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We have a wonderful used-book store in our city, which until recently was within walking distance of our house.  One of our favorite pastimes was to rummage through the “free bins” parked outside the store. 

We found many treasures in it:  a whole entire set of encyclopedias, for instance, missing only “volume 11.”  Thousands of Martha Stewart magazines, back when she even still dared put her face on every cover.  Tattered books in Italian, or about calculus, with which to impress one’s older brother.  And once, an ancient copy of Atlantic Monthly, in which I found an essay by Marilynne Robinson about courage and the petty coercion of society that conspires against it.  It was gorgeous.

It drove me crazy to misplace it, which I inevitably did, almost immediately.

Anyway, a few weeks ago, in a fit of extravagance, I ordered several books from Amazon.com (to get the “free shipping,” of course) and among them I chose one by Marilynne Robinson called The Death of Adam: Essays on Modern Thought.  I’d seen the list of contents and knew my essay wasn’t in it.

But tonight, after an exhausting day I started leafing through the book.  And there, at the very end, the final essay in the collection, I found it.  Really!  I don’t know how it got there, but it feels like a gift.  This is what it’s called:

“The Tyranny of Petty Coercion.”

Which (my usually good memory not-withstanding) apparently appeared in the August 2004 issue of Harper’s Monthly, not in the Atlantic, and here, moreover, is a quote:

Courage seems to me to be dependent on cultural definition.  By this I do not mean only that it is a word that blesses different behaviors in different cultures, though that is clearly true.  I mean also, and more importantly, that courage is rarely expressed except where there is sufficient consensus to support it.  Theologians used to write about a prevenient grace, which enables the soul to accept grace itself.  Perhaps there must also be a prevenient courage to nerve one to be brave.  It is we human beings who give one another permission to show courage, or, more typically, withhold such permission.  We also internalize prohibitions, enforcing them on ourselves – prohibitions against, for example, expressing an honest doubt, or entertaining one.  This ought not to be true in a civilization like ours, historically committed to valuing individual conscience and free expression.  But it is.

. . .

It is sad to consider how much first-rate courage must be devoted in this world to struggling out of the toils of sheer pettiness.  The Saudi women who first drove automobiles risked and suffered penalties, overcame inhibitions, and shattered norms, heroic in their defiance of an absurd convention. We have our own Rosa Parks.  That such great courage should have been required to challenge such petty barriers is a demonstration of the power of social consensus.  How many minor coercions are required to sustain similar customs and usages?  How aware are any of us, absent direct challenge, of how we also deal in trivial coercion?

Click here to read The Tyranny of Petty Coercion article

These are just so exactly perfect.

• As I let go of my feelings of guilt, I am in touch with my inner sociopath.
• I have the power to channel my imagination into ever-soaring levels of suspicion and paranoia.
• I assume full responsibility for my actions, except the ones that are someone else’s fault.
• I no longer need to punish, deceive, or compromise myself, unless I want to stay employed.
• In some cultures what I do would be considered normal.
• Having control over myself is almost as good as having control over others.
• My intuition nearly makes up for my lack of self-judgment.
• I honor my personality flaws for without them I would have no personality at all. Joan of Arc heard voices, too.
• I am grateful that I am not as judgmental as all those censorious, self-righteous people around me.
• I need not suffer in silence while I can still moan, whimper and complain.
• As I learn the innermost secrets of people around me, they reward me in many ways to keep me quiet.
• When someone hurts me, I know that forgiveness is cheaper than a lawsuit, but not nearly as gratifying.
• The first step is to say nice things about myself. The second,to do nice things for myself. The third, to find someone to buy me nice things.
• As I learn to trust the universe, I no longer need to carry a gun.
• All of me is beautiful, even the ugly, stupid and disgusting parts.
• I am at one with my duality.
• Blessed are the flexible, for they can tie themselves into knots.
• Only a lack of imagination saves me from immobilizing myself with imaginary fears.
• I will strive to live each day as if it were my 50th birthday.
• I honor and express all facets of my being, regardless of state and local laws.
• Today I will gladly share my experience and advice, for there are no sweeter words than “I told you so!”
• False hope is better than no hope at all.
• A good scapegoat is almost as good as a solution.
• Just for today, I will not sit in my living room all day in my underwear. Instead, I will move my computer into the bedroom.
• Who can I blame for my problems? Just give me a minute…. I’ll find someone.
• Why should I waste my time reliving the past when I can spend it worrying about the future?
• The complete lack of evidence is the surest sign that the conspiracy is working.
• I am learning that criticism is not nearly as effective as sabotage.
• Becoming aware of my character defects leads me naturally to the next step of blaming my parents.
• To have a successful relationship, I must learn to make it look like I’m giving as much as I’m getting.
• I am willing to make the mistakes if someone else is willing to learn from them.
• Before I criticize a man, I walk a mile in his shoes. That way, if he gets angry, he’s a mile away and barefoot.

Posted several places online, including here.  No attribution given.  Please let me know if you know the original source!

My daughter graduated from 5th grade today.  I never graduated from anything until highschool, but today I’m thinking:  some new ways of doing things actually are good.  We need to mark our milestones.  They matter.  My son will graduate from high school next year, and then supposedly will go to college (if he can remember to apply to any of them).  If 5th grade graduation can make me cry, I will really need my friends around me when my first born leaves the nest, I can tell you right now. 

But no, today, I’m not even going to go there. 

My mother is flying in for a visit tomorrow, the house is a total disaster, and I am also exchanging flurries of email with a potential employer.  The latter has gotten more than slightly ridiculous, like we’re settling a lawsuit or arranging security clearance, instead of just talking about a no-big-deal job.  Yesterday I almost walked away but decided to send one last demanding email instead, sure it would scare them off once and for all (which would actually have made it easier to focus on cleaning my house) but nope:  back they are again today, still wanting to talk.  I don’t know.  I asked them for the weekend. 

I still need some more time to eat olives and bake cookies. 

Have moved from cookies to olives.  Really strong, salty ones, right out of the jar.  How is it that I survived the first three decades of my life without liking olives? 

However, I am even more grateful for friends.  Some of whom I’ve not even met in person yet, but whose words, both public and private, (Thanks Ann, thanks Peggy) have been very helpful indeed.  Nor will I entertain any silly idea that the ongoing weirdness of my (almost) life is a sign of terminal uniqueness, because I know it is not. 

So.  Millenial career guru Penelope Trunk insists that one of the keys to success is taking long lunch hours, and I agree with her. 

For one thing, meeting for lunch doesn’t take nearly as long as meeting for golf, and I can’t play golf anyway.  Sharing a meal is one of those sacramentally human things for which there is really no substitute.  Call it “networking” in a career context if you want, but it’s so much more than that.

A friend asked to meet today and I happily said “yes.”  We’ve both been so busy with our own lives and all they contain that we don’t see each other as much as we would like.  Across the table, our eyes meet and we smile as we talk. 

This is the good stuff.

She just finished her classes for the term, her first as a Ph.D candidate, (hurray!)  Her life this summer will be filled with trips and beaches, dancing and driving lessons, and getting a child ready for a semester abroad.   We laughed at how this mothering just keeps going on, no matter how long it’s been since we actually had these babies.  At least we can identify, in advance, that summer will be hectic for us, a balancing act between the still-insatiable demands of our tall children and the need to carve out our own space in the midst of them, even as the tall folk inevitably object.  Which, just as inevitably, will make us feel bad, and we’ll have to persevere through that as well. 

It seems too early to call this stage a “mid-life” anything, nor are we empty-nesters just yet.  So we’ve been calling this stage “Chapter Two.”  The most demanding part of our childraising is over (except during vacations!) and we are coming up for air and to take a look around at what comes next.  Several of us (my friend included) are looking at a life without the life-and-financial partner we’d assumed would live it with us.  That’s more than a little rough.

Nor has the world waited for us. Often, weirdly, we’re less employable now than we were straight out of college, even though most of us have had several additional years of gainful employment since then. 

Go figure.

But here is something Penelope Trunk doesn’t know, because she’s not been here.  We’ve been around.  We already know how to be counter-cultural.  We’re tough, and we’ve still got lots of game. 

Watch us. 

And just for you, my friends: one of my very nice Cesar #2 Montesinos, by Tabacalera Fuente.

One of the reasons I married a professor is that I never quite understood anything in college, and hoped he’d fix that.   I never understood, for instance, what an 18 year old person could possibly say about Shakespeare that hadn’t already been said, and much better, by several thousand other people. 

And I wish someone had explained a little more about historiography: how to think about history.  Who even knew that there was a “great man” theory?  For me, history was always just a bunch of trees.  I mean, I totally got what a thesis statement was.  And I totally got that “facts” didn’t mean much just by themselves.  But I never knew how to put them together, not really.  And I always knew I didn’t know.  Argh!

Even now,  I still find myself very confused by things that don’t seem to give anyone else a bit of pause. 

Maybe I should ask the professor’s mother for a refund?

I had a four-hour long interview yesterday, at the same place where I’d already had a 2-hour long interview the week before (which would have been even longer, had not my daughter’s school called…)   And I’m very confused. 

The only next-thing-to-do is make cookies. Obviously.  Even if it is practically the middle of the night.  And also to find the least complicated and yet most delicious recipe I can.  So, Tada!  Here it is, only three ingredients, and these are truly

The Best Peanut Butter Cookies Ever

1 cup peanut butter
1 cup sugar
1 egg

Mix.  Drop on greased sheet, do the criss-cross fork thing, and bake at 350 degrees for 13-15 minutes.

If one insists on complicating even this, one can double the recipe.  Use crunchy instead of creamy.  Use only ¾ cup sugar.  Add a tsp of vanilla, or soda (both utterly unnecessary, I assure you)

((Next up:  How (not) to self-medicate with food!!))

———
Related Posts:
How (not) to interview for a job (this story begins)
Nope (this story concludes)
Hanging in, and blonder too (reflection)

I’ve long since learned that when my stomach hurts a certain way, I need to pay attention.  This was especially useful when it came to evaluating boyfriends in the old days (my wise old Yoda stomach always knew when it was time to dump them!)  

And now my stomach has hurt a couple of times in relation to this blog. 

Of greatest concern to my stomach have been a few things like intellectual property, copyright, fair use, and the intersection of these things and blogging.  I think most of us know that quotes should be properly attributed whenever possible.  And the documentation for Wordpress (my blogging host) basically okays the resyndication-by-linkage of YouTube videos (as Wordpress basically handles it by linking to the YouTube videos without actually hosting them)  In other words, if YouTube pulls them (as YouTube will, if complaint is lodged) the video will cease to function in a Wordpress blog, as well. 

There are also many things on the ‘net for which authorship can no longer be determined.  The resume bloopers I posted, for instance, were collected from a number of sites, all without attribution and all appearing on more than one site, as well, thus making it impossible even to identify the original online source.   

Jokes are even older than the internet, of course, and even harder to give sources for:  really, there are only three basic jokes in the world, I think, and all the rest are derived from these three!  (I must confess with some pride, however, that the Marilee Jones joke was almost entirely my own creation…)

Probably the real sticky problem is images, or pictures.  Photographers and artists own their intellectual and creative  property, and may even depend upon their work to make a living,  just as much as writers do.  Of course.  But many (most?) bloggers post other people’s photos and artwork, while very few (if any) of us are paying for them.

I think there are several ways to look at this problem.  “Fair Use” can be a tricky concept, but a great deal depends on whether one is financially profiting from someone else’s work, or using it for educational/instructive purposes, instead.   Blogging is commonly viewed as a kind of news reporting or commentary, and therefore would often seem to pass the 4-factor test for legal fair use

However.  While using properly-attributed images might seem analogous to including properly-attributed quotations, one rarely uses only part of an image.  Therefore, using someone else’s picture is probably more akin to using someone else’s entire poem.  And when is (or isn’t) this an okay thing to do? 

Another way of using images, which I’ve applied to some (non-profit) websites I’ve managed, is to make them into links to (and therefore, promotions of) the source site.  Is that legitimate?   (Then, of course, stealing bandwidth is  yet another issue, and few perps even know they’re doing it.  This is when you link directly to an image online, rather than downloading it first and then loading it to your own host.)

Because of the need to balance the surge of interest in the “open source” democratization of the internet with the need to protect the livelihoods and right of individual artists and authors, an increasing number of images are now made available through creative commons licensing, an alternative to full copyright protection with the goal of encouraging users to “Share, reuse, and remix — legally.”  

Anyhoo, for the sake of my stomach, I am going to go back through my posts and clean up a little. 

But I would also very much welcome further feedback and suggestions from my readers.   How does plagarism and copyright protection REALLY work in the blogosphere, and is it enough?  Is attribution enough?  Is it best to leave other’s work, especially images, out entirely?  (one can always LINK to them instead)

Please weigh in!  My stomach thanks you in advance.

These are from actual resumes:

(from multiple sources: if you know original source, please comment!!)

“Personal: I’m married with 9 children. I don’t require prescription drugs.

“I am extremely loyal to my present firm, so please don’t let them know of my immediate availability.”

“Qualifications: I am a man filled with passion and integrity, and I can act on short notice. I’m a class act and do not come cheap.”

“I intentionally omitted my salary history. I’ve made money and lost money. I’ve been rich and I’ve been poor. I prefer being rich.”

“Note: Please don’t misconstrue my 14 jobs as ‘job-hopping’. I have never quit a job.”

“Number of dependents: 40.”

“Marital Status: Often. Children: Various.”

“Here are my qualifications for you to overlook.”

“Responsibility makes me nervous.”

“They insisted that all employees get to work by 8:45 every morning. Couldn’t work under those conditions.”

“[left my last job because I] was met with a string of broken promises and lies, as well as cockroaches.”

“I was working for my mom until she decided to move.”

“The company made me a scapegoat – just like my three previous employers.”

“While I am open to the initial nature of an assignment, I am decidedly disposed that it be so oriented as to at least partially incorporate the experience enjoyed heretofore and that it be configured so as to ultimately lead to the application of more rarefied facets of financial management as the major sphere of responsibility.”

“I was proud to win the Gregg Typting Award.”

“Please call me after 5:30 because I am self-employed and my employer does not know I am looking for another job.”

“My goal is to be a meteorologist. But since I have no training in meteorology, I suppose I should try stock brokerage.”

“I procrastinate – especially when the task is unpleasant.”

“Minor allergies to house cats and Mongolian sheep.”

“Personal Interests:  Donating blood. 14 gallons so far.”

“Education: College, August 1880-May 1984.”

“Work Experience: Dealing with customers’ conflicts that arouse.”

“Develop and recommend an annual operating expense fudget.”

“I’m a rabid typist.”

“Instrumental in ruining entire operation for a Midwest chain operation.”

 ((When one might consider hiring a service..))

My little (almost) interview dilemma  continued today.  I guess one ought not to blog about such things until they’re resolved (lest one get dooced).  But suffice it to say that it’s probably not a good idea to get a phone call from one’s daughter’s elementary school right in the middle of a job interview, which of course one has to take due to one’s suspicions (which turn out to be correct) that one’s spouse has neglected to pick up said daughter from said school. 

Furthermore?  It’s also probably not done, in the best circles, to arrive at a job interview without a car, niavely assuming both (a) that said spouse will pick up said daughter and (b) that it will not rain torrentially. 

And finally, it is much preferred that one not end a job interview mid-stream by bumming a ride from one’s interviewers to go rescue one’s daughter.

——
Related Posts:
Confusion Cookies (the story continues)
Nope (the story concludes)
Hanging in, and blonder too (reflection)

Sunday, the youth group at church was selling “mums for mom,” so everyone was buying them and giving them to everyone else.  Sweetness. My own mother is 2000 miles away, so I gave a bouquet to the elegant Fasia instead, who has dubbed herself my “African Mother.”  She hugged me as usual, which I love because then I get to spend several hours afterwards smelling like her perfume.

Last year I gave a bouquet to my Neighbor Mother, Betsy.  I couldn’t this time around because she died in February.  She still gave me flowers, though: the pansies which she planted by her driveway last fall are still brightly in bloom.  Her irises were especially beautiful this year too, as were her daffodils and columbine.  Her Lenten roses began to bloom almost as soon as she left us, and one plant has blooms on it yet. 
 

I miss Betsy. 

She surprised us, at first, with her way of walking into our house without knocking.  Neighbors around here used to do that, I guess.  She taught us how to be neighbors, in a world that hardly has them anymore.  We mowed her lawn and she gave our daughter piano lessons in exchange.  Summers, we regularly trouped back and forth between her screened porch and our back patio, laden with potato salad and wine. 

During baseball season, she’d invite our son over to watch our team with her on cable (which we don’t have), and the two of them would share popcorn and shout themselves hoarse.

She didn’t want to live like a sick person.  She laughed raucously, kept up with a million friends, and continued to play with the symphony. 

She wanted to go to a place she remembered in the mountains one last time, so a group of us took her there.  She read us a letter from a friend who’d died of cancer, because the friend had the Words Betsy wanted.  She took off her wig and let us kiss her cute head, and we laughed. Raucously.  We didn’t know she’d only live a few weeks more. 

She died at home.  It worked out.  We took turns staying with her that whole last week, when the night nurse wasn’t there.  And I couldn’t have done that, made all those phone calls, spent all that time, if I’d had a job. 

All this past year, Betsy has been very worried that I didn’t have a job.  She even told me she’d find me one!  I was able hold her hand as she lay on her couch and finally tell her that seemed to be working out, too.

The million friends showed up at her funeral, where YES a few of us even danced.  All the viola players in town seemed to be booked with La bohème that day, but Rachel’s soaring violin was so beautiful it made us cry.  And at the first symphony concert, after Betsy had died, they honored her with an empty chair.

I know it’s a few days late (she’d tease me for that, too) but Happy Mother’s Day, Betsy!

So what do you do when you have a little (almost) career dilemma and need help?  You NETWORK, of course.  And I’m so glad that a certain, Certified Senior Professional in Human Resources was willing not only to answer my question but to refer to me as “a positive, contributing professional,” right there in her blog.  Goose bumps!  Cigar-worthy stuff, Yessir. (Swisher Sweets Perfecto, I think.) Thanks much, you Career Encourager, you!  I’ll keep you posted.

(I also quite like the pseudonym ”Emily”)