From the Treetop

Seeds of Wisdom: "There are

Seeds of Wisdom: "There are a thousand thoughts lying within a man that he does not know till he takes up a pen to write." -- William Makepeace Thackeray

I was sorry to see that Shelley Powers took down her web log. I understand her reasons, but she will be missed! I'm leaving her in my Blog role under a new category - gone, but not forgotten - in hopes that she will return.

I know it's not Monday, but I have a pet peeve for the Kurmudgeon's Korner:

I think there ought to be a law that prohibits stylized singing of our National Anthem. Some singers who perform the duty of singing the National Anthem at sporting events ought to have their vocal chords revoked. This constant warbling and dragging out the notes forever just to showcase their talent drives me nuts. And people - it's not a funeral dirge. If you visit the Smithsonian in Washington D.C. you will hear the Anthem played at its proper tempo, which is very upbeat and inspiring. Taking twenty minutes to sing it at dirge tempo does nothing to inspire me. It makes me want to throw a shoe instead. So cut it out!

Probably should change Kurmudgeon's Korner to Katmudgeon's Korner since I am Kat, not dog <g>

Seeds of Wisdom: "Man's mind,

Seeds of Wisdom: "Man's mind, once stretched by a new idea, never regains its original dimensions." -- Oliver Wendell Holmes

I was delighted last night to find a group of old friends hanging around in my mail box. Most of us met on the Prodigy Writer's Board in the late '80s. Many of us fought in the infamous e-mail "wars," and when the atmosphere on prodigy finally grew too oppressive for us we jumped ship to Genie. From there we spread out to other services across the internet, but we kept in touch through e-mail until the mid '90's when we drifted apart. We called ourselves the "Wits." (Writers in Transition, IIRC) and this is my version of our story ...

It all started with a little yellow box. The writing on the outside of the box promised a world of fun and information. It looked innocent enough, but had I known what was inside, I would have thought long and hard about opening it. Once I did, my life changed forever. Once open, the swirling winds contained within the box were set free. They scooped me up like the tornado that caught Dorothy in the WIZARD OF OZ and carried me away to a far off land. The land of Nalps.

Just inside the walls of this wondrous city, I found myself standing before a maze. Being the curious Kat that I am, I entered it. For weeks I wandered, and encountering many of the interesting inhabitants of the maze. I played their games, answered their riddles, performed the tasks they set before me to gain entrance to the other parts of this fascinating place. Then one day, after I'd dispatched some multi-headed beast, I was granted permission to move to the third level, but instead of the familiar walls of the maze, I found a great abyss and a sign that read "next level under construction." I waited around a bit with some other maze mavens, but I grew impatient. After weeks of entertaining activity, this idleness chafed. Finally, I discovered a magic carpet tossed carelessly in the corner of the waiting room, so I unfurled it and climbed aboard.

The carpet took me out over the city. I could see all of the early settlers staking their claims and having fun while they set up their homesteads. I visited quite a few before I found a comfy niche with the Writer's Guild. These writers were friendly and quickly welcomed me into their group. They were a jovial lot for the most part and I made some real friends there. We punned and we partied on the beach. We had some serious and often heated discussions on what is or is not "art." I had found a home.

We were having so much fun, that at first we didn't heed the warning signs. The City Censors and the Topic Patrol were mere nuisances and it amused us to thwart them (which we did with astounding ease!). But suddenly Governor ByMore enacted rules regarding both public and private gatherings. He imposed surcharges and levied high taxes. This was too much. Nalps had become our home. We couldn't allow this to happen. We formed committees and a strong (or so we thought) underground. We fought a valiant battle, but in the end we lost. Bymore was just too mighty, too entrenched for mere settlers to vanquish.

I wandered into town one day in search of my friends and all I found was dust, abandoned buildings and tumbleweeds rolling in the cold wind of change that blew in from the north. As I walked along Main Street, my boot heels echoing in the profound silence, I heard a faint keening. It was the plaintive song of the Ghost Writers, who had fled Nalps after the war was lost. I followed the sound, and there at the edge of town, I found a message scribed in the dirt. It read, "Follow the light to the Land of the Lamp."

I looked around searching for this mysterious light, and found it flickering faintly in a nearby forest. With much trepidation, I entered the forest, hoping to find my missing friends. Deep in the forest, I found a small clearing. The source of the light, a small golden lamp, sat alone in the center. I carefully picked up the lamp, and remembering my legends and lore, I rubbed it. Instantly, I found myself transported to a room with high walls which were inscribed with hieroglyphics.

It took quite some time before I learned to decipher any of these signs and symbols. The Land of the Lamp was not a user friendly corner of Cyberspace. As I broke the code and read the messages on the wall, I was thrilled to see some familiar names. My friends were here!

A familiar voice called out from the darkness beyond a doorway that finally opened in the wall. I turned to see Mary, my friend and soul mate. Mary and I had spent many nights sitting around the camp fire in Nalps discussing life and common interests. I was thrilled. She took my hand and together we made our way through the darkness (just as there are no cats in catsup, no ham in hamburger, there are no lamps to light the way in the Land of the Lamp) to the place where our fellow Prodigals had gathered. They killed a fatted calf (or was it a Fatted Lady?) and welcomed us to our new home.

The situation in the L.O.T.L. was copesetic for a time. Our friends were there, the rules were loosely defined, the rent was low, but communication was difficult. Everywhere you went, you encountered those infernal hieroglyphics. We all had to learn this new language to open doors, to meet, to gather as friends do. Though, I became accustomed to this odd method of communication, it remained an annoyance. Never tolerant of such obstacles, however, Mary grew restless. She began to roam, seeking new and more comfortable lands. The inevitable happened, the L.O.T.L was finally forced to raise the rent to handle the influx of refugees. Mary split for good.

She settled in NALaland and I visited her there for a spell. They had copied the hieroglyphics method of communication from the L.O.T.L, and though the rent was low, Mary grew restless again. This time she called to me from her new home in Waola-waola. Again she invited me to visit, and I found her new place quite comfy with many of the amenities of the old kingdom of Nalps. But unlike Nalps, the rulers were benevolent and showed no inclination towards tyranny.

I considered relocating, but I didn't want to leave the rest of my friends in the L.O.T.L. Then a wondrous thing happened. Most of the kingdoms in Cyberspace began to install windows in their walls to allow the inhabitants to communicate with the inhabitants of other kingdoms, so I pulled up stakes and set off for Waola-waola.

I've been quite content here for awhile. I've made new friends and kept most of the old ones, though we don't get together as often as we used to. Each of us has found our own little niche in Cyberspace, and now Joann has given us WITS END to call home.

I'm slowly learning that navigating around Cyberspace is not as difficult as I once thought. There are vast resources and wonderful worlds to explore. Like a baby bird, I find my comfortable nest here in Waola-waola grows confining. I long to test my strengthening wings and soar through Cyberspace on my own. Look out world - here comes CyberKat!

I wrote this in 1995. We were still a bit cautious about the Big Brothers at Prodigy, so I wrote it as a fairy tale. Nalps is, of course, Prodigy. The Land of the Lamp is Genie and Waola Waola is AOL. I don't remember what NA was - another service similar to Genie - plain text and cheap!

Chatting with the Wits again brings back old memories and I have Joann to thank for this file. I lost it, and she still had it tucked away. It pays to have friends!

Seeds of Wisdom: "You cannot

Seeds of Wisdom: "You cannot speak of ocean to a well-frog, the creature of a narrower sphere. You cannot speak of ice to a summer insect, the creature of a season." -- Chuang Tzu

There are several definitions of the word understand in my Merriam Webster's Collegiate Dictionary. The first is "to grasp the meaning of." The second is "to grasp the reasonableness of," which kind of takes the first definition a little further, yet this second definition is illustrated by "his behavior is difficult to understand." Another definition is offered - "to achieve a grasp of the nature, significance, or explanation of something." And lastly "to show a sympathetic or tolerant attitude toward something." How can we possibly agree on a definition of this word when a respected dictionary disagrees with itself? It's no wonder we quibble over semantics.

Ponder that for a moment while I look up another word - wisdom. The key definition here - or at least the one most pertinent to my thoughts is this one - "ability to discern inner qualities and relationships."

As I look at the world situation today, I attempt to seek wisdom for I don't believe that we can ever achieve peace without it. In my search for wisdom and along with wisdom, truth, I sense that neither can come without first understanding. When I speak of understanding, I'm taking the "to achieve a grasp of the nature, significance, or explanation of something" definition as my standard. I think we must understand the roots of what we face, but I don't necessarily believe that understanding leads to sympathy and tolerance. It can, but it doesn't have to.

Ponder for a moment, what makes terrorists think the way they do?

Hate, you may answer. I counter that this is too simplistic. Where does the hatred stem from? Why do they hate?

Because they are taught to hate, may be the first response that springs to mind. But I ask in turn, why are they taught to hate? Who was the first to hate? There had to be a first, an originator. What caused this person or persons to hate so passionately that they passed this hatred on for generations?

What inner turmoil causes a person to strap on a bomb, and explode it in a mall or a dance club? What warped thoughts lurk in the heart and soul of a person who can fly a plane filled with fellow human beings into a building also filled with fellow human beings? Are they mad? Insane? Evil? Warped beyond redemption?

How do those who are drawn to a charismatic, but twisted mind think? What motivated people to follow a Jim Jones to mass suicide? What thoughts went through the minds of the members of the Heaven's Gate cult that they truly believed their God's space ship would come to rescue them if they killed themselves? How are their minds different from those of us who would never even consider such a thing.

Examine your own beliefs and ask yourself, how far would you go to uphold them? Ask yourself what stops you from going too far to promote or defend them? Where would you draw the line? And why is that stopping device - if you feel it exists within you - missing from so many others?

Please don't misunderstand. I absolutely think that any act such as the destruction of the WTC and with it the killing of thousands is horrendously wrong. It is horrendously wrong by most moral standards. So is the killing of innocent people who just happen to have something you want. In this instance, the land that is Israel. But that doesn't keep me from asking why those who commit such acts think it is not only not wrong, but worse they think it is morally right. They seem to believe that their god will reward them for such acts. How do they come to that place?

Again I ask, are they all insane? I think not. So what drives these people? How do we convince someone, who holds his or her convictions so strongly that not only are they willing to kill others to serve those convictions, they are will to take their own lives to accomplish this? What do you say to such a person whose inner workings are so alien to your own? How do we "speak of ice to a summer insect?"

Do we truly think that we can simply tell them that they are wrong; we are right, and they will suddenly see the light? I don't think so. To convince someone that your way is right and their way is wrong, you must offer convincing arguments. How can you offer such arguments unless you understand that which you are arguing against. The arguments that work with people who share your values will not work on those who do not share those values.

How do you explain peace to those who have only known war? How can you explain freedom to those who have only known tyranny? How can you explain comfort to those who have only known abject poverty? How do we, indeed, "speak of ice to a summer insect?"

I can hear some shouting, "You don't - you just kill them." "Wipe them off the face of the earth!" "An eye for an eye." And I ask, do we stoop down to meet violence with violence every time? Do we kill them all?" Do two wrongs make a right?

Is revenge the only answer? Is eradication of a very large group of people the solution? If we chose this path where do we draw the line. Do we kill just those who commit the acts, or cause them to be committed? Do we also kill everyone who shares their beliefs? Even if we are able to do this, once they are gone, are we naïve enough to think that this kind of mind-set will not rise up again, like a Hydra once you cut the head off - or a Phoenix from the ashes? And if we do this monstrous deed are we really any better than they are?

On September 11, 2001 and in the days that followed, I listened to many around me, shouting, "Hunt them down and kill them all!" I heard them urge vengeance, shouting "Bomb them back to the stone age." And I cringed.

I'm not really a turn the other cheek sort of person. I too would like to see bin Laden and his followers punished - in fact I think they should bring back drawing and quartering just for the occasion - but I feared that we would go too far. I thought of innocent Afghan people - most of them women and children - who would be caught up in our search for vengeance, and I was deeply concerned. Concerned for them and concerned for us. Even the most rational and kind of us can get caught up in the mass hysteria of blood lust when it is running strong - and that frightens me.

Just this morning I read this article - on Alter Net and I shook my head. Do we never learn from our mistakes?

We aided bin Laden during the Afghan war with the Soviet Union. Did we ask what his motive was? Did we ask what he hoped to achieve? Or did we just assume that the "enemy of my enemy is my friend." Did we even care?

Now our leaders are seeking to help Turkey get into the European Union because for some reason they want Turkey more involved in Afghanistan. Because it is convenient, because it is expedient they are choosing to ignore the human rights violations the Turkish government continues to commit. Our leaders continue - even after the events of September 11 - to turn a blind eye to history and truth because it does not fit in with their plans.

I stated before that I'm not a turn the other cheek type of person. I think that attitude is far too naive. Passivity often makes aggressors more aggressive because they often see passivity as weakness.

I'm also not the type of person to puff out my chest, wave a flag and declare, "My country, right or wrong."

I love America. I love that it's founded on such noble principles. I love that our Constitution places such emphasis on Freedom. I love that we are strong and mostly prosperous. But I can not hold that we are without fault in many, many things.

I was taught that, "beauty is as beauty does" and "actions speak louder than words." I find that all too often the actions of our leaders belie the words of our Constitution and those of our Founding Fathers.

How can we convince the world that we believe "all men are created equal," and that we truly want to "keep the world safe for democracy," when we support a country like Turkey with an oppressive government. We keep giving support to such countries and it always seems to come around and bite us in the butt.

While the victims of September 11 and all the other victims of terrorism world wide are innocents caught in an ugly situation. We can not totally absolve our government's part in the current world situation. Citizens are mostly blameless, but governments too often are not.

Is this questioning "Moral Equivalence" or "Moral Relevancy" or whatever label you want to slap on it? If it is, I guess I'm guilty, but I'm never going to stop asking the questions. Someone has to.

Seeds of Wisdom: "Whatever you

Seeds of Wisdom: "Whatever you do will be insignificant, but it is very important that you do it." -- Mahatma Gandhi

I have a lot of things I want to share, so this will be a mixed bag entry.

I saw this story on the Today show a week or so ago. Carolyn Risher, Mayor of Inglis, FL has written a proclamation intended to keep Satan out of her town. Huh?

On the Today show, the Mayor explained that copies of the proclamation have been set into posts around the town. Apparently, she believes that Satan, should he or she be cruising in the vicinity of Inglis, will see these posts and slink away in fear.

Are there really people who think like this? Boggles my mind.

If you are not reading Wockerjabby and ADropintheOcean you're really missing out on something special. Many of us write long passages that say a little. These two talented writers write about simple things, but say so much. Check them out!

This is scary because it could be real. It's not, thankfully. It's just a parody, but one that falls very close to the truth. Link courtesy of the Evolt mailing list.

I found this following a link from Rageboy. I want the one that says, "I don't have to like Bush to love America."

In the Fun and Games department, check this if you're bored, or just want to waste some time. Very addicting. Link courtesy of the Evolt mailing list.

Also worth checking out Alter Net - a project of the Independent Media Institute, a nonprofit organization dedicated to strengthening and supporting independent and alternative journalism.

Seeds of Wisdom: "As a

Seeds of Wisdom: "As a general rule, if you want to get at the truth, hear both sides and believe neither. " -- Josh Billings

Over the last few weeks, a number of Blog folks have blogged about the situation in the Middle-East - in particular the escalating violence between the Israelis and the Palestinians. This is a situation that concerns me greatly - because it affects the world as a whole and also because of the terrible impact on the lives of the people living there.

So you know where I'm "coming from," I should explain that I am neither Jewish nor Palestinian. As I've mentioned before, I'm white, of Anglo-Saxon descent and an "ala carte" Catholic and have no emotional ties to either side of this conflict.

Meryl Yourish and Mike Golby had been cross-blogging rather heatedly on the subject, and I considered putting my two cents in, but I wasn't able to get all my thoughts down in any coherent manner. I also hesitated about jumping into the middle of a discussion where emotions were running strong. I've learned through experience that it's often a dangerous place to be - especially if you find yourself in the middle.

In responding to Meryl's thought-provoking essay on Daniel Pearl, Mike referred to bigots, racists and Anti-Semites as "idiots."

The word kind of jumped out at me. I thought Mike could have chosen a stronger word and more appropriate word to describe such people other than "idiots." Yes, they are ignorant, but in the US the word "idiot," has come to describe those who drive poorly, or those who spill something on you, or those who get your order wrong at a fast food restaurant. It seems too weak when placed next to the true ignorance, fear and hate that infuse any kind of bigotry.

As I further read through what Mike wrote on the subject, I remembered that Mike lives in South Africa - a world away from North Jersey where I live. Could the word have a different connotation there, I asked myself, then I tried to discount it so I could get at the core of what he was saying here.

Mike seems to take issue with Meryl's assertion that Anti-Semitism is different from other forms of bigotry and hatred. I'm not quite sure why, but I lean towards Meryl's opinion on this issue. Perhaps it's because it's roots go back so far in history and throughout that history, it seems that the Jewish people were constantly beset by the people of other nations - the Egyptians, the Babylonians, the Romans and into modern times, by the Russians, the Germans and now the Arabs. It just seems to me as I look back through history - and remembering that history is more often written by the victors - that the Jewish people have been persecuted more often and by more different groups than any others. I'm not quite sure I understand why, but it does seem to be the case.

My biggest objection to Mike's assertions is my disagreement with this statement:

"Those who hate are victims of self-abuse. I'd ask Meryl to follow the path she and her Polish friend took in their childhood, that most sensible time of our lives. Wait until they stop behaving like idiots, because, most of the time, and if South Africa is anything to go by, they eventually do."

Can the Jewish people afford to wait? Can the world afford to wait for this nebulous eventuality? I don't think so. I don't think we can take an ostrich approach to hatred, racism and bigotry of any kind. We can't merely stick our heads in the sand and hope it will pass. Nor can we just keep chopping at the parts we can see.

Deep hatred is like a Hydra or weed. You cut one head off a Hydra, it grows another. Cut the top off a weed it will sprout again from the root. We have to get to the roots of hatred. Learn where it comes from and why it is so persistent. Until we do, we can't hope to combat it let alone defeat it.

All too often we tend to simplify it. We don't want to look at the causes, because quite frequently examining the causes too closely forces us to look at ourselves and to question ourselves. In the interests of doing just that, I followed a link to Daniel Ord's Stereopticon piece.

Both Jonathon Delacour and Mike Golby found the piece disturbing because it "leaves little room to carve a middle path." I agree with that, but what also disturbs me is that the people in the photograph that Daniel Ord deconstructed seem so little disturbed by the deaths of thousands of fellow humans. They seem pleased with the destruction of the symbols of Western ways, but not at all concerned by the horrendous insult to humanity.

Those who hate or are consumed by racism and bigotry always forget - or refuse to remember - that the objects of their enmity are fellow human beings. They are not faceless objects - yet those who hate see them as such.

They don't see mothers and fathers. Sisters and brothers. Sons and daughters. They don't think the others feel pain. They forget that the others bleed when they are injured just as they themselves do. They fail to consider that the blood is always red, as it is when they themselves bleed.

How do we get around this? How do we open their eyes and our eyes to that fact? And how do we resolve differences when two groups lay claim to the same piece of land. Where do we draw the line when the rights of two people or two groups intersect? Who takes precedence?

I wish I knew the answers, but all I seem to have is heavy questions. Perhaps if we all put our heads to considering these questions without pointing fingers and assessing blame we could come up with the answers. Perhaps if we examine all we have in common instead of the differences, we could lay aside those differences that separate us into groups at odds with each other and find a way to bring about peace and harmony..

It's taken me awhile to get all this down - which is why you haven't heard from me in awhile. Also, I've been bloghopping - bopping around leaving comments on various blogs and following links to other blogs. Hopefully, I'll get back onto some sort of regular schedule in the coming weeks.

Seeds of Wisdom: "Perceived truth

Seeds of Wisdom: "Perceived truth is more powerful than truth itself." -- Unkown

I started to respond to Shelley's (BurningBird) latest blurb in her comments, but I saw that I was going to ramble on for too long, so I'm responding here instead.

daveski(@adelphia.net) wrote:

"Women constitute about 51% of the adult population in this country. Are they 51% of the federal legislature? Are they 51% of the working IS population? NO! Are there conscious efforts made to keep the status quo in certain spheres? CERTAINLY"

Not to mention that men generally get paid more than women do for the same type of job. I don't have the stats handy, but concrete evidence exists to substantiate this statement.

Let me tell you some tales of male bias - men who firmly believe that women are not up to the task and so should be kept barefoot and pregnant ...

Early in my working life, one of my bosses came to me and asked me to type a letter for him. Being not secure enough at the time to tell him, "go jump in a lake. Typing is not in my job description," I told him, "Okay, but I hope you don't need it in a hurry."

He asked why.

I told him, "Because I can operate a typewriter, but I can't type." He looked aghast. "What do you mean you can't type?" he asked. "All women can type."

I smiled sweetly in an attempt to mask the grinding of my teeth, and replied, "No, only the ones who took typing in school. I didn't."

He stalked off in search of a more "normal" woman who could type, grumbling in his wake that there ought to be a law requiring schools to teach women to type.

I had another boss who insisted that the women working for him all take turns making him coffee. I refused, and the only reason I got away with it is because he was at least smart enough to realize that I was very good at my job. A job - btw - that required considerable math - something he wasn't very good at <g>

Further along, I worked for a time in the heating and a/c business. Basically, I did customer service and order entry (still can't type, but I'm a whiz on a keyboard <g>).

Being the curious kat that I am, and somewhat mechanically inclined, I learned a lot about the products and how they worked. I could easily answer many of the technical questions as long as they didn't have to do with electrical wiring - my mind can't deal with the concept of electricity for some reason.

One customer called in with a simple question about how the system operated. He listened patiently, then said, "Thanks honey, but I'd rather speak to one of the men."

Furious, I transferred him over to one of the guys who told him the exact same thing I had said. Only then did he accepted the explanation as valid.

Same company. The owner took all the women out for lunch on Secretaries Day, despite the fact that we didn't have a secretary in the company. He also said he wouldn't hire a woman (or promote one of several qualified women from within the company) to customer service manager because "women don't have the balls to do the job."

If I had a dollar for each time I have told computer tech support people or auto repair people about a problem, only to have them discount what I've said, I'd be rich. My husband calls - tells them the same thing, and they trip over themselves trying to help him.

And guys ... dress up in a wig and a dress, and then try to buy a car. See how you get treated. Car salesmen are among the worst!

Some social stuff ... My sister lived in Maryland for awhile - a transplant from NJ where the men hide their chauvinism for the most part . Not so down south, apparently.

The men would get together and go "pillaging" - basically going to bars, hanging out and getting drunk. Why they called it "pillaging" I have no idea. Guess they thought it sounded "manly," or more exciting than it was. The women were expected to stay home cooking or cleaning or something ::batting eyelashes:: feminine.

My sister quickly tired of this and enlisted some of her women friends to have a girls' night of "pillaging" as well. Her friends asked, "but what will we do?" She told them that it didn't make any difference what they did, so long as they gave the guys a taste of their own medicine.

Her husband and the husbands of her friends spent the whole night trying to find out where they were and what they were doing. Convinced that the women were all just hiding out in one of their houses, they went from house to house in search of their wives. Needless to say, they didn't find them.

Drove them nuts that none of the wives would tell them where they had been or what they had done. But that was the first and only time the women got to go "pillaging."

Another time, my husband and I were down visiting her. We - my sister, my husband and I - had been out antiquing with one of her friends. When we dropped her friend off at her home, we saw that my sister's husband was there. Her friend invited us in.

Inside, we found the friend's husband sitting in a big old chair with his feet up, chatting with my sister's husband. We said, "hello," and found ourselves seats.

The friend's husband grunted, "Git us some beers." No hello. No please.

The friend obediently got up and headed for the kitchen. When she returned, she handed her husband, my husband and my sister's husband each a beer. She then turned to us and said, "I'm sorry girls, I'm all out of soda."

Kind of puzzled by that statement, I said, "That's okay. I'll have a beer."

She looked at me astounded. I checked to see if I'd grown another head or something. Then she said, "The beer is for the men."

Boggled my mind.

In all fairness, men are at fault for planting these seeds in the first place, but too many women perpetuate the myth. Maybe they find it easier, I don't know.

Mostly I consider myself a feminist with a sense of humor. I don't get all riled up because those things in the road are called "man-hole covers," and the like. But I do get riled up when I'm treated like a second class citizen or I'm paid less for the same job or same type of job. And I really get riled up when I'm treated as less intelligent because of my gender.

I see far too many women who find it convenient or easier to appear helpless.

At one job - a mail order house - we had gotten in the new edition of our catalog. Each employee was given one as a reference and also because we could order at a discount. I'd handed out all of the ones I'd been given, but I was short of what I needed. I went over to the store room and found the cartons of catalogs. I moved one to see how heavy it was, and determined that I could lift it. As I came down the hall, one of my female co-workers said, "You shouldn't be carrying that. Get one of the men to do it."

I said, "It's not that heavy. I can handle it." She scowled at me and said, "But you're making it bad for the rest of us." I quite felt like throwing the carton at her, but I resisted.

When I first started working for that particular company, they were about to move their offices to another location. The VP of our areas paired up all the managers and directed us to tag all the furniture with the department name so that the movers would know where it belonged. All the tags had to go in the upper right hand corner, so it frequently meant we had to move the furniture around. I was partnered with one of the guys and we set out on our task.

At the end of a long hard day, we were sitting around one of the offices having a much needed break. My male partner - remember, I was new so he didn't know me very well - said, "I'd like to say something by I don't want you to take it the wrong way."

I laughed and said, "Okay."

Clearly nervous, he said, "It's really a complement. I want you to know that."

Again I laughed. I said, "Just say it already!"

He said, "You work like a man."

I had to laugh and I did take it as a complement.

He went on to explain that he thought when he saw that he'd been paired with a woman that he thought he'd have to do all the hard work like moving the furniture around so we could slap the labels on the upper right corners. Never occurred to me to stand around helpless while he did all the work. I simply pitched in and moved furniture right along with him.

Women like the one in the anecdote above, are just as much to blame for furthering the notion that women can't handle what needs to be done - mentally and physically. So those of you who are sitting around pretending to be helpless, get off your butts and do your share.

Men and women are different. There's no doubt about that. But not all men can fix a car. Not all men are good at sports. And not all men refuse to ask for directions. <g> And not all men are chauvinist "pigs."

Just as all women are not incapable of lifting heavy objects or doing the math or hooking up the computer. We're not all helpless and we're not all bra-burning feminists either. We all need to shuck the stereotypes we seem to cling to so ardently and so unreasonably.

As far as Blogsisters, I agree with Meryl Yourish when she writes, "Blogsisters is sexist. Is it hypocritical? No, because its theme isn't sexism. It may touch upon it, but it wasn't started as any kind of reaction to sexism in the blogging world."

I also agree with her idea that Blogsisters is, "A more public version of 'Girls' night out.'" When we're lounging around and letting our hair down, it's girls only - sorry guys <g> I also understand that there are times when you feel the same.

Though I was inclined to join my sister bloggers, I didn't for the same Meryl gave. - I simply don't have the time to do justice to two blogs. I see no harm in it. though. Women need to commune with their own gender in the same manner that men do.

The harm comes when either gender is excluded so that the included gender can maintain some hold on the power structure. That may not be the original intention of "men's clubs." or the "old boy network," but too often that becomes an important function - consciously or sub-consciously - nonetheless.

Dave Winer wrote, "If you want to be treated with respect, start by giving it." That goes for both sides of the equation.

Happy St. Patrick's Day All!

Seeds of Wisdom: "Whoever fights

Seeds of Wisdom: "Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster." -- Nietschze

6 Months. September 11 to March 11. It feels like it happened yesterday. It feels like it happened a life time ago. And I still can't believe it happened.

Last night I watched the CBS special. As I found it difficult to express my feelings coherently in those weeks after September 11, I find it difficult to describe my reaction to this show.

In June 2001, two photographers (who were also brothers) began making a film about a rookie firefighter's first 9 months on the job - the probationary period. They followed him through the routine initiation and the teasing. They recorded his yearning for his first real fire - his first chance to prove to his fellow firefighters that he was worthy to be among them. And they were with him on the morning of September 11.

Someone had reported a possible gas leak and the company responded. One brother went along with them, while the other stayed behind with the rookie.

As the fireman checked with their meters to find the source of the gas leak, the roar of a plane flying above them broke through the normal morning traffic noises. The roar of a plane low overhead. A sound you don't hear in downtown Manhattan where planes fly high to avoid the tall buildings.

Everyone looked up including the photographer with his camera. He recorded the first plane as it exploded into the gleaming facade of Tower One and then it began.

What followed was an amazing account. The photographer stuck with the fireman as they rushed to the scene and entered the building. He captured the last moments in Father Judge's life and the sound of Tower Two's collapse. He stayed with Ladder 1, Engine Company 7 throughout the whole horrendous day. The second photographer, rushed to the scene to find his brother, but was turned back, so he turned his camera to record all he could see.

Unlike most NY fire companies that day, Ladder 1, Engine 7 lost none of their members. One by one they made their way back to the firehouse to be greeted by shouts of joy and hugs from their "brothers." One of the firefighters told one of the photographers. "Yesterday you had one brother. Today you have 50."

I still can't feel anger or rage or hate, like so many others do. I feel only a vast sorrow at all that was lost. All that was taken away from us on that day. The lives that were lost are, of course, the primary consideration, but so many things have changed as well. So much that I find it difficult to catalog it all.

There's been a a lot of talk among bloggers lately about the meaning of life. Today seems like an appropriate time to ponder this.

The Meaning of Life in capital letters or italics is not something I've spent much time contemplating. I guess I wonder why it has to have a Meaning. Mostly I think it just is. Some ask, "Why?" It's not very comforting, but I don't think there is an answer to that question.

I think life is shaped as much by fate as by anything else. I don't believe that it's set in stone. I don't believe that there is a script in place on the day we are born and that we are destined to play the role that has been written. But I do believe that fate has an influence over what happens to us.

I see fate as the confluence of forces that puts us in certain places at certain times. I see life as a series of rooms; each room has several doors. You must continually chose a door, and then move into the next room where you are again faced with more doors.

Sometimes you choose a door, and that decision affects what happens next. Other times you are forced, by circumstances beyond your control, through a door not of your choosing. This is the "fate factor," if you will.

I often ponder my own choices and those of fate that forced me into one room instead of another.

My parents were considering a move to another part of the state, but we didn't move. I would have gone to a different school, met different people, made choices far different than those I made in this life path.

At the same time I met my husband, I met another guy as well. I made a choice between the two. What would have happened to me if I had made a different choice? Where would I be today?

Fourteen years ago, we accepted Prodigy's offer to try their online service. No one else I knew was online at the time. We were pioneers of a sort. What if we hadn't accepted that offer? Where would I be? Would I be doing web design? Or something else?

Would anyone one of those choices made differently have put me in the World Trade Center that day? Or on one of the planes? Or in the Pentagon? I'll never know.

Dieter Limeback of AdropintheOcean wrote, "If you're standing over there in this moment, you're okay. If you're standing over there in that moment, you're not. It's all in the timing. Everything else, not much you can do about it."

That about says it all.

My thoughts after 9/11

Seeds of Wisdom: "Our character

Seeds of Wisdom: "Our character is what we do when we think no one is looking." -- H. Jackson Browne

A few days ago, Gretchen Pirillo blogged about insecurities and she bravely listed some of hers.

I've often thought about insecurities. Lord knows, I certainly have enough of my own. Whether it be a party, work situation, a convention, I go out among people at gatherings, and I feel like the emperor wearing new clothes. Whatever confidence I had (and I do have some), seems to vanish. I'm left naked, standing in the middle of the rink with no hand rails to hold on to, and I've just learned how to stand on my skates.

I lean on people who I know, people with whom I'm comfortable. I lean on them as if they were crutches, and hope that they will get me from one place to the other. If I don't know anyone, I tend to glue myself to a wall, or a support column, or the chair I'm sitting in like it's the last life preserver on the Titanic.

From this safe vantage point, I look around and I see many other people who seem utterly confident. They breeze around talking to different people with no apparent trepidation. They mingle with aplomb and others seem drawn to them. I wonder why they are so different from me. I also wonder - are they really so different?

Over the years, I've come to the conclusion that these supremely confident people have the same insecurities as the rest of us, but they are simply better at hiding them. Oh, I suppose there are some who are truly ignorant of their own faults, or so egotistical that they refuse to acknowledge they even have faults, but I think most people who appear to have mastered self-assuredness 101 are just like the rest of us beneath their thin veneers.

A number of years ago, a friend said to me, "You always have it all together." My reaction was, "Huh - me? Not me."

Her assessment certainly wasn't in line with my own. Mostly I'm holding things together with spit and safety pins. I don't think I'm doing such a great job of it either, though I'm really good at building a house of cards. As I thought about this, I remembered something I'd read about the three "yous."

There is the "you" that others see. The "you" that you see yourself as being. And lastly the real "you" - which is usually something in between the other two.

I've often thought it would be very helpful to be able to get inside someone else's head and see how they see me. When I was in 8th grade, my teacher attempted an experiment that could give us a hint of that.

She had us put our names at the top of a sheet of paper that had two columns - one labeled positive, the other labeled negative, then she collected all the papers and redistributed them. She instructed us to write one positive comment and one negative comment about the person whose name appeared at the top of the paper we had now been given. After we completed the first, she collected and redistributed them twice more, so we would each have three different people's opinions when she finally returned our own to us.

With more than a little fear, I held mine folded over for awhile. I knew I was not among the most popular in the class. I was a bit shy (BTW - no one who knows me believes this), but I didn't think everyone in the class disliked me. What if I was wrong? What if they really did dislike me? What if there were no really nice complements on the positive side, and what if the negative side was really bad?

I finally opened it and was relieved to see that there were no extremes on either side. I don't remember now what they even were, but I guess they were less than memorable. I do remember one of the negative ones, though. The person had written, "You always wear your beanie in class."

Now I have to explain, that this was a Catholic school and we wore uniforms. Part of the uniform was a beanie hat with the school emblem on the front. We had to wear them outside, but not in school.

I usually just forgot mine, and so I often left it on. I certainly wasn't the only one. But that particular comment really got me thinking - and thinking about it long after I graduated. In fact, you can see that I'm still thinking about it ::mumble, mumble:: years later.

Did this mean that the person simply couldn't think of one negative thing to say about me? I found that difficult to believe. Since the other comments were overpowered by this one, did no one have anything really significant to say about me either way? Had I really just faded into the woodwork so no one noticed me at all? Had I become a non-person in the eyes of my classmates. That was really scary.

I do remember my very young self as being more confident, but as I got older, I lost that confidence somewhere along the way. As I've analyzed it over the years, I have come to believe it had something to do with the timing of my sister's birth. She was born in June and in September, I began first grade (I didn't go to kindergarten).

I think some how in my child's mind, I connected the two events. I couldn't understand why my parents needed another child - after all, they had me. I also couldn't cope with the fact that I could no longer stay home and play with my mother.

As I look back, I remember getting up to sing and dance before groups of people when I was only 4 or 5 years old. I've always had a good memory and I could recite the whole of "T'was the Night Before Christmas," not to mention most nursery rhymes. People apparently thought it was cute. I liked being cute. I enjoyed being the center of attention. But I can't ever remember being comfortable in a crowd, once I'd started school.

I never really had the confidence to be myself. I was always too busy trying to please people. Trying to be the person I thought they wanted me to be. Trying once more to be cute and to win their approval. In the process, I lost myself.

Somewhere along the way as I got older, I began to see that this didn't work. I wasn't that person. I couldn't be that person comfortably, confidently. I realized that squeezing myself into a shoe that didn't fit wouldn't make me Cinderella. It didn't win me any approval prizes.

Slowly, I began reassembling the bits and pieces of who I am. I am now at the point where I can say, this is me - take it or leave it. It still hasn't won me any popularity contests. I'm still ill at ease in a crowd, but oddly enough, I feel more confident with a crowd of strangers than I do with a crowd of friends. With strangers, I mostly don't have to care whether they like me or not. Once I start to care, I have to hold on, lest I slide right back into seeking approval mode.

But mostly, I'm just glad to be me and hang the consequences.

I've frequently thought I'd like to write a book about self-confidence. I'd like to show that people who seem to have it are just as insecure as the rest of us. I've thought that it would be helpful to find people who seem to have it all together - celebrities, leaders both political and corporate - and have them list their insecurities as Gretchen has done.

Would people believe them? Would it help to know that some celebrity has the same concern about being liked and accepted as the rest of us? Does misery truly love company?

I remember identifying so strongly with Sally Field's, "You like me, you really liked me!" comment. I thought, "Wow - we have something in common!" Here she is an Academy Award winning actress and she's worried about acceptance. I felt comforted by that thought.

Unfortunately, I have no idea how to go about soliciting comments for the book. I can see myself writing letters to various celebrities and having their agents or protectorates tossing the letters into the trash. I can't imagine any of them thinking this is a good idea. I can hear them laughing about it now.

Therein lies the rub. I don't have the confidence to ask, "are you insecure?"

Seeds of Wisdom: "Be master

Seeds of Wisdom: "Be master of your petty annoyances and conserve your energies for the big, worthwhile things. It isn't the mountain ahead that wears you out - it's the grain of sand in your shoe." -- Robert Service, writer

I'm not politically correct. If you are using the letters P and C together, you'd better be talking about something that has a hard drive and RAM. If you're looking at me down your nose and speaking to me in a haughty tone about acceptable (to whom?) language, get away from me.

Don't get me wrong - I'm not insensitive (at least I try not to be). I'm mostly aware that certain terms are loaded bombs. I do my best to avoid dropping them, but I'm not going to bend myself into an advanced yoga position just to appease what some unknown person or organization has decided is the correct term du jour.

A few years back, when I was attempting to start my own business (long story), I belonged to the NJ Women Business Owners. When they held their annual convention in Atlantic City, I carpooled and roomed with the president of our local chapter. Every time I used the word "girl" - as in "I know this girl," or "This girl at work," she would say, "woman, you mean woman." Well, if I'd meant "woman," I would have said "woman." It got very annoying.

I'm not comfortable with "woman," when I'm talking about people I know. "Women" are strangers, and always older than me. They are someplace else, separate from me. I can't explain it - it's just a concept in my mind. I don't think of myself as "woman." I'm one of the "girls," no matter how old I get.

Another woman (definitely a "woman"<g>) who belonged to the same organization, used to speak of "gals" to avoid, I presume, the word, "girls." She would say, "a gal I know."

Sorry, in my mind a "gal" is someone who wears a cowboy hat, boots and a fringed vest. Dale Evens was a "gal" - not me.

The problem is that we girls/gals/women have no nomenclature equivalent to "guys" - a friendly word that implies camaraderie. I use the word, "girls" in that sense, even though in meaning it's more equal to "boys." But men use "boys," with no negative connotation - "one of the boys," and "old boy network." Why can't we use "girls" in the same way?

Another thing that bothers me about "politically correct" terms is that they change with the seasons. What was correct yesterday, is now incorrect. What was incorrect last year, is now correct. How can these terms have meaning or imply respect, if they change with the capriciousness of hemline length?

When my mother was growing up, those people whose skin is brown or black, and whose ancestors most likely came from Africa (or more likely were kidnapped from Africa) were politely called "colored." I'm quite sure this term was not at all satisfactory to those who were called this, but at the time it was "politically correct."

When I was growing up, these people were referred to as "Negroes." Probably a more apt description since it is a race term, but I suspect it was too close to that other word, which I won't mention because it is legitimately an emotion-loaded word bomb.

IIRC there was a time in the late 60's early 70's when the term "Afro-American," came into use, but it was short-lived and then replaced with "Black."

At the initial transition I wasn't really comfortable with the term, "Black." It wasn't really an apt description in my mind. Not all people of that ancestry, have black skin, or even dark skin. It seemed a misnomer. But it became accepted, and "politically correct."

James Brown sang, "Say it loud, I'm Black and I'm proud!" That became an anthem and I became more comfortable with it because now the term had an association with pride. But I also came to learn that not all people of that race were equally happy with it.

At work (previous job), I spoke with a guy from Jamaica. I asked him why he had come to work on Martin Luther King's birthday when all the other workers of his race had taken off. He told me, I'm not Black."

Took me a moment to register this because his skin tone was very black, indeed. Seeing my puzzled expression he added, "I'm Jamaican." He identified with his country of origin rather than his race, and I found that very interesting. I thought it was somewhat profound, a very freeing notion.

Over the last few years, there has been another shift. Those who I had come to think of as "Blacks," or "Black Americans" - as some preferred - began to adopt the hyphen. They joined the ranks of "Italian-Americans," "Irish-Americans," "Polish-Americans" and now it seems that they prefer to be called "African-Americans."

Does that make me an, "English-Irish-German-Scots-Norwegian-American" or an "Anglo and something else-American?" Have we gone too far with this referral to ancestry syndrome? Why can't we all simply be Americans and stop at that? Why do we feel this need to sub-categorize ourselves?

Speaking of Americans, we then come to "Native Americans." Sorry, I don't get this. I understand why those descended from the original people who were here when the Europeans arrived don't want to be referred to as "Indians." That, after all, was a genuine misnomer.

Columbus was searching for a shorter route to India, didn't realize that there was a whole other huge land mass in the way, and thought he'd landed in India. He thought he was dealing with "Indians," as in those people who live in India. I can understand the confusion, but I can also understand why the people indigenous to this continent rejected the term.

The invading ones didn't give them much choice over the next few centuries. They were Iroquois, and Sioux, and Algonquin, and Apache and Seminoles and Lenni-Lenape. All separate tribes with separate cultures bonded loosely by a respect for nature and the land, yet the upstart conquerors called them all "Indians," and had little respect for anything it seems. But today we lump all the various tribes of those remaining into one term, "Native Americans" - another misnomer.

My Webster's defines the word "native" variously as "belonging to a particular place by birth," and "one born or reared in a particular place." By those definitions, I am also a native American.

Calling those who can trace their ancestors back to this place from before Columbus (or Leif Erickson, if you are so inclined) "Native Americans," strips them of whatever pride in their tribal origins they have left. They are no longer Iroquois, or Sioux, or Algonquin, or Apache or Seminole or Lenni-Lenape, they are lumped together under the term "Native Americans" just like they were under the term "Indians." Same insult, different word.

If we are talking about pride, let them pick one that restores the pride we have taken away from them or call them simply Americans like everyone else who was born here no matter where they trace their ancestry to. Let us not continue to condemn them to terminology reservations as their forebears were to real time reservations.

I think back to my Jamaican co-worker and I think he has it partly right. We need to think less in group terms if we are ever to accept and understand one another.

As we take small steps into the 21st century and the 2nd Millennium, we need to stop grouping ourselves under racial, national and religious banners and start thinking of ourselves in a more global manner. We all have one thing in common - one common starting point - we are all human beings. Doesn't matter what color skin we have or what our national origins are. Doesn't matter what religion we subscribe to. We are all citizens of planet Earth.

Our earth is in danger now more than ever. We are using resources way too fast. We are pushing what is probably a natural climate shift too fast. Global warming? Another Ice Age? Pollution in vast amounts. Tampering with nature. Ignoring large areas of poverty and ignorance.

If we lose the earth, we may also lose ourselves as a species, and yet we quibble over "politically correct" terms. If we stop quibbling and start thinking of ourselves as people, human beings, perhaps we can put our collective minds to other uses. Like addressing global problems instead of nits.

I think we choose to deal with the nits because the nits appear easier to deal with. They are less threatening. Less overwhelming.

But we can only hide the nits under new names or pretend they no longer exist once we've renamed them, for so long. We can't really solve any problems with a fashionable name. If we forget about the nits, they will blend into the whole picture. But we have to see the whole picture, not just the nits.

We need to look at the forest and forget about the trees.

Seeds of Wisdom: "One nice

Seeds of Wisdom: "One nice thing about egotists: they don't talk about other people." -- George Carlin

Figures - just when I have a bunch of things to post, Blogger is down for maintanence. Oh well, hopefully, I'll get to post this today

I've added a new link - Trout Thursday - and a new blog - ADropintheOcean. Both sites are by Dieter Limeback whose father posts on the Evolt web design list (if you're in web design, you should be on this list!). Not only is the content of both sites worth reading - funny stuff here - the design is clean, well-organized and just plain great.

Dieter writes, "My domain name is also my first name. If you came here looking to get thinner, sorry." That's just an example of what you will find there. I don't know about you, but I plan to celebrate the next Trout Thursday - January 30, 2003

Be alert! The world needs more lerts!

Check out this fun waste of time - CatGame. Too bad the creator doesn't know how to spell.

People, people - I know the English language is difficult. We have rules, but break them regularly. We're in consistent and arbitrary. But we all went to school. We learned spelling - please reach back and remember what you learned.

Lose - one "O" is when you don't win. Loose - two "Os" is when you're hanging free. Just remember when you "lose," you also lose one "O." Okay? Can we do that please, so I can stop hearing those fingernails run down the blackboard? TIA

Lots of Bloggers blogging about blogging and metablogging - BurningBird, Jonathon and some others. Reading through these blogging about blogging posts, I was reminded of an old tongue-twister rhyme we used to say as children:

How much wood would a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood?

A woodchuck would chuck all the wood he could chuck if a wood chuck could chuck wood.

Inspired, a wrote a Blog version:

How many blogs would a blogchic blog if a blogchic could blog this?

A blogchic would blog all the blogs she could blog if a blogchic could this.

Hey what do you want from me - it was early in the morning!

Just heard a story on the Today show about a woman in Texas who struck a man with her car. The man was lodged in her windshield, yet she continued to drive to her home. Once there, she pulled the car into the garage and left the man there until he died. Unbelievable!

The WFAA website has the story if you want the whole thing. So does this site (I wrote this in the am, now I understand the story is all over the web.)

Katie Couric interviewed her lawyer. He claims that the man was only in the garage for 24 hours, not 3 days as the police have claimed the woman told them. Huh?? Like that matters. She drove home with a man lodged in her windshield, then left him in her garage! Does it matter whether he was there one hour or 3 days. The act in itself is mind boggling!

Her lawyer also claims that she was distraught and that she is fragile. Hello - what about the poor man bleeding to death with two broken legs and his head stuck in a windshield.

The police report also claims she was high on drugs and alcohol. Her lawyer says she only had a few drinks. That makes it even worse!

Even more bizarre, though the incident happened a few months ago, the police only found out about it a few days ago. It seems that the woman told someone at a party and that person called the police.

And more weirdness ... the woman allegedly called some friends while the man was still in her garage bleeding to death. These friends apparently did nothing until the man died and then they helped her dump his body in a nearby park.

What kind of people are these? Okay, I can buy that maybe the accused woman has mental problems (seems like that's where her lawyer is going with this), but what about these so-called friends? Not one of them called the police, a doctor or anyone. This whole story just boggles my mind.

Seeds of Wisdom: "Words are,

Seeds of Wisdom: "Words are, of course, the most powerful drug used by mankind." -- Rudyard Kipling

I need a day stretcher.

A few years ago some on line friends were talking about this product. It let you add hours to the day. Sounded wonderful. Unfortunately it doesn't exist.

Twenty-four hours is simply not enough - especially if you have as many interests as I do. Or children. Or a job. Or a husband. Or children, a job and a husband. Did I mention a house?

Work takes up seven hours of my day. I do get an hour for lunch, but there's not much you can squeeze into an hour. If you want to eat - forget it.

I like my job, but that time belongs to the company and not to me, so I can't pursue any of my other interests while I'm there. It also takes me an hour to get ready and then there's the 20 minute drive, both ways. And of course I never leave promptly at 5, so that leaves about 14 hours.

I love to sleep and I wish I could do more of it, but it seems so non-productive, so I get about 5 hours of it on any given week night - a bit more on the weekends.

Now we're down to 9 hours.

I've been trying to get back into the habit of exercising. I used to take a dance class and I belonged to a gym, but the dance teacher got another job and the gym went out of business. Time went by and I got out of the habit of exercising regularly. I've made a few abortive attempts, but something always seems to get in the way.

So now I bought a treadmill and I've been doing 20 minutes a day to work into it gradually. With stretches that takes up another half hour. We're down to 8.5.

I have some TV shows I like to watch. West Wing, Survivor, Farscape (when it's on), Sex and the City, The Sopranos (when it's on), The Great Race (new this week!), ER. These are my can't miss shows. There are a few others that I catch when I can. My husband likes most of them, so it's something we can do together. That's at least an hour out of most days, so that leaves 7.5

I usually read for at least a half hour - 7. I'm guessing I spend at least two to three hours doing miscellaneous chores, so that leaves only 4-5 hours to fit everything else in.

So what's the everything else?

Hockey (we have season tickets - 2-3 games a week during the season - 3 hours per game), Blogging/writing - can't live without it. Do most of it between 5 and 7:30. E-mail - gotta stay connected. Working on several of my personal web sites - love it, love it, love it. More reading. Taking photographs. Walking in the park. Graphics/art work. Playing with my cats. Travel - be it a trip to NYC or across the ocean.

How do I fit it all in? How do I fit in time to participate in our local Public Access TV group? I'm a camera person, producer, sometime editor and web designer

How do I find time to keep up with local politics? Trust me, your local governments need watching more than the central governments. Ours plans to add a mounted horse patrol to the tune of $75,000. Do we need this in a crowded suburb? Plastic palm trees were to be add to our town swimming pool. My tax dollars at work. Our school rating is slipping and many of our shopping districts are looking shabby, but we need horses and plastic palm trees.

Something's got to give. Usually it's housework. I hate it anyway. I'm allergic to dust, but I don't think dusting helps. It just moves the dust around; it never goes away. So I don't bother it. It doesn't bother me.

My cats think the dust bunnies are their playmates.

I can't have company, because my guests would stumble over the floor files (I've recently bought baskets to corral them somewhat) and my dining room table is home to two computers. There are two more - one in each corner. So I do save time by not entertaining. And you wonder why I have more friends on line than off. At least I don't have to worry about them dropping by for a cup of coffee.

So I need a day stretcher or I need to win the lottery so I can reclaim the 8 hours my company gets and I can hire a maid. The Big Game lottery is up to $30 million. I'm buying a ticket.

Seeds of Wisdom: "Do not

Seeds of Wisdom: "Do not go where the path may lead, go instead where there is no path and leave a trail." -- Ralph Waldo Emerson

If you've been reading my blog, you know that I've been thinking about the Cluetrain Manifesto, which has led me to think about TV commercials and ads.

So many talk down to us like we were idiots - which we would be, if we actually believed what they say about their product or service was true. Various hair products, deodorants, toothpaste are a few that come to mind. Others are so vague no one but the ad agency and the company have a clue as to what the product or service is. For instance, MLife and for a long time Cingular - now at least they admit to being a wireless company.

The only kind of commercials I can tolerate are those that are humorous. My favorite one right now is the Blockbuster commercial with the hamster and the rabbit. I love when the hamster is dancing and he's shaking his bonbon. He says, "See if you can do this." The rabbit responds, "I don't want to see anything do that." Cracks me up every time. But ... it does not make me want to run to Blockbuster and rent a movie. It wouldn't make me drive further to rent a movie, if I had another video rental store that was closer.

I like the Visa check card commercial with Kevin Bacon, but it doesn't leave me longing to sign up for one. The funny Budweiser commercials make me laugh, but they don't convince me to switch from Newcastle Brown Ale.

So how effective are these commercials really? My husband never watches them. He channel surfs when a commercial comes on. They cost a bundle to produce, which adds to the price of the product. Makes no sense.

Other than the funny ones which are amusing, I think I'd much rather have an ordinary person - not a model or an ad pitch person - do the commercial. They could come on, tell me a little about themselves and why they use the product. Very simple. No big ad agency fees. Lower cost for a quality product. Wouldn't that be nice?

So I've decided to do something about it. I'm working on a project called Cyber Kat's endorsements. I'm going to make a list of products I use and tell you why I use them. I figure the best way for us to really know whether a product works is to tell each other.

The list will grow as I get to work on it. We'll see how it develops. Maybe I'll set up some comments so others can endorse them too, or maybe I'll just post what responses I get in e-mail. Perhaps other Bloggers will also put up a list of endorsements - think of the possibilities!

Seeds of Wisdom: "A great

Seeds of Wisdom: "A great deal of intelligence can be invested in ignorance when the need for illusion is deep." -- Josh Billings.

Yesterday on one of the New York radio stations, they were discussing some new kind of panty hose called "revolutionary new shaping panty hose." I don't recall what the brand was. Anyway, these "revolutionary new shaping panty hose" are constructed so they "lift and separate" your butt - in other words they end what a friend of mine calls "flat butt syndrome."

My question is - two questions, actually - do we need this? And why?

I can't speak for other women, but most of the ones I know seem to feel they have more butt than they care to have. What we really need is "revolutionary new butt reducer panty hose."

If there are any women out there who really want more butt, come and see me. I'll gladly give you some of mine. In fact if you have shoulders that are too wide or a neck that is too long, perhaps we can work out a trade. I'm tired of bra straps that end up around my elbows because they've fallen off my too narrow shoulders. Racer back is the only way to go and they are soooo hard to find. I'm also tired of turtle necks that bunch up because my chin practically meets my collar bone. I long for a long neck.

Are there any women out there who are truly happy with their bodies? I'm looking for a show of hands, here.

And why is it that those women who have nearly perfect bodies in the eyes of the rest of us, are the least satisfied? I've heard some women say they're happy with their bodies, but I think mostly they've just come to accept them. I find it hard to believe, that given the choice, they wouldn't make at least some changes.

Men on the other hand supposedly don't consider this. They are supposed to be happy with whatever nature provided. Do not believe this either. They just don't talk about it.

If they were all perfectly satisfied with the hand they were dealt, there wouldn't be so many spam e-mails floating around offering products to increase penis size, or bulk up muscles. It's just a facade, ladies - they feel the same way we do, trust me on this.

A few years ago, I was taking a fabulous dance exercise class. I'd still be taking it, but the woman who taught the class was studying to be a sports trainer. When she graduated from the school, she got a job with the NY Giants football team and no longer had time. I miss that class.

This teacher had a fantastic body - a dancer's body, but not too skinny. We all hoped that if we took her class long enough, we'd look like her. She quit teaching before we were able to test this theory out.

We were discussing body shapes and sizes after class one day, and the discussion wandered into the area of liposuction. I said that I wished they could suck the fat from one part of the body - where you didn't want it - and pump it into another part where you could use it. Mostly, I'd like to take what's in my butt and on my hips and pump it into my boobs. (that was back then, now I have more than enough to spare - they can take it all away, thank you very much!)

The teacher said, "But that fat knows where it came from, and it would just go back home. And think what you would look like as it traveled!"

Rats! Just when I thought I'd found a perfect solution - foiled by homing fat!

Our dear teacher also assured us that everyone has a little pot (no not that kind of pot - the kind that makes your stomach stick out). We looked at her perfectly flat tummy and asked, "Did you leave yours at home, today?"

Some interesting things to check out ...

On Inside Gretchen's Head a few days ago, Gretchen was experimenting with a brain test. Someone sent me this awhile back, or I got it from an e-mail list. It's really neat. It tests to see if you are right-brained or left-brained. Also to see if you are more auditory or visual.

As I knew before I took the test - because I've taken such tests in the past - I'm visual and middle-brained (I know it sounds like addle-brained, which many people think I am, but I won't go into that - not today anyway) - but I lean toward the right brain hemisphere.

My score was 55% right, 45% left - 58.8% visual, 41.2% auditory. The really interesting aspect, however, was the analysis of the results. It was dead on.

"You have a distinct preference for creativity ..." it stated.
Me - Yep!

"You tend to see things in "wholes" without surrendering the ability to attend to details. You an give them sufficient notice to be able to utilize and incorporate them as part of an overall pattern."
Me - you have to see the forest instead of just the trees - that's why my Blog is called From the Treetop!

"It is most likely that you will gravitate towards those endeavors which are predominantly visual, but include some logic or structuring."
Me - took me long enough to find a career which fits this description. The first time I made a web page, I knew I'd found a home.

You can find this test here, here or here. Thanks to Bob - bob@aol.com (wow - he must have joined AOL the first week it came out.)

Also check out this new Blog, I've been reading - MLWebblog- thanks to Jonathon Delacour. I haven't been reading it long enough to add to my Blog Roll, but it's very interesting so far.

Truck on over to Blogsisters, if you get a chance. It's an interesting group of women called together by Jeneane Sessum. Kind of a wild free-for-all going on there at the moment, but I suspect that once things settle down, it will be a good place to hang out. Jeneane has issued an open invitation to all women bloggers (sorry, guys Jeneane says - "men can link, but they can't touch."). I haven't quite decided whether or not to join. I constantly have to ask myself, "do I really have time for this?" Unfortunately the answer is usually, "no," but I go ahead and do it anyway.

I once read a sign somewhere that read, "Stress comes from your mouth saying, "yes," when your stomach says, "no." So true, so true.

Quote of the Day: "A

Quote of the Day: "A great deal of intelligence can be invested in ignorance when the need for illusion is deep." -- Saul Belloe.

I should warn you that this is long and rambling. Generally a brain dump <g>

Meryl Yourish has written a very thought-provoking piece on hatred, that also speaks of tolerance and understanding titled, "Yes, I am a Jew" - the title taken from Daniel Pearl's last words.

Elaine of Kalilily Time responded with an account of growing up Polish.

Both of these pieces inspired me to examine my own childhood environment, and to think about how the formations and foundations of childhood become so much a part of us, even if we rebel against them at some point.

I am 3/4 WASP. I'm white. My ethnic lineage is predominantly English, Irish and German with a dash of Scot, a pinch of Welsh/Cornish and a drop of Norwegian - so that covers the Anglo-Saxon part. But I'm not Protestant; I'm Catholic. I guess that makes me a WASC.

When I used to ask my mother what nationality we were, she'd usually answer, "American." To which I would respond, "That's not what I mean." I'd go on to talk about Italians or Swiss or French to explain that I meant background, ethnicity, cultural make-up. She would, then, tell me I was a mutt - a little of this, a little of that. I never found that a very satisfying answer.

I grew up in a very homogenized, plain vanilla environment. I don't ever remember seeing Blacks, Asians or Hispanics on the streets of my town. I went to parochial school from first grade to twelfth with children who were very much like me from a cultural perspective. And I always felt there was something missing.

I had friends who were fiercely Irish. Their father and mother were both either born in Ireland or were the children of immigrants. To them, St. Patrick's day was the most significant holiday and green was the only accepted color. Though about a quarter of my cultural heritage is Irish, I never felt much affinity with them. Looking at them through my child's eyes, they were uninteresting (no offense intended to those of you who are proudly Irish.<g>)

About the only thing that happened around our house on St. Patrick's day was an annual teasing contest between my father and my mother. My father, from whom I get the English blood, would put on a green tie. My mother, who lays claim to some Irish blood, would look at it scornfully and tell him that he was a "limey" and had no business wearing green on St. Patty's Day. My father would laugh and tell her, "On St. Patrick's Day everyone's Irish." And if my mother felt like making it, we had corned beef and cabbage.

Again as a child, I found the mostly English part of me boring. They had no interesting ethnic costume. No exotic national food. No national dances or music. And they spoke the same language as we did. Shallow, I know, but I was a child.

I guess my childhood was too close to the end of WW II to make much of the 25% German blood running through my veins. It was mentioned in passing but that was about it. We had neighbors who were from Germany, but I never felt any affiliation with Germans either.

I wanted to be Dutch. They had windmills and wooden shoes and cheese. I thought French would be interesting. Good food, berets and an interesting accent. I thought I might like being Swiss. Yodeling, dirndls, cheese and chocolate. I was fascinated by the Orient, so I thought it would be neat to be Japanese (loved the kimonos) or Chinese (again good food). But mostly growing up, I think I wanted to be Italian. There were a few Italians in my school. My aunt married an Italian. They certainly had great food. They had Venice and the Tarantella. I thought it would be good to be Italian.

Basically, I wanted to be something other than what I was. I longed for that ethnic connection, but I never considered the consequences of those ethnic connections.

My parents had both grown up in culturally diverse environments. Neither one of them held any prejudices that I noticed, so I didn't feel any myself. I did feel a strong attraction to anyone who was different from me. And I had a thirst for knowledge of these other cultures.

When I graduated from high school, I went on to the NY School of Interior Design. I loved going to school in NYC. I was in a state of sensory overload. I couldn't take it all in fast enough. At the same time, I went to work in an art gallery. The owners, two sisters and a brother, were Hungarian Jews. They had fled Hungary when the Germans invaded, then went to France, which didn't turn out to be the safe haven they'd hoped for.

They were fortunate though. They found very kind and very brave friends who hid them, when the Germans also invaded France. I was fascinated and horrified at the same time. I had learned about the Holocaust and the persecution of Jews in school, but it seemed some how distant and impersonal. It was numbers, dates and dry facts that really didn't penetrate or equate to real personal suffering.

Through the gallery owners, I learned how much it involved real people, real suffering. But I could not understand, and I began to ask why.

I went on from there to a job at a buying office in New York. The majority of the people working there, and in the fashion industry where I found myself a few years later, were Jewish. From them I learned of the bias against their people. And the persecutions and the hatred. I still couldn't understand it. "Why," I asked, constantly. I found few answers that made sense.

I grew up during the Fifties and the Sixties with all the racial issues in the news, but they didn't affect me. With the introspection and self-absorption of youth, I didn't quite understand the full impact of the hatred.

Even today, when I know better and I have seen and felt the evidence of hatred between ethnic groups, I don't understand it. How can you simply hate, with such ferocity, a whole group of people without knowing them, without meeting them as individual people?

Through the years, I've met Blacks, Jews, Asians, Arabs. Some I've liked, and others I haven't, but the reasons I liked or disliked them never had to do with what ethnic group they belonged to. It had to do with who they were as people. I see them, have always seen them as individual people. I find it difficult to understand how others can not only judge a person by what ethnic group they belong to, but hate them so vehemently when they don't even know them.

I expressed these thoughts to Meryl in an e-mail and she responded that they are taught to hate by their parents. While I know this to be true, I don't understand how any parent can teach an innocent child to hate.

Often it is not a conscious thing. I know that. The parents don't tell the child, "this group of people are bad," but they teach by example. Sadly though, far too often, parents do just that. They actually teach and encourage their children to hate whole groups of people. This totally confounds me. I really don't understand the roots of it or the reason for it.

I can understand disliking or maybe even hating an individual who has done something to hurt you grievously. But I don't understand how so much hatred builds up between ethnic groups and races.

On occasion, I've felt the hatred from some Blacks, who hate all whites. Now I understand the reasons for that hatred in the abstract. Whites were responsible for slavery and all the abominations that have taken place since, but I'm not responsible for that. Me personally. As an individual member of the human race, I've never treated a Black person any differently because of the color of their skin. Why send hatred in my direction?

My family never owned slaves. Most of my family seems to be tolerant and free from prejudicial thought. Yet we are white, and some will hate us for this. Some will hate us because their history has taught them to expect hatred in return. But others - especially those I've come to know, don't hate me. I hope some even like me, because they have come to know me as an individual as I have come to know them.

Since September 11, I've seen and felt the hatred the Arab world seems to feel for those of us living in the West - in the US in particular. Why? Because our cultures are different? Because our values are different? Why can't they just accept that there are differences in belief structure, culture and skin tones? Why can't we all just see each other as individual people? As fellow members of the human race?

I understand it at an intellectual level. I've studied the history, so I've learned all the so-called reasons for it. Some valid, perhaps - at the time - some not. But at a visceral, gut level, I really can't understand this lumping together of people, this stereotyping that seems to be the basis for all this hatred. It is simply outside my sphere of comprehension.