgiving Prayer  in their My Turn column, or NPR wouldn't pick up on my story about my credit issues (Goldilocks and the Three Banks).  But I would have written them no matter.  

Confusing things happen in my life, so after I get the knots out of a confusion, then I write about it.  I will be sharing details of my life that nobody else has access to, so it's important to me that my blog life and my real life stay separate.  I don't want to know any of you personally, no offense.  I just want to use you to sort things out, and through your comments, try to make my life connect better. 
 
Or not.  I can honestly tell you that my tolerance for the thinking of others is thinning over the years. I'd like to get back to my old idealism, and truly to my core, understand that it's our differences that make us human.  I want to believe that Alan Watts was correct in his assumptions when he wrote a great little book called The Wisdom of Insecurity.  But before that, I need to get a few things off my chest.

To any who follow along, I want to thank you very much.