Daily Snippet

Tumbleweed words . . .
  skip across sandy tongues
  roll under blazing scrutiny
  settle in the cool of a mirage.

Waterlily words . . .
  bloom above refreshing caresses
  choke on frothy bubbles
  rest beneath the lull of a soft rain.

Nightcrawler words . . .
  wiggle into lost generations
  tunnel through soggy dust
  unwind to the songs of the crickets.

- Debbie Fierst

Two days ago, as my husband and I were enjoying a quiet evening at home, a high-pitched squeaking noise erupted from somewhere. Baffled, we began walking around the room. Was it the cable box? Nope. Was it the DVD player? Nope. Was it one of our laptops? Nope.

The noise reminded me of the days when my cassette player would eat a cassette tape, causing a whirring noise. But it also reminded me of my childhood. My Grandma hated mosquitos. So, as we settled into her big bed at night, I would muffle my mouth and make faint, high-pitched squealing noises that would delay bedtime for hours as Grandma insisted that the bug be located and extinguished.

But this noise wasn’t from a piece of equipment or a prank. As it turns out, there was a bat in our ceiling. The creature was chirping and scratching, clearly unhappy with his circumstances. We can only assume he was hibernating in our home until something roused him, and then he just wanted to find an exit and hunt for food.

At about the same time yesterday evening, the bat joined us in our family room. My husband spotted him first as he flew through the kitchen doorway. I grabbed my phone and dove under the afghan. I called my mother. “Mom, I’m under a blanket on the couch. A bat is flying overhead.” We chatted as my husband retrieved his tennis racket and disposed of our guest. He’s pretty sure the bat worked his way through the walls until he located an exit, probably in the basement.

As we went to bed my husband commented, “For someone who is so tough about so many things, you sure fall apart over a little bat.” And he’s correct. So, I’ve thought about it, and I’ve come to a conclusion. I’m not afraid of the bat. I just can’t face what has to be done to deal with the bat.

In the eleventh grade I took Advanced Biology, and I loved it. I enjoyed dissecting those huge, dead frogs, creating intricate drawings of their internal organs. But when we studied amoebas, those little one-celled organisms, I had difficulty.

“Now, using your scalpel, cut the amoeba in two,” instructed our seasoned Biology teacher. I slid my petrie dish under the microscope. I adjusted the focus. There it was, my amoeba, darting back and forth in the water, enjoying life — a free-spirited microorganism.

I couldn’t do the assignment. I couldn’t use my scalpel to cut that little one-celled organism in half. I motioned to the teacher and explained my dilemma. “It can’t feel anything,” she whispered. I had heard this same mantra from my dad when I wouldn’t put a worm on my hook during a fishing expedition. “How do you know?”, I asked. She smiled. “Just do the assignment.” Nope. I took an F instead.

So, could I extinguish a bat by smashing it with a tennis racket? Perhaps. But, for now, I’ll just take the F, thanks.

Why is it that people who don’t watch television are so incredibly haughty about it?

You know the type. She’s the Jeopardy! contestant who integrates the pronouncement into her introduction. Alex says, “And, Sylvia, I understand that you’ve read every book on the planet. Is that true?” “That’s right, Alex.” She adjusts her glasses. “Of course, I don’t watch television.” She rolls her eyes. “So, instead, I’m a voracious reader and a champion eye-roller.” Does she not realize that she’s ON television?

You KNOW the type. He’s the passenger seated next to you on the airplane. You say, “Has anyone ever told you that you look like the Skipper on Gilligan’s Island?” He looks up, momentarily glaring at you over his newspaper. Then, in a tone meant to convey that you are a poor, pathetic excuse for humanity, he says, “I don’t watch television.”

But nobody is more proud of NOT watching television than some mothers. As a mother of 13-month-old twins, I appreciate the fantastic television programming available for children today, and I certainly don’t believe their brains will rot as they solve problems along with Blues Clues. Occasionally, I find myself in a fun, relaxed conversation about children with a group of other mothers, and I make the mistake of mentioning that my boys dance along with Yo Gabba Gabba! BOOM! Everything goes dead. You can hear crickets in the night. The other mothers look at each other, eyebrows raised. Finally, someone changes the topic, “So, I bought some of those new organically grown hemp diapers…”

I have tried to put myself in their shoes. For instance, when I watch the Grammy’s, I don’t recognize half of the artists anymore. But if somebody says to me, “Man, those Pussycat Dolls sure are awesome, aren’t they?” I don’t roll my eyes and say, “I don’t listen to pop music.” I just smile and say, “Think so?” Or, if someone says, “I think the Giants might go all the way!”, I don’t respond with a curt, “I don’t follow football.” I just say, “Big fan, huh?”

So, sorry non-television watchers. I can’t relate to your contemptuous attitude or your uppity comments, but I’m delighted that your decision to disconnect gains you so much personal pride.

I’ll be thinkin’ about you tonight as I watch the evening news. (She rolls her eyes).

In the early days of my business, I experienced typical ups and downs. But at one point after hiring my second employee, money was extremely tight; in fact, I wasn’t sure how I would meet my next payroll. I was literally sitting at my desk with my head in my hands, staring at my financial woes on a spreadsheet, when I received a phone call from a local optometrist.

The eyeglass store in the mall had just closed, and he had purchased their customer list. He had all of the data on a disk, and he wanted to create a personalized letter to each customer, explaining how he could meet his or her eyeglass needs in the future. This was the early 90’s, so the average person was still struggling to operate a mouse. More complex computer operations were out of the question. “Is that something you can do for me?” he asked.

Of course we could do it. It required nothing more than a simple mail merge in Microsoft Word. But the task didn’t stop there. He wanted us to print the letters as well — 2500 of them. Such services were not part of my “core business”. I owned a training firm, not a Kinko’s. But I needed cash, so I agreed. Because I had limited funds on hand, I quoted him the labor and a reasonable printing charge if he would provide the paper. He agreed.

The next day the doctor dropped off the 3.5″ floppy disk of customer data and five reams of thick, light green paper — exactly 2500 sheets. We quickly created his form letter and performed the mail merge, producing 2500 personalized letters ready to print. At the time, I owned the average printer of the day for a small business. The Hewlett-Packard inkjet printer could feed about fifty sheets of paper at once, but, as I soon discovered, it could not feed the thick, light green paper provided by the doctor. Oops.

If I had been smart, I would have surrendered right then. I would have called the doctor and explained that I assumed he would supply standard, white copier paper and that my printer simply could not handle the task. But I was young, unwilling to admit my mistakes and afraid to fail. So, with the little money that I had, I bought a more powerful laser printer. At that point, I would not even break even on the project. Ouch.

The first 500 letters printed beautifully, albeit slowly, on the new laser printer, and the second 500 letters were humming along nicely when the printer ran out of ink. I soon discovered that ink cartridges for the laser printer were much more expensive than inkjet cartridges, and it didn’t take a mathematician to figure out that I would need at least three more cartridges to print the remaining letters. Now I was spending money I didn’t even have on supplies for the project. Ouch again.

The next day I had to be out of town. I charged one of my employees with the task of printing the remaining letters. When I returned to the office that evening, a note was sitting on my desk. “Debbie, I’m sorry, but I accidentally printed the same batch of 500 letters twice, and quite a few sheets were lost because of printer jams. We have about 525 letters to print, so we’ll need two more reams of paper.” I did what any good entrepreneur would do in this situation. I threw my stapler against the wall. Ouch, ouch, ouch.

Again, I plowed forward. I drove to every store in my small Indiana town in search of thick, light green paper only to discover that it wasn’t a stock item. After a few desperate phone calls, I located the paper fifty miles away. The next morning, I drove 100 miles roundtrip to spend more money that I didn’t have in order for us to complete this dreaded green paper project.

By the time it was over, I lost more than $500 dollars on the project, and I was left with more than 400 sheets of that thick, light green paper to remind me of my foolishness for many years to come.

I learned more lessons from the green paper fiasco than I could ever list, including the important economic principles of “opportunity cost” and “sunk cost”. I should have remained true to my core business; in other words, it would have been better for me to sit and do nothing than to churn endlessly on a foolish project, wasting time and money.

Now, whenever I learn another valuable, painful lesson, I simply smile and say to myself, “That’s another green paper lesson.”

All of us encounter stress in our lives, and the causes vary — sick children, deadlines, difficult people. But financial stress is the most vicious and insidious type of stress, impacting everything else in your life and serving only to exacerbate every other problem.

My cousin complained of shooting pains in her back for nearly a year. But, because her husband lost his job, the family had no health insurance. So, she tolerated the pains and ignored the symptoms in order to avoid a costly doctor visit. When she finally went to a doctor, he found lesions on her liver. Thankfully, testing revealed them to be benign; however, had they been cancerous, a year without treatment could have been deadly.

Some Americans encounter financial stress their entire lives, living paycheck to paycheck or working multiple jobs in order to survive.  A car problem, a dead refrigerator, or a medical emergency can be catastrophic. But many Americans have never experienced day-to-day battles over money, so the current economic problems are introducing them to financial stress for the first time; and the pain is intense, driving seemingly successful people to take unfortunate steps.

I watched a television special about severe obesity in which a young woman was forced to follow a rigid diet to save her life. Less than 24 hours into the diet, she started to writhe in bed, screaming and crying. The problem? Unpleasant contractions in her stomach. The cause? Hunger pangs! This woman had never felt hunger pangs in her entire life because she ate constantly. Do most of us scream in panic over hunger pangs? No, but it’s only because we’ve experienced them. We know what they are, and we know they will pass.

So, if you are experiencing financial stress, perhaps for the very first time, how do you cope?

1. Acknowledge the pain.
   Americans are proud. They suffer silently, not wanting people to think they are struggling. This is exactly how I handled myself when I encountered severe financial stress in 2001, nearly losing my home, my business and my sanity.

   Looking back, I should have shared my situation with those around me. I needed the emotional support, if nothing else. And you might be surprised to find that people around you are experiencing the same problems! Talk to someone, vent, share…acknowledging your financial problems is the first step towards tackling them.

2. Overcome paralysis.
   Have you ever been so overwhelmed with how much work you have to do that you don’t do anything? Your task — a messy house, a term paper, losing weight — looks so monumental that you don’t know where to start. So, you don’t start. You do nothing. Well, financial stress causes the same reaction!

   I recommend that you start each day with something inexpensive that you enjoy, such as a cup of coffee or a walk through your favorite park. Allow yourself the freedom to enjoy that time without thinking about your financial problems. At the end of that time, assess your day. Pick one, 30-minute time slot in the day during which you will do things you have been dreading or avoiding — calling a creditor, searching for a job, opening your mail, creating a budget, cutting coupons, implementing cost-saving techniques (like insulating windows or unplugging unused appliances…see Budget101.com or similar websites for great ideas).

   When the time comes, work hard for 30 minutes and then stop. Thirty minutes is better than nothing. Days will come when you are on a roll, so you will spend longer than 30 minutes dealing with the difficulties in your life. Most of us just need a boost getting started! Your daily work will begin to pay dividends, and you will slowly tackle the mountain. More than anything else, you will sleep better at night knowing that you did something proactive to help your situation.

3. Identify “needs” versus “wants”.
   When I was fifteen years old, I went to Mexico with the high school Spanish class. I remember driving through an impoverished area of Mexico City lined with shacks. But these tiny shacks all had television antennas on top of them! I remember thinking, “They may not have food, but they have televisions!”

   Keep track of everything you spend for a month (everything, including receipts from fast food restaurants, buying newspapers, renting movies, etc.). At the end of the month, figure out which of those expenditures represented something you needed versus something you wanted. Do you need to rent movies? Smoke cigarettes? Drink Coke instead of water from the tap? When I did this exercise, I realized that I was spending too much money eating out. The same amount of money would buy me groceries that would last far longer.

   You probably won’t survive financial stress until you eliminate the “wants” in your life. If you’re honest with yourself, you may realize that you want a 3800 square foot home, but you don’t need it. You want a new car, but you don’t need it. You want a flat panel television, but you don’t need it.

Financial stress is bitter, and it drapes itself like a shroud over everything you do. But, if you acknowledge it and face it, it will eventually go away — just like hunger pangs!

The U.S. job market is tough. Poor economic conditions, downsizing, hurricanes and the exportation of jobs overseas are making it nearly impossible for talented, motivated workers to find quality jobs. A recent college graduate who has been unsuccessful in her job search posted a plea for assistance on one of the many discussion forums on the web. “What can I do to differentiate myself from the other applicants?” she asked. As I reflect on the candidates whom I have interviewed over the years, two stand out above all others.

In the late 90’s, the technology training industry was still booming, and I needed another full-time instructor. I placed an ad in several local papers, and I received dozens of resumes. One of the most intriguing candidates, a woman who worked for a competitor, lived nearly two hours away but expressed a willingness to relocate. After an impressive phone interview, I arranged to meet her at a restaurant for a face-to-face interview.

The dinner interview was scheduled for 5:30pm, so I arrived at the restaurant ten minutes early. At 5:45pm, the candidate arrived. Late. Strike one. She apologized for being late and explained that she had to pick up her baby from the babysitter. “No problem,” I said. “Good”, she replied. “I’m just going to run out to the car and bring her in.” She flew out the door, returning a few moments later carrying her young baby in a carrier.

The hostess seated us, and the candidate set the baby carrier on the table next to us. As the baby slept, we chatted cordially and surveyed the menus. Initially, I was impressed with her demeanor and communication skills, and when the waitress asked for our orders, I deferred to the candidate. She proceeded to order an appetizer, a meal — and a half-yard of beer! I chuckled as she said it, thinking she would turn and say, “Just kidding. Give me a lemonade.” Nope. Strike two.

I proceeded to interview the candidate, who answered my questions with ease as she sipped her half-yard. Unfortunately, after the meals arrived, the baby began to whimper and fuss. As quickly as she had whisked the baby into the restaurant, the candidate whisked her out of the carrier. She then opened her suit jacket and began to breastfeed the infant. Waiters dropped entire trays of food as they caught sight of this woman with no blanket and no privacy, breastfeeding her infant while drinking her half-yard of beer and interviewing for a new job. Strike three. You’re out.

Amazingly, another candidate stands out in my mind even more vividly. I was hiring a new graphic artist, and I had received a resume from a young man who worked behind the bar at a nearby restaurant. He always seemed amiable, and I heard from several people in town that he was talented. So, I scheduled an interview in my office.

When the young man appeared for the interview, he was dressed in nice clothing, but everything was sloppy. The shirt was only partially tucked, the tie was loosened, and his shoes were dirty and scuffed. None of these issues were deal breakers, but they were worthy of noting. Duly noted. I sat down at my desk and offered him a seat across from me. He proceeded to sit down, slouching down in the chair as if he were about to nap. Not impressive. Strike one.

I asked to see his portfolio, which included samples of his original artwork. He displayed some impressive projects, and he was clearly an artist with potential. Unlike my breastfeeding candidate, he was not conversational. I had to work to get his thoughts on life, work and the position at hand, so I presented him with some open-ended questions. “What do you like the most about your current job?” I asked. He offered a bland, automated response. I said, “Well, what do you like least?”

The young man’s eyes got big, and he sat upright in the chair. “I’ll tell you what I don’t like,” he said passionately. “I’m supposed to get the bar setup by 11:30, right? So, the entire time I’m trying to work, people keep calling on the phone, asking what the lunch special is for the day. It drives me crazy. Sometimes I just leave the phone off the hook so that I can get my job done.” Ummm. Strike two. But at least he was sitting upright now.

I asked him one more question. “If I were to ask your friends to compare you to an animal, what animal would they tell me most represents your personality?” He slouched back down into the chair. Obviously, this was his optimal thinking position. He scratched his head, rubbed his chin, and squinted his eyes. A few minutes passed before he sat back up, pointed at me and said, “A sloth.” I pondered this answer for a moment. “A sloth?” I questioned. “Yep. Overall, I’m pretty lazy. Given my choice, I’d prefer to sleep all day. So, yes, they would say I’m most like a sloth.” Strike three. You’re out.

I am frequently asked who had the biggest influence on my life, but I am increasingly unwilling to share my answer because people are always disappointed. They expect my answer to be my parents, a teacher or an historical figure like Helen Keller or Eleanor Roosevelt; so they are stunned to hear the truth.

I probably need to concoct a good, old-fashioned lie as a response, but shouldn’t one be totally honest about something this important (unless, of course, one’s biggest influence in life is Will Ritson)? So, I tell them that the biggest influence on my life, without a doubt, was the entire array of female television characters from the 1970’s:  Wonder Woman, Bionic Woman, Charlie’s Angels, Pinky Tuscadero, Maude — even Laverne & Shirley!

If you were an adult during that era of television, then you remember these characters. And, you may or may not have fond memories of them. But, if you were a precocious 8-year-old girl during that era of television, then you actually were these characters! And therein lies their true influence on my life. While being them, I learned about me.

I spent several years as an Angel. And I wasn’t just any Angel. I was the smart Angel, Sabrina Duncan (Kate Jackson’s character). She was adventurous, so I was adventurous. She was tough and intelligent. During my years as Sabrina, I solved various neighborhood crimes. Missing dogs, stolen bicycles and bullies were all dealt with handily during my stint as an Angel, and I learned how to face problems without fear.

Michigan was never the same after my summer as Pinky Tuscadero. I bet you didn’t know that a yellow, banana-seat bicycle could win a demolition derby. With my dad’s old, red bandana as my scarf, I trained two neighborhood girls to respond to my snap and point maneuver; unfortunately, they quickly realized that Pinky was the only winner in that game. I learned important lessons about leadership and loyalty during my reign as Pinky.

During my short time as Bionic Woman, I gained the knowledge that I could do the same things the boys were doing. In fact, I learned that I could run faster than all of the boys in my grade. I may have been naturally faster than the boys I challenged to races, but I prefer to think that the bionic “Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch” noises I made as I ran gave me the extra power to win.

And, finally, whenever life got me down, I would simply spin in circles, round and round and round, transforming myself into Wonder Woman. I could handle anything as Wonder Woman, including serious matters like the death of my cat, the loss of my best pearly marble in an unfair shootout, and the move to a new school after the second grade. Wonder Woman didn’t let minor setbacks deter her in any way. Of course, I also had to master a lasso during my Wonder Woman days, a skill that came in handy when earning a Girl Scout badge years later.

The bottom line: I watched a wealth of strong women on television during my first ten years of life, and I tried my best to emulate the strengths of every one of them. I was a kid who loved role-playing, and these characters gave me more material than I could ever incorporate into my young life. Real or not, because of them I entered adulthood believing that I could do anything.

The Golden Rule, often referred to as the ethic of reciprocity, is a central teaching in nearly all major religions: “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.”

This valuable principle first came to life for me on a felt board in a church basement. The Sunday school teacher pressed the cutout of Jesus into interactions with a Samaritan woman, a man with leprosy and then with Zacchaeus. She then challenged us to follow the Golden Rule for one week. As we closed the lesson with a rousing rendition of “Zacchaeus was a Wee Little Man”, my head was swimming. I intended to return the following Sunday with an arsenal of impressive Golden Rule success stories.

Of course, times have changed, but in the 1970’s, there were limited opportunities for six-year-olds to interact with Samaritan women or people with leprosy. And, by Thursday of that week, I hadn’t found any short, distressed men in trees either. I began to panic. What would I tell my Sunday school teacher?

Lying in bed that evening, I prayed that Jesus would give me a way to use the Golden Rule. Suddenly, it hit me! If I am supposed to treat other people the way that I would like to be treated, then THEY should be treating ME the way THEY would like to be treated.

In those days, my parents ended the evenings by watching The Tonight Show with Johnny Carson, and I always wanted to stay up late enough to watch it with them. In later years, my bedtime wasn’t so rigid; however, at age six, I was supposed to be in bed and sleeping as Johnny swung his phantom golf club toward the band. But this particular Thursday night, I slid out of bed, sauntered down the hall in my long, yellow nightgown, and sat down on the couch in the living room.

“What are you doing out of bed?” my mom asked. I calmly explained that I wanted to watch Johnny Carson, too. My dad told me to go back to bed. I asked them if THEY wanted to watch Johnny Carson, and the response was, “It doesn’t matter what we want to do. You need to be in bed.” I persisted. “But if you want to watch The Tonight Show, then I should be allowed to watch it, too.” They looked at me with furrowed brows. “If you do not go back to bed right now,” my dad threatened, “then you’re going to get spanked.” Off I went. Clearly, my parents had no concept of the Golden Rule.

Over the years, my understanding of the Golden Rule matured, and I realized that opportunities to exercise this powerful principle are plentiful. While I now realize that it can be employed in nearly every human interaction, I still consider it one of the most complex and bewildering rules of life. Often, it raises more questions than it does answers.

How many times have I exercised the Golden Rule only to be met with contempt by the recipient? Apparently, they did not want done unto them what I would want done unto me! And how should I treat someone in those rare situations when I have no idea what I would want if the tables were turned? Furthermore, if the Golden Rule is so fantastic, why is it that the most valuable lessons in my life stem from moments when someone refuses to do unto me what they would have wanted me to do unto them? And what about tough love?

Just as life isn’t as simple as the depictions on a felt board, the Golden Rule isn’t as simple to implement as it is to quote. In reality, if you read the religious texts surrounding this maxim, no result is ever promised. It doesn’t say, “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you, and all will be well with the world” or “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you, and your life will be easy.” Apparently, we’re supposed to learn from the process, not the result.

As many of you know, one of my twin boys had fairly severe eczema from four months of age until his first birthday, which is when it finally started to heal and fade away. For those of you fighting this battle, I thought I would share the combination of steps that was ultimately effective for us.

1. We eliminated all fragrances and chemicals from our lives (no more dryer sheets, switched to organic diapers, bought new shampoos, lotions, deoderants, cleaning supplies, dish soap, etc.). We are only using products with a rating of zero on http://www.cosmeticsdatabase.com/.
2. We are not letting him play on any carpet; instead, he’s in rooms with wood floors.
3. He takes borage oil in his morning bottle, gets a 1/2 teaspoon of cod liver oil daily, and takes probiotics for babies in his evening bottle.
4. I used vaseline ONLY to moisturize and protect during the first few weeks of this routine.
5. We bought two humidifiers (one for upstairs, one for downstairs).
6. We removed all clothing and toys with any polyester or synthetic fabrics…that goes for the adults that touch him, too.
7. We removed all baby foods with citric acid in the ingredients.

I have no idea which one of these steps was magical or if it’s the combination…don’t really care. All I know is my son now sleeps through the night without itching for the first time in months, and his rashes are nearly gone. I am not naive enough to think that something couldn’t trigger a new outbreak, but I am enjoying momentary success and trying to be optimistic about the future.