Turn on a Dime

Turning on a Dime

An excerpt from the memoirs of a woman who, born midway through the 20th Century lived well into the first half of the 21st. A prolific writer of both fiction and non-fiction she possessed an ablity unique among the Humans of her time. She viewed life with an open, exploring, willing mind. Her journals offer a realistic, insightful glimpse into the life's convolutions as experienced by a female not held down by societal "norms" or "contraints". Data and conclusions from studies while in one sense informative do not offer a well-rounded picture of what life was like for those "in the trenches". In order to get the real "nitty gritty" it is necessary to read journals, letters and other forms of personal communication.
My initial forty-three years were spent in the same place. Not the same building, or even the same town but in varying abodes within a 100 mile radius and within a mindset, lifestyle enclave unique but pervasive to the area. Nearly four years ago I left to begin a journey of discovery. Naively I termed it a move from the frenetic pace of the work-a-day world in the Northeastern United Sttes to a slower paced, semi-retirement-that euphemistic term used to denote a drop in income accompanied by continued participation in the work force-in the desert Southwest.
I saved my moeny, purchased land on which to build my home and didn't venture forth until fully equipped to deal with any eventuality that might pop up. I crossed my t's and dotted my i's, planned for every possible contingency. Ah yes, already I hear readers chuckling because of course carefully laid and executed plans were lifted and thoroughly shaken to bits by the unsympathetic winds of irony. Some call this invisible, bludgeoning force Murphy's Law, the lot of Job, any of various colorful and elucidating phrases to describe those times when as a friend of mine so succinctly put it, "life can and does change with the turn of a dime". We are taught from childhood to think ahead, plan for the future, don't do anything without considering all the angles, yet there must be some methematical formula we could plug into to tell us if we should both or not.
Still not getting the ful ramifications of the life lessons being dealt to me I ladi plans to leave the New State I'd moved to. Several months remained in my year-long lease...plenty of time to plan and execute my next move to a more amenable location. Old habits die hard-not a strictly human characteristic but one that often proves our downfall-and this pitfall in my mental makeup would trip me up yet again. I still had some money left and could earn some as I traveled, said the still blind me, to myself.
OK, so meeting one's life partner is the best thing that can happen. That change in plans couldn't Whave been a better one. But as mentioned, totally unplanned on both of our parts. We stayed in what for both of us was a New, Uninhabitable State, fondly referred to by its inhabitants as a Third World Country. Once we'd found each other we should have run. But there is that old saying about hindsight being twenty-twenty. Being new in a relationship and still learning about what made each other tick, created a situation that caused use to dig deeper into the kaliche. We bought a house, then a business, set up home and shop. We closed both and left fifteen months later. The economics of third world countried aren't equipped to support many capitalistic ventures and we joined the retreating masses succumbing to the realities of a poverty stricken state. A situation exacerbated by a narrow minded, self-serving government. Poor planning you might say...well, anyway.
We've left that State and moved to another one. That phrase about not being able to go home again has more than the stereotypical poignant meaning for us. Soaring property values, high taxes, exorbitant fuel bills, high population densities all created by the unwillingness of people who work in the big cities to live there, thus creating a top heavy housing market in the "burbs" makes it economical suicide to attempt a move back "home". The rift between the financially opulent and those financially secure but not opulent has created an unhealthy situation where there is only room for those with vast amounts of money and those with none. Those with none aare the service people hired by the wealthy to take care of them. Those that fall in between have descended through the cracks and once gone find it all but impossible to reestablish themselves.
I've always felt terrible for people who left their country and came to America because they could create a better world for their children. I knew many of them and they didn't like it here. It wasn't home. I now know exactly how they feel. I've been set adrift in the land of my birth and after having viewed the narrow minded, shallow reactionary tactics of the majority of people in this country, feel embarassed and shamed to be called an American.
My partner and I don't have any specific plans anymore. We have a lot of enthusiasm and ideas we would like to implement but we've given up the fallacy of planning. That lesson, at least, has been assimilated.

Means to an End

The trio discuss "caste" systems


Means to an End
Euroswydd, Reiki Clown and Mort although disheartened are nevertheless intrigued by human insistence on attaching such importance to an individual’s rank within the caste system that it becomes the sole criteria for evaluating that individual’s worth.
Who or what group makes the decisions that the humans allow to control their lives and why them? Why does a group of people “listen” to one dogma and consider another unworthy?
“It’s clear that systems operating in the human world originated to perpetuate survival. Take the Masai people of Africa. Within their culture jobs are assigned or awarded based on age and a step program. Young men must first show that they are proficient warriors (basically able to provide for a family) before being allowed to marry. Since this is a polygamist society each man has many wives. The hierarchy among the wives is such that the most recently married woman performs the more labor intensive work with the initial wife having the easiest life of all. Each step or level within the community is designed to provide “training” for the next level or in the case of the women, since each successive wife is younger than the previous to provide a labor force physically equipped to perform necessary tasks, be they hauling water or producing progeny.” Mort draws deeply on his pipe giving Euroswydd the opportunity to voice his thoughts.
“Yes, each person must fulfill his or her own task or the survival of the group is placed in jeopardy. We’ve found many examples of how indigenous tribes give specific jobs to individuals. That these individuals are responsible for assigned tasks is recognized and counted upon by the society. Those that do not perform appropriately are ostracized. In theory a reasonable strategy. Yet, as human societies became increasingly more developed, communities became less preoccupied with mere survival and branched out to pursue “leisurely” activities. They developed a desire to “be better than” and “ in control”. The original intent of the caste systems, that of giving individuals responsibility for a task or tasks in order to ensure the best possible chance of the units survival, became corrupted. This corruption allowed for individual and/or groups to achieve control over the masses not to perpetuate survival of the large group-as they pretend to do-not for altruistic purposes- but the enhance the material wealth of the controllers. The more complex the societal structure the more destructive the species.”
Turning to Reiki Clown, “Have you been able to type this all? Do you need time to catch up? Are up sure you wouldn’t rather use the digital recorder we brought instead of that old typewriter?”
Reiki Clown pausing, “I like typing and you know I can always keep up. It’s fun to exercise my mitten fingers and it reminds me of the little girl I was knitted for. She carried me everywhere, usually by my stocking cap. She used a typewriter just like this and it reminds me of her and my role there. As with other lifetimes I spent on Earth children of pre-corruption years still saw life in its simplified uncorrupted form. They were kind and operated to the best of the abilities they had been granted in that particular lifetime. Eventually the lessons of their elders overshadowed primary instincts and they assimilated greed and cruelty. The little girl that I belonged to in my role as Reiki Clown never fully subscribed to the doctrines her parents and teachers tried to instill in her. She kept me with her until the day she exited that life.” Nostalgia mixed with resignation emanated with Reiki Clown’s voice. “I remember when she studied the social system put into place in the country known as India about 3000 years before her birth in the late 1960’s. Those Indian people had implemented their system in order to establish social order. While we’ve-The Forum-been using the word “caste” as a descriptive term designating the social orders established in every society that’s ever existed, the word was originally associated with the social structure implemented in India. That structure involved 4 basic levels the highest being the Purists and the lowest being those deemed Impure. People were born into a level and remained tied to it the entire span of that particular lifetime. Only through death and subsequent rebirth could a particular soul transfer to a different caste. The Portuguese viewing this system dubbed it “casta” which translated means rigid social structure. The final letter changed to an e and the term “caste” became the descriptive term for that structure prevalent in India. While in India it is not possible to move from one caste to another during the course of a single lifetime in other countries it is generally considered an admirable quality to want to ‘better’ oneself.”
“Yes,” continued Euroswydd, “Most of the European societies implemented a caste system of their own under the guise of keeping order but human nature seems to be such that those in the upper levels of the society expect to be treated with deference by those in lower levels. Interestingly speech patterns were and still are indicative of social level. Those successfully climbing to a higher social level continue to go to great lengths to change their speech patterns to more closely emulate those patterns considered appropriate for someone of high rank. The English people, perhaps because their Monarchy is still in existence even into the 21st century, have been loath to relinquish their system of social delineations. A sterling example is portrayed in the play, and subsequent movie rendition of My Fair Lady. As seen in this fictional account, accent is an even more important societal marker than birth status or wealth acquisition.”
“Yes, I remember that movie, it was shown against one of the adobe houses in my village when I was a young boy. Speech patterns and job choice are clearly devices used by these humans to rank each other. Stereotyping is another favorite and highly flawed human trait. It seems that the more “advanced” a society is the more likely that certain jobs and the people that perform them will be viewed as inferior to those that do different jobs. Those performing “menial” tasks requiring less mental acuity are judged to be less intelligent and not equipped to “understand” issues that require a broader mental capacity and therefore the endowment of more money. Stereotypically it’s felt that they have neither the intelligence nor the capacity to understand or appreciate that which those of greater intelligence can. They seem to have forgotten that all jobs need to be done or society couldn’t exist. Providing nutrition and living facilities free of filth-germs, etc. is crucial to longevity and enjoyment of life.”
“They’ve moved far from the original intent of the caste systems.” Reiki pauses in his typing.
“Yes, survival not being a major consideration for the inhabitants of the “developed” countries of the planet, they have the luxury of pursuing more esoteric topics and thus fluffing their own feathers, to coin a phrase. They are still establishing a social order but rather than the survival of the unit being the most important factor the pumping up of the ego seems to have taken center stage.” Mort waved towards Jalisco, “Domestic animals have plenty of leisure time since they are dependant on their human overseer’s for food and shelter but they never developed the means to destroy themselves the way humans have. I wonder why that is.”
Euroswydd with a bob of his head, nodded agreement, “And these humans are so fickle. Take the shoe shine men. There was a time when they were considered lowly servants, useful to have around but not particularly valuable as individuals. Now they are idolized and considered remnants of a more genteel time. There are great efforts being made to preserve the few that are left and to listen to their stories about the “old days”. These earthlings have endowed this group with the all important status of “storyteller” those that preserve and pass on verbal history. A most puzzling group these Earthlings. There are other examples of their inability to stay consistent, particularly when trends change.” shaking his head he continues, “Human foibles seem to boil down to the need for control and their inability to create and maintain their own opinions. Those that wish control tighten the grip while those that can’t think for themselves join the group that appears to provide the most favorable rewards. My human always maintained that humans even in small groups could be problematic but the larger and more convoluted the group became and I use this as an example of societies ‘developing’ and becoming more ‘advanced’ the more corrupt and less functional it becomes.”
Reiki Clown types the final analysis on this subject as such:
The Forum concludes that the rigid social systems or “castes” implemented by the humans on Earth originated out of a need to create an order that facilitated the perpetuation of the society. Observations on the rest of Earth’s life forms show that each form adheres to rules and regulations put in place to ensure the existence of the species. Humans in spite of their perceived mental acuity, unwilling to adhere to the original concepts of the systems, have corrupted them to the point of no return. Engrossed with ego enhancement, neglectful of survival protocol, unless their priorities change with immediacy they will join the list of civilizations that destroyed themselves.

Twenty-First Century Coping

The Forum finds fiction to be an entertaining way of relaying real life issues












TWENTY-FIRST CENTURY COPING


Defined as a feeling of happiness, confidence and well-being, merely saying the word euphoria elicits thoughts of Shangri La, that haven of beauty and tranquility, an imaginary paradise. The exotic flow of the word so much smoother than other recently acquired vocabulary like calculate, inadequate and advisable.
Being dyslexic means attending a school that teaches someone with my different brain set-up the skills necessary to learn. Contrary to stereotypical belief dyslexia isn’t a condition causing me to transpose letters and/or numbers, but a difference in brain function. A language processing disorder, my brain layout resembles a file cabinet that been tossed around resulting in loss of alphabetical order. Looking for a file based upon the generally accepted lettered system doesn’t work. The information is there but must be accessed in a matter appropriate for the layout. My school teaches me how to do that while teaching me everyday academics. We had euphoria just this past Friday.
And I am…euphoric that is. My every molecule resonates just as lights illuminate the darkness of a cloudy night. Cradled in an emotional cocoon of confidence I glide past a wealth of displayed merchandise. Black cast iron tea pots, blue pagodas decorating white ceramic plates, jewelry of gold and silver, colorful gemstones. Why haven’t I done this before? Nothing, no one can deflate me now. Adrenalin flows, serotonin, that natural hormonal mood enhancer, rules. I am King.
Continuing past racks of candles brown, red, gold and blue wafting forth scents of vanilla, ylang ylang, lavender, rose, citrus and cinnamon, I remember how she’d said, “I love scented candles, especially lit, around my bathtub. I soak in steamy, bubbly water imagining I’m rich!” Her voice dreamy and happy had drawn me into her inner world of pleasurable fantasies.
At that moment what had excited me the most? Not the thought of her taking a bath, but her presence with me on our first date, sharing intimate secrets surely not shared with just anyone. But she had shared them with me, Josh, the “learning disabled” dyslexic. I still treasure every moment of that day two weeks ago.
“OK” enough reminiscing, “I’ll pick up some candles and maybe a funky candleholder or two.” Giving presents to Mom always got my father out of the doghouse. I want more magical times with Sharon, but she is SSOOO mad at me!
“I’ll never speak to you again!! I thought you were different but you’re just like every other guy I’ve ever gone out with.” Her words had pelted like bullets, “ I HATE you….how could you forget our date?!?”
I hadn’t forgotten and had spent the longest night of my life wanting to drown myself in the booze my parents regularly used to fend off the harshness of their world. That afternoon my mother had taken all my cash. Too drunk to drive she’d ordered Scotch delivered and the delivery person wouldn’t accept payment by check, only cash. Mortified by my mother I hadn’t been able to bring myself to call Sharon to tell her I couldn’t take her out. How would I have explained my lack of funds?
Knowing the truth about my parents would surely drive Sharon away. None of my friend’s have parents like mine, always striving for emotional highs using materialistic means to muffle undesired feelings.
I know I’ll never again experience the feeling of security my mother’s hand stroking my hair created in me when I was small. My father hasn’t touched a bat or baseball since I was 5, his ‘business’ overtaking all else on the scale of what’s really important. The short periods he’s at home he never relaxes, instead treating being there like another unpleasant “duty” to be suffered through. Does he know, or care, that Butler carries
Mom, comatose, upstairs every night? Talk about environmental pollution! There’s many aspects of “environment” and “pollution”.
My mother, in one of her more cognitive moments, once mentioned reading an article that discussed mental and emotional anguish, the causes and resulting coping strategies .According to this article one common method my generation uses to ease such anguish is shoplifting. Unfortunately her clarity hadn’t lasted long, she’d had another drink. People adept at criticizing others never see the identical faults in themselves.
“Hey, you!” A hand broke through the layers of cocoon and grasped my shoulder. “What do you think you’re doing?” Curbed one step beyond the shop’s door I plummet back to earth. Phaethon’s flight ended in a swelter of flame. I felt like that mythic son who’d been brought to task because embedded in fantasy’s cocoon, he’d exhibited poor judgment and paid the price. The son of the ancient Greek god Helios, Phaethon flew up to the sun, borrowed its chariot and driving too close to Earth, faced the wrath of Zeus, who struck him down to save the world.
My chariot run thwarted by the security guard for this New Age store, I find myself placed in one of the back rooms. This room delineated from the public by bold black letters emblazoned on a white, background-EMPLOEES ONLY, the sign was all of 12” by 6” but it screamed taboo!
Sharon’s favorite scent, sandalwood, distinctively familiar among the frankincense, cedar, jasmine, floral and other scents of incense the store offers for sale, pierces my soul. Perched on the edge of a metal folding chair I’m surrounded by rainbow hued crystals,
batticked Indian sarongs of orange, blue, green and violet, and CD’s waiting their turn on the retail shelf. In this back storeroom the merchandise reminds me of orphans waiting their turn to promenade before prospective parents.
“Everybody has a price, you can buy anything if you have enough to give the suckers.” My father’s voice pronounces within my stunned mind. Does everybody live with uninvited, dismembered parental vocalizations? I’ve never found the courage to ask anyone, afraid they’d say it was an “incurable” mental aberration caused by my having dyslexia.
“I’ve earned the respect of Mr. and don’t ever forget what it takes to make it in this world. You have to beat everybody else at their game, be better, be smarter, beat them into the ground.” My father’s credo reverberates in my head.
“Hey man, I’ll pay for them. I’ve got the money right here.” Pulling cash from the back pocket of my blue jeans I’m met with cold, expressionless grey-green eyes descending from the tall, well-muscled man blocking the doorway. The hairs on the back of my neck stand to attention.
“Come on let me pay for it. What’s the big deal. I need that stuff to give to my girlfriend, I messed up.” Surely he would understand.
“Save it for the police.”
The eternity of waiting stretched. What would happen to me in jail? Holding cells are filled with drunks, prostitutes, murderers, thieves and the general dredges of society. And what if I had to use the bathroom? No way was I going with all those people
watching! My friend John’s parents had left him in jail overnight to teach him a lesson. According to him, being sentenced to probation, on the stipulation that he see a psychiatrist for two years, was a cake walk compared to being in the holding tank. I hope they come get me out tonight.
The housekeeper brought me home from the police station. Later, safely in my room, I realize something... I’d copied them! Substituting shoplifting for alcohol to “feel better”, be “in control”. And that great short term high wasn’t going to help deal with the looming long term repercussions.

The Forum picked this fictional story published in the first years of the 21st century as an example of the literature and mindset of the time. 

Scallop Vision

"When will you get I can decide things for myself!"
"Ann, it's not like you have a good record of sensible decisions!" snapped Mom's voice.
"I'm sick of the way you treat me!" This daily verbal exchange between my parents and me repeats incessantly within my head. Hands meld with the wooden tiller, anger guiding the 20 foot sailboat along its floating path. I'm oblivious to the sea, sky, wind or shore.
Not let me go sailing after school? I'd been looking forward to being out on the water all day and they weren't going to take THAT away too! The small craft advisories posted for fog didn't both me. I'd aimed Brina's bow parallel to the coast intending to skim across the water for a few miles, come about, then return to harbor. My preferred route would have taken me into Roundabout Sound's creeks and inlets, perfect mini-worlds in which to escape overbearing adult behavior.
"See?" I say to invisible parents, "How's that for sensible thinking!"
Gaining facial lines must be proportional to loosing common sense, all part of the againg process adults go on and ON about. Always telling me not to make mountains out of molehills and look at them!
Earlier Mom said, "Why am I being so unreasonable? There's a small craft advisory out and Spirits' Frolic begins tonight. Tell me you want to get lost in the fog with Spirits!"
"You can't seriously think I believe in that! First Santa, the Easter bunny, they trying to get me to be more careful by telling me 'seven years of bad luck' if I break a mirror, now this. It's all Make Believe...stop treating me like a two year old. Spirits or whatever you want to call them living in the sea don't play pranks on boaters." The kitchen door slammed behind me.
I'd grown up hearing the story of how the sea dwelling "spirits" create the fog that adults view with such trepidation. Studies showing that seasonal weather conditions ideal for natural fog creation occur every fall hasn't lessened their mystical beliefs. Supposedly the "spirits" use the fog to befuddle mariners so they can play "tricks" on them. Every year boaters make sure to be in before dark to avoid the "Spirits' Frolics".
Moisture invades my self-absorption, extinguishing stormy thoughts. Barely sliding through the opaque tapestry of muffling fog, Brina seems a barely tangible patch in the impalpable haze.
"Where'd this come from?" I vaguely remember clouds and good visibility. Now humidity saturates and floating without direction sends fear prickles though my body.
CCRRUUUNNNCCCCHHH!! Flung forward into bursts of golden, silvery-white light terminating in blackness..I'm next aware of salty-flavored water lapping around my head. There's water in the boat! Fully alert, I leap to my feet nearly capsizing. Grabbing a styrofoam coffee cup, I fall to my knees and frantically bail.
Finally the water level lower, I crawl towards the hole, wondering how bit it is, how to patch it, and what that squirting noise is. Focusing through the darkness I see dozens of soft-shell clams, also known as piss clams because of their ability to squirt filtered water back out, emptying my boat. A warm pinkish glow pulses from the damaged hull. I see radiant gelatinous forms wedged in the hole. With the help of barnacles bonding their edges to the boat, jellyfish are keeping the water out! Brina herself floats in a glowing vibrant blue extending several feet away. Luminescent scallop eye blue-it's as if thousands of the bicuspids glow just below the surface. Suspended in blue, fish briefly appear, then disappear into darkness.
"Relax little one," a voice says, "we're here to assist you. We never do harm, only good. Please allow us to help you."
Pinching causes pain, as doesn holding my breath-talk about a realistic dream!
"You're not dreaming, little one. We're as real as the Stop sign at the intersection of Route 27 and Sounding Lane. Open up to us and we'll guide you safely through this fog. Send us away and you're on your own. It's your choice."
"You're part of a dream. I hit my head and you're figments of my imagination. Anyway, real or imagined you're evil, that what everybody says," I need to get control of this situation! This is all just too weird.
"Do you always believ what 'everybody' tells you? What about the fight you had with your mother earlier?"
"How do you know about that, I am dreaming...GOAWAY!"
Instantly alone, waer coming in as rapidly as before, I rip off my sweatshirt and jam it into the hole. No emergency kit on board...why not? I can't waste time thinking about such things, I've got to do something quickly. A sweatshirt isn't a particularly effective way of stopping a leak.
"You need to think calmy," my inner voice says, "try the relaxing breathing techniques you've learned in yoga."
Forcing myself to breath in through my mouth and out through my nose I notice the current flowing towards, beneath, then beyond Brina's stern. There is an obvious current yet the boat is motionless, as though held at anchor. What the...?
"Help!" my plea whispers into theheavy moisture laden atmosphere. Drawing in another, deeper breath, "HELP!"
Abruptly a radiant gold-orange glow appears interwoven within the brush strokes of water droplets.
"Are you ready to trust me?" the same voice queries.
"Yes, please help me."
Immediately all is as before. Clams, jellyfish and barnacles keep Brina afloat, while scallops' vision illuminates the way. Dogfish, skates, bluefish and eels pull a net around the stern, grab a line and swim in unison. Brina glides purposely forward.
"Thank you," I look around to see who I am talking to, "why no pranks?"
"That has never been our way, but just as you close your mind to your parents, your kind closes their minds to us."
"Oh...I'll have to think about that."
Abruptly I'm out of the fog and Brina pushes ashore.

Mort, Euroswydd, Reiki Clown are joined by the cat, Jalisco, as they ponder yet another day in the Earthly realm.