Rebuilding walls that have fallen
with the onerous weight of hope
and trust that came like chisels;
flakes of suspicion flying,
each false smile laying
another layer low
Now each slight a stone, each
pebble a pain, each
lie lost and forgotten;
mortared by grit and tears
skin of granite, smooth as slate
the tower grows
Interesting–but not surprising–article this morning regarding the tendency to not spend money in a bad economy even when your income/employment is considered relatively secure.
The frugality of the Kimberlins and Scanlons and millions of other Americans who still have their good jobs feed back on the economy, holding down growth and encouraging other worried workers to trim their spending — causing the whole vicious cycle to run another lap.
Logically, this makes sense; the whole idea behind government (taxpayer) stimulus is to get money circulating, and all good liberals should immediately go out and spend, spend, spend. However, I think that the mob mentality that the article appears to blame for the hoarding is not completely on target.
Economists say many still-flush consumers are handcuffed by psychological traps that cause them to tighten their purse strings even though economic hardship is not their reality. Underscoring the crucial role that consumer psychology will play in turning around the economy, President Obama and Federal Reserve Chairman Ben S. Bernanke have both been on the hustings this week sounding notes of optimism.
“Traditional economics assumes that we are all rational, that we approach these things very rationally, take in all the information, and then weight it and make a decision,” said Thomas Gilovich, a Cornell psychologist and co-director of the university’s Center for Behavioral Economics and Decision Research. “To a behavioral economist that seems clearly untrue.”
While I and many of my friends are not feeling secure, we’ve all started saving for the bad times since last year. We aren’t looking around at what others are doing, we’re attempting to insure our own survival by creating a safety net that’s not based on a government handout as an option. I think that frugality–at least in my own case–is a learned habit, and it’s extended beyond my own personal finances to that of my thoughts on government spending. Some folks don’t see it that way, and this is likely where the follow-the-crowd thinking comes in: If it ain’t my money, spend it; if it is and I’m the only one paying, hold on tight. The problem here is that these folk who are so free with government spending don’t appear to care that as long as everyone else’s money’s being spent along with theirs, it’s okay.
Personally, we’ve put more money into the system, into government via taxes, the insurance companies via premiums, the school systems via tuitions, etc., etc. than we’ve ever drawn out over the years. That feels good.
I sit here with the cold remains of morning coffee–the way I like it–and look around at what’s turning into afternoon. The intense spring blue of sky appliqued with clouds; the yellowing of the willows and red tipped maple grays threatening to burst open in the warming sun. New grass, young and green, brashly pushes through its dead winter thatch. Color calls in chirps of orange, red and the screeching blue of jays.
I am part of it; plaid flannel shirt absorbs the colors, reflects them back. I cannot convince nature, or myself, that it is the strength within my mind and not my farmer’s hands, my breathing as the wind that is the me that’s meant to be. Disappointed, I cannot fight its undeniability, I accept my place within the world and leave to dreams the words of summer leaves.
Willie Nelson’s going to be in town tonight; less than fifteen miles away from me. He’s playing the Warner Theater in downtown Torrington and while I’ve been there twice to see him before, it was sort of an ‘extra money’ kind of thing that I just couldn’t justify with the cloud of layoffs hanging over our heads. Not that I’d need two tickets–oh no, I’ve learned not to bring my husband anymore.
The last time I went I had like a second row center seat; after signing up for membership at the Warner just to get a shot at a good seat. I remember the rather surprised silence I noted over the phone from the girl who asked how close I wanted to be to the stage and I replied, “on his lap would be fine.”
Keep on playin’, boys; the people need you more than ever in these times.
Ronni Bennett has an excellent post up at Time Goes By referencing Ralph Keyes, writing in Editor & Publisher, wherein he advises writers against retrotalk, that is, phrases and idioms that many young people or immigrants may not be familiar with.
It’s just another example of lowering standards to meet the masses (and make them feel good about themselves–that “everybody is a star” philosophy that I think is so asinine) rather than raising the level of literacy and encouraging the masses to rise to meet it. I can hear the teachers screaming now, but come on, this has been a slowly degenerating process of learning for several decades now and I am in awe that no one understands the problem well enough to see the solution. As Ronni points out, if anything, these days there are faster, easier, more immediate ways of learning than ever before via the internet.
Frankly, I think that everyone would be better off–teachers, parents, and most importantly, the kids themselves–if more rather than less were expected of them. This, from a Washington Post article in which Susan Jacoby is quoted, should worry us:
“That leads us to the third and final factor behind the new American dumbness: not lack of knowledge per se but arrogance about that lack of knowledge. . .it’s the alarming number of Americans who have smugly concluded that they do not need to know such things in the first place. Call this anti-rationalism — a syndrome that is particularly dangerous to our public institutions and discourse.”
It seems to me, that older generations, with their minds stuffed to overflowing on decades of words can still quickly pick up on all the new terminology that comes from each new concept and trend, then the younger ones can bother to go look up what they don’t immediately ‘get.’ Maybe something good will come of the knowledge.
Here the light’s a different shade;
veiled, a whore’s red scarf
grown dusty on a lampshade
paints the walls with sex
to dim the glare.
An aqua boa slinks coiled
around the bedpost,
feathers frayed at edges
once sharp and clear,
now soft as milk.
A golden chime rings out;
hands have hit the spot
where time stands still
and still wraps silken
around the sleeper.
Michael at 2 Blowhards reminds us that Harlequin Romance Novels turns sixty this year, and points out that romance has gotten a bum rap amongst the literati and filtered to an often elitist readership over the years.
There are two things that help get us through a bad situation such as this current economic woe; the temporary escape brought to the troubled mind by liquor and the romance novel.
The morning feeds the cynical
even as we shield it from the sun
with hands held up in hope
like leaves of the banana tree
wide, long, thick enough
to muffle shouting
into whispers
that, frail and fine,
disappear in dreams
of night’s proud stallions
and concepts made
of rock,
rough-faced cliffs, determined,
hard, against first light.
She walks on wind and leaves a footprint on the breeze that blows beneath my house. I wake and follow her, the trail like petals scattered round magnolia trees where only summer memory turns the silver branches back to blossom.
It’d be nice to think that this whole “change” thing in American politics was smart enough to recognize what may deeply delay any recovery plans. It’s a little thing about the Baby Boomer generation and how they’re getting laid off first, with no hope of rehire (Older Workers Need Not Apply, NY Times), and how the next ten years of their forcibly changed plans to retire on their own savings and hard work will become the thing they tried so hard to avoid: being a burden on society.
So take some of that money planned for larger schools and shiny electronic classrooms, for building more airy spaces and playgrounds and roads, for tilting at windmills, and put some of that construction and health cost funding into what immediate future needs are being created instead by the ‘solving’ of the current economic crisis: old age homes and medicare for those who thought they’d be able but will not now be able to take care of themselves in retirement.
We get several local weeklies and in going through one this morning, I see a story unfold that is more personal, more poignant than the news on TV, the internet, or big newspaper articles. It is the story of the economic impact on lives seen through the classified ads.
There are more dining room sets offered for sale than ever before. There are more men willing to rent themselves out as handymen, “no job too small,” as the women take to cleaning houses, walking dogs, babysitting. It’s the stories that make up the whole of who is affected by the loss of jobs, savings, homes. It’s showing, not telling, and it’s more heartbreaking that way.
Typical misguided misuse of stimulus funds: Governor Rell (CT) wants a portion of those federal funds to go to a program designed to crack down on sexual predators.
Is the program worthy and important? Yes, of course it is.
Was it affected any by the economy? Not in any way that I can see. Is it going to help the economy? Not in any way that I can see.
People just don’t seem to understand that the money is there to solve the current crisis; this isn’t Queen For A Day TV. If a problem was there before the economic situation then it could wait a little bit longer to get the money I’m sure it needs. It seems that special interest groups are like vultures in grabbing a share of free-flowing government funds.
The day begins with a big yellow-toothed grin, snaps a branch off into a paintbrush, and strokes green leaves onto trees that cast doubt on the sidewalks still cold from the smothering night.
Haven’t given up on this book, but it’s clearly not a favorite. There seems to be “much ado about nothing” and yet I’m sure that if I could just reach that level of understanding the story would be more meaningful to me. However, there is a bright bit of humor that I’m glad to have stumbled into.
At one of the great dinner parties held for the resurrected and carefully tended pianist Brodsky, there is our narrator in his bathrobe (typical dream scenario) while everyone is carefully adjusting themselves to Brodsky’s assumed mood in view of his grief over his beloved pet, Bruno, that day. As one by one the speakers express their sympathy and some strange overly solicitious memories of the dog, they build up to erecting a statue to commemorate the animal. Brodsky remains silent throughout the testimonials and at one point Ryder gets up to speak but quickly sits back down when he realizes that his bathrobe is open and he is exposed. Just as he is about to get up again, Brodsky pushes himself upright at his table and addresses the crowd:
For a second I thought Brodsky would crash across the table. But he maintained his balance, surveying the room for a moment. When he spoke his voice had a gentle huskiness about it.
“Look, what is this?” he said. “you think that dog was so important to me? He’s dead and that’s it. I want a woman. It gets lonely sometimes. I want a woman.” (p. 144)
That’s enough to keep me at this for a while longer.
At least China’s, according to the Chinese Premier who claims it is showing “positive changes.”
Yeah, well, it’s hard not to make money on foreigners willing to buy drywall that interacts dangerously with heat and humitity, toys loaded with lead, and milk laced with melamine.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology