September 6, 2000

"Trouble With Diversity?"

It's been a few years since I've applied for a job. I was surprised to learn some businesses have the applications all computerized. Along with the standard questions, there was a personality test. Now taking personality tests on the web is something I've done quite a bit of. So it was easy to imagine this exam was just another one of those. I could tell what they were searching for. They want to ferret out those with a general bad attitude, distrust of people, horrible work ethic and the like. A few odd questions were thrown in just to see if the person could actually READ and wasn't just clicking selections randomly.

I passed the test, but was given 'flags' for possible slowness and difficulty with diversity. Slowness, THAT I can understand .  . . but DIVERSITY??? Me, in a triad, with not one, but two transgendered women? How did they ever figure?

I asked Laura about this, and she replied I do well with SOME types of 'diversity', but still have not shaken the judgmental attitude I inherited from my prudish family. A tattooed biker or a man proudly baring a gun might make me shiver, for instance. She reminded me of how I used to ridicule the extremely obese. Oh, yes, I have lessons here to learn, as well. When you're in a business that deals with all that stratas of society, and not just a particular subset, (such as those well enough off to concern themselves with clothing alteration), you must be prepared to deal comfortably and graciously with all types of people. This will be a good experience for me. I need my horizons broadened.

And remember, all that experience could be good for me as a writer, as well!

 

September 8, 2000

"Entirely Correct"

Sudsing my hands good before my lunch break, I was surprised to see the white soap suds quickly turn a very dark shade of gray. I'd been handling money constantly for five hours. The Bible refers to money on occasion as 'filthy lucre'. Now, as you might know, I don't consider that particular book 100% divinely inspired. But whoever coined THAT phrase was entirely correct. Money is indeed very FILTHY!

 

September 11, 2000 - A

"Mandalas"

It's 5:34 on a Monday morning. Since my last entry three days ago, I've had much in mind I've wanted to write about. But now as I go searching about for those ideas, they've been carried away like dried autumn leaves in the wind. And so I'm left to rake up what few ideas remain.

I've done a bit of web work. If you go to the archives, you'll find all old entries have pictures and the links should work. There's a FEW missing images, I'm sure. But only a few insignificant ones I'm not going to worry about. And I at last got my Mandalas up. Feeling pleased with that accomplishment, I did a net search on mandalas to see if anyone else had such pages. I found Earth Mandalas, a lovely page in which the artist takes carefully selected pie wedges out of pictures of nature, and creates a kaleidoscope effect with them. After viewing that page, I brought up Picture Publisher, (not as thorough as the Photoshop she uses, but serviceable enough), and started with a square shape. Picture Publisher doesn't handle curved edges well. Oddly enough, an 'ancient' (by computer standards of measurement) program called D Paint handled curves and circles much better. But I think that's been long lost. Also as I remember, it had an unusual file format that was recognized in another program that from there I saved as yet another file format that a third program would recognize, whereby THERE I could save it as a jpg.

I must get that complicated Adobe Workshop up and see how it handles curves. I want curves in my mandalas again. Anyway, those mandalas out of nature photos inspired me. I made a square shape and made it the light yellow which is the standard Weighty Matters background. That choice inspired me to light tonal values, creating a gentle effect despite the angularity.

 

September 11, 2000 - B

"I'm Sure"

I'm sure I've lots of other things to say, about work, disability, and such. Those thoughts are SOMEwhere. Let's see if I can gather them. I AM surviving the job. Way back in April, when I decided sewing was too hard for me because of the arthritis, Laura urged me to apply for disability. I had to wait that process out to see what the results would be. I described each ache and pain clearly and accurately, so those in charge of making that decision would know how to decide. If you've been keeping up with these pages, you know they concluded that although I have some difficulties, I'm NOT disabled. They were right, because I am able to do this job. Three days of it, one extra long to help out another store, and I'm not flattened. My fingers can twiddle just fine on the cash register and handling money. Such work doesn't require the great dexterity that sewing requires. Sewing does indeed take great flexibility and nimbleness, which I don't have anymore, at least not with any speed or for much duration. But, I'm glad to be done with that as a profession anyway. I did it for nearly twenty years. That's enough. It's good to have a change.

I'm really glad NOT to be disabled. There may well come a time when I truly qualify for such a classification. When that time comes, I will be familiar with the process needed to get the help truly disabled people deserve. Meanwhile, I'll plug about in the work force, doing what I can. For one thing I've learned, I ache whether I do things or don't do things. I'm much too young to give up. When I'm old, I won't just give up, either. I'm sure.

 

September 11, 2000 - C

"Take A Deep Breath"

While I was doing a net search to see if there were any shareware versions of that old D Paint program available for download, one of the advertising banners at the top of the page intrigued me. It invited me to put in my day of birth, and it would tell me how much air I've breathed since then:

You've breathed 66, 277, 729 gallons of air since 11/10/ 1958!

That's a LOT of air! I celebrated that knowledge with a good, deep breath. Through out the years, I've learned the importance of taking a deep breath for relaxation. Besides bringing vital oxygen into myself, it enables me to let loose of tension more easily.

This is the reason so many meditative practices focus on one's breathing. I found this little quote educational, as well:

Breath is the essence of life and of spirituality. In fact, the word spiritual itself is derived from spiritus, which means breath in Latin. Breathing is the link between our bodies and the world outside us. It is not surprising then that awareness of breathing is the basis of meditation in many traditions. Chop Wood Carry Water, Rick Fields, Rex Weyler, Rick Ingrasci, and Peggy Taylor

Take a good, deep breath, everyone!

 

September 11, 2000 - D

"Another Mandala!"

Well, you all can see the kind of fun I'm having on my day off! I was determined to see if I could make a mandala with curves, despite the limitations of my image editor:

 

September 14, 2000 - A

"Out Of Gas?"

The small blond haired woman looked weary and stressed from her day. ''Please tell me your gas pumps are working! I'm lost and OUT OF GAS!" I assured her gas was available, and some of the worry lines erased from her face. She proffered eight dollars, all of the paper cash she had, and hoped the gas it paid for would last until she reached her destination.

We are a nation completely dependent on gas. Nowhere is that more true than out in the desert, in a small rural town. A car is a necessary here as there are no buses. Out here in the wide open spaces, all the places of business are spread out far from each other. If you do not have a car, you will need cab rides. Some people have a worse fuel bill than others, for they don't work in town. Every day, they commute to the big cities of either Phoenix or Tucson.

Their bill, as well as everyone else's, has been getting bigger lately. Gas prices have been going up. Just the other day, the manager at the store where I work was at the large rectangular box whose buttons control delivery of gas to the customer. He was putting the new higher prices into its computer. Most of us just accept this necessary evil with resignation. We have places we must go to, irregardless of the cost. A few wise people plan their trips more carefully to get the best value for the mileage. But no one is hardly ever sidelined. Well, I do remember a gas shortage back in the seventies. But that's rare.

In other countries, they aren't so lucky. In Britain, climbing gas prices are even worse. For addition to the rising price of crude oil, a heavy tax is placed on fuel. A higher crude oil price makes for an even greater tax. This huge tax has been protested vehemently. The protesters had put blockades at the refineries so that tankers could not leave to supply the gas stations. What little gas is still at the stations must be preserved for essential services. With very few stations possessing gas to sell to anyone else, they're sidelined in England. Even though the blockades have been removed, it will still be days or even weeks before the supply is at normal levels.

I wonder at the power protesters have there in England. Would they be forceably removed by the law here in the States? I don't know. One thing is true, we are entirely too dependent on this non-renewable source. The crude oil from which gasoline is made comes from deep in the ground, and is actually the remains of dinosaurs and vegetative life that was buried a long time ago. Their remains stayed under ground enduring great pressure. The combination of fermentation and extreme pressure caused petroleum to be created from these remains. We don't have millions of years to wait for this process to occur again.

I'd like to envision what it will be like in the future. Will cars be fueled by something other than petroleum? Will cities be designed better, so that everything we need is clustered near where we live? We may be forced by necessity to make changes sooner than we suspect.

 

September 14, 2000 - B

"Strength, Both Fierce And Gentle?"

And won't I find the fierce strength within me? Time and time again, it has been like this. I am frail and quivering and thought overwhelmed. But something comes - grace? and I go on. JAL, 9-14-00

"Courage is grace under pressure"

That saying was on a poster at the place where I recieved my initial job training. Time and time again since seeing that, I have thought of it. May I grow gracious with strength. May the hidden resources within me become visable. It has happened so many times before. It shall happen again.

 

September 15, 2000

"Blooming No Matter What"

Coffee grounds are very heavy. You wouldn't know that unless you've had to haul a bin full of wet used grounds out to the trash. The bin, too, was overfull, as they'd been allowed to pile up too high. (I didn't know these bins were to be dumped daily, and it was two days worth of the grounds. Trust me, this is one task I'll not forget in the future!)

The dumpster has been graciously hidden with a metal fence. There's no mistaking though, the smell of a full dumpster!

Nearby, however, were tall bushes full of lovely white flowers. They made a living fence for another concern. Perhaps beyond those leafy and floral boundaries lay a well kept mobile home park.

Anyway the flowers were full and lush. They did not mind their dumpster neighbor to the other side. Up past my neck in trash, somehow the flowers seemed even more beautiful by contrast.

Almost Haiku

White flowers blooming high - down below, smell of trash. But beauty troubles not. Should we not bloom as well? JAL, 9-15-00

 

September 18, 2000

"Why Worry"

Worrying about a thing does nothing whatsoever to change its outcome.

This thought came to me yesterday like a major epiphany. The light of its wisdom broke through the darkness which I'd been long been enduring. How long had it been since I actually felt cheerful? We think with our gigantic little egos that we're going to push the fates around with our worry. It AIN'T so! Somehow I was able to let loose and RELAX. Joy, real joy, came streaming into the dark corners of my soul.

There's an Irish piece of wisdom that goes along a similar line. I'd encountered it over three years ago, when we vacationed for a few days in San Diego.

Why Worry? There are only two things to worry about: either you are well or you are sick. If you are well, then there is nothing to worry about. But if you are sick, there are two things for you to worry about: either you will get well or you will die. If you get well, then there is nothing to worry about. If you die, then there are two things to worry about: either you go up or down. If you go up, then there is nothing to worry about. But if you go down, you will be so busy shaking hand with old friends, you won't have time to worry.

 

September 19, 2000

"Is This 'Bridge Of Words' Broken?"

Another poet-journaller mentioned in his e-mail list that he was going through poems he'd written over the past year, and selecting which ones would appear in his poetry pages. This inspired me, as my own poetry pages have sat neglected for too long.

I selected four poems from the journal, copied and pasted them into new pages, and began work on them. This Bridge Of Words already had its illustration, as I'd made it when I wrote the poem. Thus, it was easy work, but the other three would take more thought. The second poem I chose was simple enough, as a quieter approach seemed effective. The Stars Are Still There was illustrated with a small picture of tiny stars, quickly made, and up it went.

The other two, I wasn't sure about. I envisioned a bird in flight for Freedom Is Just That Easy, but had no clue for From Within. I showed both Julia and Laura the finished ones and the two others, to see if they had any illustrative ideas. Julia thought a picture of a path would work for From Within, and had no suggestion for 'Freedom'. She liked the two poems already finished, however. Laura wasn't so fond of those two. 'Bridge' was not bad, but 'Stars' only mediocre. I explained to her it was about faith. Stars could either be obscured by clouds or by a greater light, the sun. We don't see stars during the day, or through clouds. Perhaps it was too traditionally spiritual for her, I thought, and we moved onto 'Freedom'. She might like the lofty concept of freedom.

'What the heck is a 'BRIGHT UNLEAVING'?" she asked. I tried to explain it about a zen concept of being somewhere and not being somewhere. It was about freedom of the mind. Julia thought 'bright unleaving' was about when trees lose their leaves in the fall. Nope, not it. Obviously something wasn't coming across to my readers. Without UNDERSTANDING, this particular 'BRIDGE' was broken.

Next followed a conversation in which Laura exhorted me to try for simplicity, stick to what I know and write from the heart. ''Pretty words, that's all that one poem is, is pretty words. They sound nice to the ear, but that's it. She suggested that perhaps I try to seduce the muse too strongly. I admitted that maybe at times I have been guilty of seducing the muse, and getting her good and 'drunk' in an attempt to wrestle something out of her. Laura liked the drunken muse metaphor. ''Clear and vivid imagery, " she declared. ''Yes, I'm your harshest critic, but this is also because I am your greatest fan!'' It is true. Through out the years, some of my poems have moved her to tears. A poet can have no better reader.

Later in the day, I thought I'd run the other poem by her, to see how it feared. I wasn't sure if the 'One hand is staying the wheel, the other is waving home' metaphor would also meet with confusion. To my surprise, From Within ellicited tears. ''You're talking essential truth here. You're writing from the heart. THIS one is among your best!" I was even surprised. The metaphor works because it is at the end, and already explained. ''You know how you hate those movies that throw ten confusing things at you in the beginning, and don't resolve them until the end.'' Laura at last advised I choose something special to illustrate it.

I had in mind a drawing of someone's hand on the steering wheel of a car, with the other one waving. I'm so glad for the vital imput Laura and Julia give me. I am so close to these poems, I don't have the proper perspective at times. I can become too attached to my words and cherish their prettiness too much. Prettiness without understanding doesn't make the BRIDGE I hope exists between me and the readers. Without that bridge, I am just talking to myself, and may as well be talking gibberish. When I was a child, I was fond of making up nonsense words for the sheer fun of hearing myself say them. It's a fun game as long as you don't expect anyone to understand you. Children do stuff like that. Children, and at times, poets . . .