Requiem For Jeannie

Today I was told twice about a co-worker who had passed away. Her name is Jeannie, and the first time I was told it was a shock. The second time it was a poison dart.

Jeannie and I go back some 26 or 27 years at the Internal Revenue Service. We remembered the awful old days, and often talked about how we'd almost be glad to exchange our current workplace for that one again.

It seems odd to me, how much this is affecting me.

The first person to tell me is a mutual co-worker who was herself a bit stunned as she told me. No answers, no understanding. Just the stark reality of someone we knew for so long, now gone.

The second person was a woman who worked in the area Jeannie had worked in up until she retired a month ago or so. She came up to me at lunch and said “Jeannie used to come and talk to you, didn't she?”

That's when the sadness began to seep into my mind like a poison making its rounds in my bloodstream. This wasn't a mutual associate; here was this nice lady who recognised I must have meant something to her co-worker and wanted to make sure I knew something had happened.

I wondered about why, of all my acquaintances and co-workers we've lost in the last 10 years, why is this one so impactful?

At first I applied mindful acceptance to simply accept that this is indeed a real loss; understanding it would come on its own time.

It may simply be because of the long journey we both traveled, not together but forever connected.

When I first became a permanent federal employee, she already was one. It wasn't long, though, before I became her biggest foe.

I didn't mean to be, but I know it was my fault. I'm very much like my mom: on the job, you get in there and do what needs to be done. Sometimes that meant I jumped in when I saw need, without regard for anyone who I didn't realize was already on the case.

The moment it all really hit me was one morning I arrived at work and there was a unit that needed a work leader for the day. In my job, that means someone who manages the unit's work, while the supervisor manages the unit's people.

Me department manager asked me to go deal with it, so I headed off to do my thing: be visible, let folks know that I was there to perform the work leader duties, and just put them to ease.

It was at that moment that Jeannie stood up in the unit and started yelling at me. She had already been asked by the same department manager to be work leader. With angry tears rolling down her cheeks she confronted me: how I was always showing up and taking over, how I was always taking opportunities away from her, and so on.

I apologized and told her it was all hers. She had the assignment before me and I would leave. But it was too late, and from then on I was on her list.

(I felt awful and still do. I haven't really gotten much better about that “jumping in” thing, either. I've never meant to take over, but I know that's got to be how it looks. One day I won't be there anymore, so maybe I'll finally stop doing that.)

One day one of our managers sat us down in separate meetings and asked us if anything could be done to make it so we got along. The manager told me later that Jeannie thought about it for a long time before she finally said “No.”

Eventually she moved to another place in the building and really found some peace. In time, we began saying “hi” in the hallway. As she approached her retirement date, we would chat and laugh about the past, or shake our heads and lament the state of things in the present. She always ended with how much she looked forward to retiring and getting out of there.

In a way, I'm grateful. We patched things up and became just two federal employees again. But my wife reminded me of what I forgot, something I try to explain to others: we were always family. The IRS is a big family, part of the expanded federal employee family.

That's the thing: even when we were at odds, even when I was making a mess of things for her, in the end we were still family and we came to remember that before she left.

I'll mourn now, and I'll actually miss her. We had both traveled that long road, and we were able to bid each other farewell at the end.

Rest easy, Jeannie. You deserve it.

A tense discussion about grammar and usage

This meme was recently shared in a language and beginning writers group I participate in. It started a nice chat about the various forms of the word “tense” and how they're supposed to be used.

How do you know which form to use? Well, just like a knife can be a tool or a weapon, it's all in how you plan on using it.

So let's look into the uses of this word, and we'll finish up with a special use - the one that this meme’s pun hinges on.

Tension in many forms

To understand how these forms are used, we're going to watch a wrestling match.

Tense is an adjective. It can also be a verb.

The air in the arena is tense with anticipation. (Adjective, describing how the crowd in the arena felt)

Janice tries massaging her guy's back and sighs. “Your back feels really tense. You need to relax.” (Adjective, describing the subject’s back muscles)

Mike grunts. “What's the big deal?”

“You could get hurt if you tense your back when you fall.” (Verb, explaining what the subject might do with his back)

Tenses is a verb.

The bell rings, and Jim charges out of his corner.

Mike tenses his back to help him withstand Jim slamming into him. (Verb, explaining what the subject is currently doing with his back)

Tensed is an adjective. It can also be a verb.

Later that night, Mike watched the PPV replay. Janice was in complete Angry Mom mode.

“See? See how your back was tensed before he hit you and you fell backwards out of the ring?” (Adjective, describing the state of Mike's back when Jim came barreling in)

“I didn't think I tensed it that much.” (Verb, explaining what Mike didn't want to admit what he did with his back)

Tensing is a verb.

“Why were you still tensing your back when I told you what would happen?” (Verb, explaining what Mike was doing with his back despite warnings)

Tension is a noun.

Mike winced. “Well, I promise my back lost every bit of tension when I blacked out.” (Noun, because it's a thing his back had)

“Yeah, well the arena didn't. The tension was palpable.” (Noun, this time something the arena’s atmosphere had)

Janice rubbed the back of her neck. “My tension headache was pretty palpable too.” (This could be tricky, but it's used here as a Noun. Although some might consider “tension” to be an adjective, a modifier of the noun “headache,” this is a case where “tension headache” is considered a complete thing of its own)

Tensely is an adverb.

She rose tensely and left. (Adverb, describing how she rose)

Finally, we come to the special use where the words “tense” and “tenses” refer to the time modifier of all verbs.

The meme

We modify verbs in a lot of ways. One of those ways is modifying them for time. The time of the vowel’s happening is called its “tense.”

Past tense means the verb has already happened.

Present tense means the verb is happening right now.

Future tense means the verb hasn't happened yet.

There are even modifiers for the modifiers (perfect, imperfect, etc.). But that's a little deeper into the pool than I want to go today.

So this pun relies on a word which has different meanings in different contexts.

In this example, we’re inclined to read the sentence “It was tense” as if the word “tense” was an adjective describing the environment of the bar as a result of the three things entering, as in the environment inside the bar became “tense” or “uncomfortable.”

The pun comes into play because of the relationship the three subjects have in common: they are all “tenses” that verbs can have.

The past-tense verb “walked” might throw off readers who see a need to change the sentence “It was tense” to “It was tensed” in an effort to have verb-tense agreement, but since this context isn't using “tense” as a verb but instead uses it as an adjective, there is no need to end “tense” with a -d. The verb in the sentence is “was,” so the verb-tenses already agree.

So the word “tense” and its various derivatives can have many different uses based on the context. This pun just makes clear how English relies on more than just word definitions to determine proper understanding.

A Total Eclipse of the Feels

We're coming up on a rare sight for Missouri: a total eclipse.

Do you have your lens filter for your camera? Are your glasses or viewing method verified as safe? Do you have a viewing location picked out? Great!

Still, there's one more thing to consider:

The uncertainty of reaction.

I took physics in college. I know the Moon is slipping in between the earth and the sun for a little bit. It's not a monumental celestial moment. But I really don't know how I'll react to it.

While science may not have evidence that total eclipses have physiological impact, there's plenty of evidence that it can have a deep and profound impact on our emotions.

The emotional impact can vary. Some who've seen a total eclipse have stood in wonder and awe at our cosmos at that peak moment. Others have reported feeling connected to humanity, to the earth, to the universe. Unity, peace, belonging - the range is vast and varied.

I bring it up, though, because there can be unsettled emotional states too. Considering the volatile feelings running through the nation right now, fragile and weary emotions could be more susceptible to unexpected feelings brought on by the disappearance of the sun.

The reason total eclipses have been seen as ill omens and portents of doom might have something to do with how people and nature react to the sun playing Extreme Peek-a-boo.

If pets or children become agitated at this “unnatural” event, taking them indoors or just keeping them close can help.

If loved ones become afraid, it's quite okay. Consolation and closeness can help everyone pass through the event together.

If someone feels like crying, reassure them. The actual moment of complete eclipse is relatively brief, and crying has been a not uncommon reaction.

The point is, no one knows how they will react to a total eclipse until they experience it. And like all of life's experiences, the emotional component can be mixed and intense or barely registering.

Scientists have cried, adults have screamed, and children have thrilled to the deep wonder and joy of this human experience.

The human reaction varies by the person. Some will see it as anticlimactic or boring. Some might be overwhelmed and have to escape the experience. And still others might go in fearfully but come away from the experience with a sense of deep joy and contentment.

So just being aware that people may react in surprising ways can help you and yours experience this moment in time, fully and together. And with all of the division around us, this moment of unity and collective awe may be just what we need.

Of music and old farts

I love music.

I've heard that come out of many mouths, young and old. In fact, it may be a requirement of youth to embrace music. Love of music is universal.

Wanna know another universal?

Being all pissy about music.

My generation saw music democratized and then segregated. When I made it to Independence, Missouri (from Nevada, Missouri), it's my opinion that I arrived at popular music's nadir.

As the 1970s rolled into its Side 2, a local Kansas City station played popular music. KBEQ - Super Q! - played a song by ABBA, then something by Glen Campbell, then something by Kiss. Funk, pop, country, rock, singer-songwriter, folk things: if it was popular, it belonged to us, served up on one gleaming Frequency Modulated platter.

Eventually it was necessary to diversify, I guess. Nowadays you have stations based on genres, or even sub-genres. In Kansas City I can listen to a Saturday Night Fever track, then something by Slipknot, then Adele's latest, then something by Toby Keith, and an REO Speedwagon standard to wrap things up. Unfortunately, I have to spend a bunch of time punching buttons to achieve that kind of radio mix.

Then I read on Facebook some old fart's lament on the State of Modern Music and I wish they could get over themselves one day. But I know they can't, and that's a shame.

Pissy People

I was in Kansas City from 1965-1970 or so. I listened to Motown gold, hippy grooves, bubblegum pop, British Invasion hits, and psychedelic swirls.

From 1971-1974 or so I was on a farm. The Temptations were swapped for Tammy Wynette, Donovan for Dusty Springfield, the Beatles for Buck Owens, Chicago for Charlie Pride, hit charts for Hee Haw.

Got back to the city to see disco blossoming, arena rockers on the rise, country stars on pop charts, and I embraced this whole wild mix. With my well-travelled ears I would fall in love with pop, punk, disco, electronica, New Wave, hair metal, rowdy country and New Age artists. I love music.

And in the background, my constant companions are the pissy people who think their music is the best and the rest is crap.

The Beatles and the Stones were ridiculous because of their long hair. And the bloody hippies with their sitars and Woodstock and acid-drenched feedback. The country artists only sang about getting drunk and ruining your marriage because you were a rambler.

Rock artists could only make noise, metal artists were too chaotic or so gay only girls liked them, the pop of the 50s and 60s were just old people's tunes, and on and on until I covered my ears and walked away.

Music Snobbery For Dummies

To put a fine point on it, every generation loves their music and are dismissive if what came before and derisive of what came after. They point to whoever's popular at the moment, whoever is new on the scene, and they mock. They proclaim that real music is dead.

These people are ridiculous.

Some are snobby, turning their noses up at anything popular that their generation didn't make popular. Others are so detached they only listen to their stuff and point to what's on Hit Radio stations as proof of the apocalypse.

These people don't love music. They only love their stuff, and that's real square, baby.

So for all the people who say they love all kinds of music but prove they're really living in a cage, I have a few thoughts:

I have to steel myself when I ask someone what kind of music they like and they gush, "Oh I love all kinds of music! I have really diverse tastes!" Occasionally I'm actually surprised to find out they're telling the truth. Usually it boils down to a narrow band with some token offerings from other lanes of the musical highway. If you like rap, hip hop, a little bit of soul, some smooth R&B and three songs you heard accidentally while watching The Voice, and that's pretty much it - yeah, I'm not taking you seriously. You don't have to be a fan of every genre or even most genres, but "I love all kinds of different music" apparently doesn't mean what it should.

I have to steel myself when someone tells me they love an artist, because too often it boils down to a small fragment of that artist's catalog. Pink Floyd has, what, 15 studio albums? 15 albums, and I guarantee that almost anyone who tells me, "Oh, I love Pink Floyd!" really means they like a few select tracks off of Dark Side of the Moon, Wish You Were Here, and The Wall. They don't know the band had a wonderful album caled More, or a beautiful piece of art called Meddle. They don't know that there's a song called "The Hero's Return" that contains some transcendent guitar work by David Gilmour. I'm not saying they have to love a majority of the Floyd's work, but come on. A few songs from only 3 albums, and you love this band?

Another group that suffers from this same affliction are the folks who only love a band during the time one member was in it. Journey fans, I'm looking at you. "I love Journey" usually has a footnote: "Well, as long as Steve Perry is singing." I'm not saying you have to love things off their first three albums before Perry joined, or that you still have to follow their career. But if you're going to say "I love Journey" and you didn't even know they existed for three albums before Stevie joined, I view your great love for Journey with suspicion. Most people just love Journey With Steve Perry, and while that's great and fine, it's just not the same thing.

And I'll bet a ton of artists you love from the 50s through the 70s - artists you might magnify today as real musical talents - would have loved AutoTune.

Expand them there horizons!

Genesis existed before Phil Collins was their singer, and even before he joined as their drummer. REO Speedwagon had a fantastic first album before Kevin Cronin joined. Yes have a career that, at some point, included every musician in the galaxy. Kenny Rogers was in the psych/rock/pop band The First Edition long before he became The Gambler, and he didn't even sing all of their hits.

So when I ask you what kind of music you like, think for a minute before tossing out  the throwaway "I like all kinds."

Try to expand your musical experience. If you like Metallica, check out some Ennio Morricone soundtracks. If you like being bludgeoned by death metal, why not try a little Acid Mothers Temple? If you like harmonies, mix a little Boyz II Men with your Beach Boys.

And try to go a little easier on new artists. Maybe you think all new music sounds the same. Why not try seeking out new music somewhere other than Mix 93.3? There are so many new bands that you haven't stumbled across yet but who you might love!

Oh, and remember that generations before you made the same complaint about those songs and artists you embrace as "good music." Go apologize to your parents right now for the scorn you gave them for dismissing your music, because now you sound just like them. Remember that when your kids want you to hear the new song they love but you can't be bothered with it because it's so commercial and fake.

Don't be such a music snob, bagging on everything that isn't your awesome stuff. Be open to artists who are still trying to follow their muses.

I'm often a music snob myself. But at least when someone asks me what kind of music I like, and I say "I love all kinds of music," I mean it.

But not jazz. Jazz is weird.

On waking up, disturbed in verse

It was crisis time in the Dreamlands
A nightmare soup du jour
No monsters here
Just bundled fear
'Twas awful, to be sure.

My kids had all gone missing
I couldn't find my way
A massive cost
To being lost
Who's really missing- me or they?

I walked in on my true love
Engaged to someone else
I was no longer fun
She sounds another one
I rated no farewells.

My mom was coming back today
A trip on someone's dime
Despite my best wishes
The sinkful of dishes
Reminded me I'm out of time.

I woke up feeling out of sorts today
Bad night, deep fright, what can I say?

My sweetheart's still here holding me tight
My children are too, the sun shining bright

But my mom won't be coming home today.
It's been seven years since she went away.
I want to call her on the phone
Tell her that I feel alone
But my service doesn't cover Heaven's Way.

No Soldier Left Behind?

Veteran homelessness is an American shame.

The United States military has a common belief: no soldier will be left behind, particularly if they fall into an enemy’s hands.

Unfortunately many soldiers return from their tours of duty and fall immediately into the hands of a growing enemy: poverty and homelessness.

On Veteran’s Day 2015 my Facebook feed was awash with praise for America’s defenders, as it should be.

But there was a new meme being slung around, slamming the Obama Administration for taking in refugees but not helping America’s homeless veterans.

One administration after another has come and gone without making any impact on the ranks of homeless veterans. Obama, Bush, Clinton, another Bush, it just keeps going back that way.

Let’s be straight here: unless something unlikely happens, the government won’t be helping much.

That makes it our problem then, doesn’t it?

Instead of whining about the problem, blaming this president or that political party, what are you doing to help? You specifically, what are you doing? Anything?

I don’t mean liking and sharing memes – the modern bumper stickers – that someone else posted on social media. That takes zero effort and makes zero difference.  Here’s what Facebook social concern looks like:

“I care, so I ‘liked’ a meme someone else wrote.”

“Yeah, well I care twice as much as that. I care so much that I shared a meme someone else wrote to my page.”

You can pretend you’re making a difference by “calling attention to the issue”, making people aware of an American tragedy.

We’re already aware, thanks. We know that it’s America’s Vietnam, a quagmire that drags these men and women helplessly down.

But standing at the edge of a quicksand pit and reading the warning signs aloud to everyone isn’t helping. Throw a rope to the folks who are sinking! Chop down a limb and offer it. Get on your knees, thrust your hand into the watery doom, and start lifting!

You can’t proclaim the shame and then say you don’t know how to help. You just can’t. But if that’s still the case, allow me to make a few suggestions.

1.       Google. Search online for agencies that help provide shelter or services for veterans in need. They’ll tell you what you can do. If they need toiletries, canned food, maybe even volunteers, you can make a difference by providing for their needs.

2.       Check your pockets and purse. You say you don’t have even enough money for your stuff, let alone extra to donate? It doesn’t have to be a lot. You can set aside your change over the course of a month and donate it. Set aside a jar and add $1 per week – you could have a $52 donation this time next year.

3.       Think outside the box. My cell phone service gave me credits for being a long-standing customer. I went to the landing page, selected which agency supports veterans, and redeemed my credits to help them.

4.       Use your workplace’s outreach. When our local Heart of America Stand Down program listed a thank-you to the businesses which support veterans’ services, the Kansas City IRS campus (my employer) was #3 on the list.  IRS employees support local veterans by donating groceries and money to those in need. But it’s not about who does more or does it better – it’s about all of us taking the opportunity to get out there and make a difference!

5.       Re-think your excuses. Your donation would be too small to really do any good, so why bother? Isn’t that the same excuse people use for not voting and stuff? Except that, in this case, nobody’s donation can negate yours. Even one dollar you put towards taking care of veterans is one dollar they didn’t have yesterday. Even a drop in the bucket beats a totally dry bucket.

6.       Buy a box of greeting cards and get personal. Could you grab some seasonal gift cards after the holidays and send a card to a homeless veteran who feels abandoned and alone? Write a sincere letter stating how you feel about their service and their value as an American and a human being.

7.       Be productive in your complaints. Email the White House. Write your Congressperson. Send a daily e-mail to your mayor. Complain to someone who can act on your outrage instead of just people who can like and share it.

This is just a small list of things we can all do. You don’t have to solve everyone’s problems, but you do have to look past the overwhelming problem and resolve to do one good thing for one person. Then you’re actually helping.

A final note to everyone who whined that we can’t help outsiders until the government gets busy helping the Americans in need first:

Stop whining about a problem and then complaining that someone else isn’t fixing it! If you haven’t done anything to help but are happy to blame someone else, you’re part of the problem, straight up.

So the kid thinks he's a writer, huh?

Today I submitted a non-fiction piece to a magazine, and it made me nervous.

I’m not nervous that they won’t like it. I’ve had some rejections and they really didn’t hurt like I thought they would. I’m not nervous that it’ll be accepted and become huge and consuming. It’s just the very fact that I submitted it, and it makes me think, “Who in the world are you, thinking that anyone wants to read what you’ve got to say? Your ego is astounding!”

It’s funny to me. I used to write for a local Christian magazine in High School and things I said generated a lot of heat, which was great. Heat meant interest, and that meant discussion and consideration. It meant my words and ideas had impact.

I wrote articles with the Yahoo Contributor Network before it went bye-bye. I’d write a piece, then paste it into their submission form, then edit the thing like nine times before hitting the Submit button.

Even posting something in my own blog makes me nervous. Maybe anxious is a better word, or thrilled. A tremor of energy runs through my whole body over the notion that I’m putting something out there for people to read and consider. Even a Facebook post, if it’s something I really feel deeply about, makes me jittery as I’m touching the screen of my phone over that Post button.

If I write a technical analysis at work I feel that dizzy excitement at the moment I send it off to be seen. I don’t worry so much over the actual content (some, but I have a fair amount of confidence in my knowledge and ability to communicate it) as I get the shivers at the notion of putting it out there to be seen, consumed.

I can hold forth on some topic at length, to the point where my girlfriend needs to remind me, “David – short version.” I am thrilled about communication and dialogue. I love to teach, I love to speak in front of people (which gives me the exact same kind of nervous thrill when I step onstage as well as when I step off).

I still feel like I’m a little kid, writing my story in Bible as Literature class in Middle School that the teacher asked to keep to show other classes. I’m still the kid in Grade School who stood alone, stage center, singing a part in the Bicentennial production Let George Do It. Just this week I had the same shivers from teaching a short class at work as I had as a singing Thomas Jefferson in 1976. I am nervous and excited and never feel like I deserve to be there, even as I know I wouldn’t be there if I hadn’t earned it.

I think I will never be comfortable with the idea that folks want to read or hear what I have to say. I will never be comfortable about how people where I work are happy to help me solve some problem that resides outside my job description, even if they work in an area where distrust of other work areas runs high. From a clerk pushing a cart to the Submission Processing Director, I am never afraid to approach people and communicate.

Yet the hyper-awareness of what I’m doing, what I’m saying, the fact that it’s stepping out sometimes where no one else can or will – I feel like a little kid again. I’m comfortable saying and doing at the time, but before and after the fact it dawns on me that I’m making an impact on other people. My eyes are wide with wonder every time.

Maybe this publication will pass on my offering, and that’s cool. I will shop it around elsewhere, or even fall back on using it for my occasional blog. But no matter what, when it gets placed in front of someone and has some impact, inside of me there’s a little kid going, “Wwwwwowwwww.”