Episodes
Wednesday May 05, 2010
The Benjamins
Wednesday May 05, 2010
Wednesday May 05, 2010
The Benjamins
Everybody has to be born on one of 365 days in the year. Statistically, if you get 23 people in the same room, chances are better than 50 percent two people in the room will share a birthday. With 57 people, the chances increase to 99 percent. Of course if you get 366 people in the same room, someone will share a birthday. If you want to read an explanation, there is a math one at Wikipedia.
I share a birthday with Benjamin Franklin. He was called a Renaissance man, a person who was experienced in many differing disciplines. He gave us the lightning rod, but probably didn’t do the kite flying experiment. He started one of the first volunteer fire departments, libraries and insurance companies. He helped found the first civilian hospital and medical school in the United States. He invented the glasses I wear – bifocals.
We know him best for his contributions to American Independence. I didn’t know he was the person who designed the “Unite or Die” snake which represented the colonies. You’ve probably seen that flag if you ever studied American History.
I really like his list of thirteen virtues, and though I have discussed them before, I think the 304th anniversary of his birth would be a good place to review them. I’ll bet he had an English accent. I’ll use it when I am quoting from his list.
TEMPERANCE. Eat not to dullness; drink not to elevation."
Don’t eat too much I get, but I’m guessing Ben was a quiet drunk.
"SILENCE. Speak not but what may benefit others or yourself; avoid trifling conversation."
I wonder what Mr. Franklin would think of our preoccupation with celebrities.
"ORDER. Let all your things have their places; let each part of your business have its time."
Everything in its place I fail, and I do way too many things.
"RESOLUTION. Resolve to perform what you ought; perform without fail what you resolve."
Think of what you ought to do. Then do it.
"FRUGALITY. Make no expense but to do good to others or yourself; i.e., waste nothing."
Oops. I spend too much and waste more.
"INDUSTRY. Lose no time; be always employ'd in something useful; cut off all unnecessary actions."
I like to sleep too much, but I do like to do lots of things. Mostly unnvecessary.
"SINCERITY. Use no hurtful deceit; think innocently and justly, and, if you speak, speak accordingly."
I can pass this one. I may be too sincere.
"JUSTICE. Wrong none by doing injuries, or omitting the benefits that are your duty."
I’m big on causing no injury. I could be more generous.
"MODERATION. Avoid extremes; forbear resenting injuries so much as you think they deserve.
I’m getting better at not resenting, but I am still pretty extreme.
"CLEANLINESS. Tolerate no uncleanliness in body, cloaths, or habitation."
I think we actually shower and bathe more than back then, but my car does need to be cleaned.
"TRANQUILLITY. Be not disturbed at trifles, or at accidents common or unavoidable."
I think I am the ultimate easy-going, laid-back and tolerant person. Maybe too much.
"CHASTITY. Rarely use venery but for health or offspring, never to dullness, weakness, or the injury of your own or another's peace or reputation."
Let’s just say I’m healthy.
"HUMILITY. Imitate Jesus and Socrates."
I wish I was more humble. I am the poster boy for the song “Oh, Lord It’s Hard To Be Humble”.
But I do have a list of my own.
In my motivational presentation “B Positive, More than just a blood type” I focus on how to be our best selves, and the phrase “My Best Self” represents the following ideas, with each letter of “My Best Self” starting each idea.
In the word MY
M represents Make a positive contribution
Y means we Yearn to be better
In the word BEST
B stands for Believing in your potential
E means we Exercise
S stands for Smiles
T means we Trust in the Creative
In the word SELF
S represents Specialization
E means we Expect great things to happen
L means we Learn from others and the final letter
F tells us to Fearlessly forge forcefully forward.
Find ways this week to be your best self. Make a positive contribution, yearn to be better, believes in your potential, exercise, smile, trust in the Creative, specialize, expect great things to happen, learn from others, and fearlessly forge forcefully forward.
Be your best self. I hope your spirits have been lifted this day. Go out and find all the reasons we have to be thankful for in this abundant life.
Today, I’m grateful to share a birthday with Benjamin Franklin. With a couple of hundred Benjamins, nearly any problem could be solved. And I don’t just mean money.
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Click on the player to hear an audio version of this piece The BenjaminsWednesday May 05, 2010
Caesarians
Wednesday May 05, 2010
Wednesday May 05, 2010
Caesarians
Birthdays are interesting, but I don’t remember anything about the day I was born. I do have two daughters, and I was at both of their births. The World Health Organization recommends that no more than 15 percent of all births should be by Caesarean, which is where the mother’s abdomen is cut to deliver a child. We have exceeded this by quite a bit in my family. Both of my daughters were born by Caesarean. We have a 100 percent Caesarean rate.Watching the birth of your own child is an amazing thing. Watching a Caesarean delivery is incredible. We didn’t plan for our first daughter to be born this way, but that’s what happened. We went to birthing classes so I could be at the birth, and we had to watch a special video on Caesarean delivery just in case. After about 18 hours in labor, my wife was getting very tired, and the process was stressing the baby, so the doctor’s told me to go scrub up and get ready to watch my first child delivered by cutting my wife open. I was only away from my wife’s side for a few minutes, but that was the only time I was really worried. I hoped nothing would happen while I was away. In surgery, everyone looked very serious, and watching a doctor use a scalpel on your wife stomach is a nerve-wracking experience, but it had to be worse for my wife, who was conscious and watching a man approach her with a sharp instrument.
Surgery is a complicated process where a thousand things can go wrong, but the professionals in our hospitals are very good. I was actually at ease watching them work feverishly to bring my firstborn into this world. It was an amazingly fast process, and very quickly the incision was made, and just as quickly a small face appeared. There was a small cut on her face where the scalpel had gone too deep; where her face had been pressing. All of the operating room personnel looked at me. I smiled, but I think they were wondering if I was going to sue. I was just happy to have everyone all right. Our new daughter was not too happy and was already crying; after all her greeting to the world was a cut to the face. I got to hold here almost immediately, and was assured my entire family was going to be fine.
This was in California, but we were moving and the doctors insisted both mother and daughter stay in the hospital for a week rather than the normal day or two. Then they both got on a plane with my mother-in-law and flew away. I drove a U-haul to our new home.
When our second child was due, it was recommended my wife have another Caesarean. Our second daughter’s delivery was much easier. When a Caesarean is planned, not suddenly needed like our first daughter, then you get to pick a date to have the baby. You even can choose a time of day. I have a pretty poor memory, and it seemed like a good idea to choose November 15th. It was the middle of the month, and since my anniversary is the month before on the 14th, I have been able to remember her birthday. I just don’t remember my anniversary sometimes. Another great advantage to planning the time and date is you can make arrangements at work, get a baby-sitter for the older daughter, and even make it home to relax for the afternoon.
This second Caesarean was much less tense. Everyone knew what to expect. The doctors even provided a mirror so this time my wife could watch the operation. I don’t know why anyone would want to watch a sharp instrument cutting into your own stomach, but she thought it was great. We were both a little apprehensive since there was still a little scar on our first daughter’s face, but the mood in the room was very good. The doctor made sure I had a nice place to sit and watch, and as he started the procedure, he turned to me and asked me if I was okay. I told him, “As long as you aren’t cutting me I am fine.” Everyone thought that was funny, but I was serious. I can’t even watch the needle when I get a shot.
So all the excitement produced two beautiful daughters, and sometimes it makes me wonder what we did back in the good old days before hospitals, doctors, nurses and support staff. I don’t want to go back to those times, but the whole process seems a lot more complicated than back then. But it does make for some memorable moments, and some interesting birth days.
LITERATURE OUT LOUD
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Click on the player to hear an audio version of this piece CaesariansSaturday May 01, 2010
Chapter Four -- The Plodder's Mile
Saturday May 01, 2010
Saturday May 01, 2010
CHAPTER FOUR
At the police station, Officer Jones looked at John with the RCA Victor dog head-tilt. “You found this out on the railroad tracks?”
John nodded his head.
“I was out jogging and saw the train,” said John. “I talked to the detective, who said cash had been stolen, and right after the train pulled out I saw this package.”
“So, how do you know there is money inside?” Greg Jones was serving in a small town, but he wasn’t slow. His good friend John started to shuffle his feet.
“Uh… I did open the package and look inside, but when I saw it was money.” John lied, “I wrapped it back up and brought it here. I guess that’s bad for evidence, with my fingerprints all over it.”
Greg liked John, but still wondered at the story. “The train came by hours ago, and you’re just bringing it in now?”
John blushed some more. He had expected kid glove treatment from Jones, who he had known for over 10 years. Greg was a favorite speaker at the high school.
“Sorry, I guess I should have brought it in right away.” John moved his hands in the air to look convincing. “But I wanted to shower and get cleaned up before I came in.”
The honest looks and the past history he had with John persuaded Jones to believe. But he still wanted to try one more probe. “Maybe you thought about keeping it instead of turning it in? That’s quite a pile of cash.”
John’s mind was racing. Was he really that transparent? Did Officer Jones suspect that money was missing? Was it better to pretend that all the money was still there? Greg hadn’t done more than a cursory glance at the package, so he wouldn’t be suspecting any money was gone. Or was he? Would it be better to try to convince Greg that the bundle had been faked before he found it, to throw off the cops? Decisions, decisions.
“I don’t think it’s really full of money,” John finally sighed. “I was tempted at first, but when I opened it up and flipped through a few bills, I could see that the rest is just paper.”
Officer Greg Jones acted surprised as he looked. He had been planning to return the money to the bank personally and gain some recognition for his small town, maybe get a reward, a reward for John and maybe get a raise from the city council. He did just as John thought he would, and pulled the brown wrapper off and looked at the stack, flipping the edges.
“You’re right, there’s mostly paper here.”
John looked at his long time friend and asked, “But if no one claims the bundle, do I get the money that is real? It looks like there’s only really about eighteen hundred dollars.” Jones looked up after counting the outside bills and flipping into each stack.
“There is only $1800, you’re right,” Greg said as he smiled at his friend again. “You must have counted those a few times.”
John blushed again, but it worked to effect. “Yeah, I checked it out pretty thoroughly. I hope it doesn’t screw up the investigation.”
“Tampering with evidence. Punishable by 3 to 5 years in the pen.” Greg tried to look serious, but found he was smiling and waved off the concern. “Don’t worry, John, this really is normal behavior. People are curious, and really don’t usually have any criminal intent. We think we know who did this anyway. The real question is where the rest of the money went.”
Officer Greg Jones looked at John Graham, who only shrugged his shoulders. It was the moment of truth, and John wanted this look of curiosity to look sincere. “Is there supposed to be a lot more?”
“Yeah, but don’t worry about it,” Jones replied. “And yes, if no one comes to claim this money, it’s yours after 90 days. But don’t get your hopes up. There was a bank robbery south of here earlier today, and they have the serial numbers. I would bet this is theirs.”
John looked up. “So, probably no reward either, huh? Well, is there anything else you need from me? I guess I’ll go home and tell Reba we just lost $1800 in cash.”
Jones nodded. “That’s all I need for now. But maybe it would be better not to tell Reba the amount.” They both laughed, and John went out the door.
John found himself smiling as he left the tiny police station – really just a two room shack. He was smiling the smile of the deliberate, slow and careful person he now perceived himself to be. His plodding behaviors were crossing over into his thinking, and now he was “plotting” as well as plodding. He believed he had conned his friend, and might be spending a great deal of money in the very near future.
To himself, he thought, “Well, one foot in front of the other. I guess we’ll see what happens.”
To get back to Ridgeway, Ray would have to get some more cash. Tonight. The easiest place for him to hit would be a gas station, since they were cash rich and the smaller ones were usually only staffed by one employee.
Ray had robbed over 30 gas stations during his 49 years stint of living by his wits and a little bit of force. He had served time for only 3 of these robberies, and had learned much more to refine his technique while talking with other inmates during his all-expenses paid “vacations”.
Tonight would be a “hit and run”, especially appropriate since he had no transportation and would have to run as fast as he could to get away. He had been “inspecting” several gas stations locally, and had decided on one that had a small forested area nearby which would aid in his flight.
For his weapon of choice, he had invested in a sharp electricity-testing tool; actually buying it at a local automotive store. No sense in getting arrested lifting something that only cost three bucks. Ray expected to make over $2000.00 tonight with the help of his little three dollar friend.
Ripping off the electrical connections and pocketing the tool outside the store, Ray walked back toward the gas station and took cover in the trees nearby, knowing that the longer he waited this night, the more money there would be in the till. And the darkness would aid him if he would be patient and wait an hour or two. But if he waited too late, he knew it would be easier for the cops to flush him out, since there wouldn’t be anyone else around to confuse their search. An hour or two would be fine.
Mike Shepherd bounced his head up and down, “head-banging” to the heavy metal music which the boss let him play, as long as it wasn’t too loud. It was incongruous – the music was meant to hurt your ears with its volume, but could still produce the happy feet Mike liked when he listened to metal.
This was a good job for a high school student. Three or four nights a week in the gas station gave him spending money, a gas “charge” account (which came out of his check every two weeks), and access to lots of music time. Sitting around gathering money and then counting it at night beat the old days when attendants had to pump the gas, and with very few other things to buy in the station, there wasn’t the confusion of having to worry about selling drinks, food, and other items like at other stores. It was a simple business, and judging from the stack of money he placed in the safe each night, the owners were happy to keep it simple.
His best friend Eric had got him this job, recommending him to the ancient boss who didn’t hear so well. Training had involved both of them working together for one night, while Eric explained the gas reset controls, the safe, the restocking of oil, the cleaning of windows, the expected pleasant behaviors towards even the biggest jerks who might show up that night to pump their own gas.
Mike had so much information crammed into his head that night he was trained he had bounced his head off the glass-plated sliding door of the cashier’s booth. Hard. He had been carrying two oil cans when he went to cross through the booth to the other side. Through a closed door. He had such inertia going that the impact had knocked him back three to four feet. Both Mike and Eric had a good laugh about it. There was a lot to learn in only one night of training, and the rising bruise on his head helped remind Mike to open the door next time before crossing through.
That had been almost a year ago. This was not the most demanding job in the world, but he was happy to do it, listening to his own choice of music. His long hair swayed and bounced as he marveled at being paid for sitting on his butt for eight hours.
Ray had watched Mike rock out in the small booth, and waited for dark. Lit like a torch, the booth and Mike were on display for anyone who drove by, but this road was not as traveled as some Ray had scoped out. Now that it was dark, and most of the commuters were safely home after their long day at work, the business at the pumps slowed to a crawl. There was a customer every five minutes or so, and that would be plenty of time for Ray to take care of business. If all went well, he could be in and out in less than two minutes.
Ray walked up to the gas station palming the sharply pointed metal calmly in his coat pocket. He was about to pull it out when a car approached for gas. It was self-serve, so the guy got out and started to pump. Mike Shepherd opened the cashier window and greeted Ray.
“Hello, sir. Can I help you?”
Ray looked at the car pumping gas. Looking back at Mike, he muttered something about using the restroom. Mike pointed to the back of the lot, where a separate building held the “facilities”. The company policy was to let customers use the toilets, and if the attendant was feeling generous, to let others use it, too. Though the sixties were long past, Mike viewed himself as something of a hippie, and had the social concerns for the indigent appropriate to that social segment.
“Out in the back, man”, he said, tossing Ray the key to the door.
Mike continued to rock on, feeling justified in his social concerns of helping to equalize the societal inequalities, and turned up the volume a little.
Ray watched from a crack in restroom door while the customer paid with a check. He then emerged with the resolve to do this now, before another interruption came by. The cold metal dagger in his hand fit perfectly across his palm and up to his index finger, so he was confident he would be able to hide the weapon from everyone but Mike, who would be the only one to see the slender spike of steel in Ray’s hand.
As he approached the booth, he took the key and held it out with his left hand, intending to keep that hand in the window once it was opened. Mike blithely grabbed the key and stuck it on its appropriate metal screw to hang from the front of the booth. As he looked back, Ray had his arm in the booth, with his other hand just outside the window holding something that looked sharp.
“Give me the money in the till, and the twenties you have under it. I’ll take any bundles you have already made up, too.”
Mike looked back at the eyes of the man he had just befriended. An incredible sense of betrayal began to well up inside of him, but looking into those eyes immediately banished any protest. The eyes were unwavering and serious, with no hint of compromise. Mike reached into the drawer and pulled out a stack of ones.
“Forget the little stuff. Give me the big bills.”
Still stunned at his first encounter with violent crime, Mike began to shake. He pulled out the stack of twenties, about three hundred dollars worth. “Now give me the stuff under the drawer,” growled Ray, quietly, as if someone nearby might hear. Ray looked about slowly to see if they would be interrupted.
Mike grabbed the fifties and stacks of twenties he had made. They were instructed to put five twenties into stacks and put them under the drawer as they received them, although at this moment Mike was thinking it would have been a better policy to put them in the safe. But then again, you never know when you might need change for a hundred dollar bill.
There were five or six stacks, with another half-dozen fifty and one-hundred dollar bills. Ray could see he was only going to net a thousand, but with $100,000 waiting for him in another town, he decided to cut his losses and not have the kid get into the safe. Besides, the kid was starting to shake pretty badly, and that was when things usually began to go wrong. The cash would fit in his pockets, and then he could run.
“Quick. Give it to me,” Ray barked, making Mike jump. He dropped one stack and began to bend over to pick it up. “Leave it, and give me what you’re holding.”
Mike, in slow-motion it seemed to him, handed over $1300 to Ray. As if to emphasize the seriousness of the moment, Ray held the shaft of the tool in his hand, exposing the dagger. “Don’t do anything stupid. I’ll be watching, and I don’t want you to call anyone for five minutes.” Ray backed away and after 25 steps, disappeared into the thicket of trees to the west. Mike’s eyes were transfixed as he watched his attacker walk slowly backwards. Then he slowly looked down at his hands and noticed he was shaking.
His pacifist roots also shook loose at that moment in the realization that he had just been robbed. The station policy was to not resist when a robbery happened, but it had never happened to Mike before. It felt like someone had just kicked him in the stomach, and as his blood began to heat, the money became not the station’s money, but his own money, which he had just let a greasy little man escape with into the woods.
Logic and reason lost their appeal as Mike unlocked and threw open the sliding doors and ran into the woods after Ray. There was no reason to try to get the money back, but the sheer terror of the moment had been replaced with anger, and a desire to tackle the short guy. That single thought drove him forward on his young legs. Mike was in considerably better shape than Ray, and in moments had overtaken him. Mike jumped onto the back of the smaller man, and wrestled him to the ground.
Ray had never been chased and caught before in his countless robberies, and was in fact, used to getting away without any trouble. The excitement of the moment must have distracted Ray as well, since he didn’t even hear Mike approaching. All he felt was the sickening thud as two bodies thrashed to the ground in the leaves.
Mike had never been a fighter, so he had no idea what to do now that he had Ray on the ground. Ray, however, had spent his life scrabbling for bits, and the fighting instinct took over. He fought almost without thought, and though Mike was bigger and stronger than Ray, it was only moments before Ray was pummeling Mike with his fists.
A kind of frenzy took over as the blood began to flow from Mike’s face, which seemed to change. Ray then saw the face of his brothers, saw cruel cellmates, and saw the face of oppression. The rage swelled as Mike stopped caring about the money and was fighting to protect himself, and thought only of escape. He flailed out at Ray, scratching and punching as best he could, but mostly Mike was just trying to dodge the punches.
As Mike dragged his fingernails across Ray’s face, blood oozed out slowly. The pain of the scratches were the final blow, and with renewed energy, Ray grabbed Mike’s long hair, pulled him up, and took the spike of steel in his other hand. Turning Mike around, Ray stabbed the short piece into the base of Mike’s skull.
Mike’s body went limp and collapsed to the ground.
Ray was pulled down with the body. Then he let go of the hair. Blood was running down his cheek, and his bottom lip was beginning to swell. He could taste blood in his mouth, and the anger he had felt continued for a good while. Slowly, he backed away from the body and looked around in the trees.
No one had seen this. Ray doubted anyone had even seen the robbery. He took a deep breath and backed away a few more steps.
He rubbed the blood from his face and gathered his thoughts. He needed to get away from here as fast as he could, and the bus station was only a few blocks away. He could get cleaned up there and find out when the next bus was going to Ridgeway. “What a stupid kid,” Ray thought to himself. Stupid to get killed for money. This would complicate matters a bit, but for the money that waited for him in the near future, this inconvenience wouldn’t stand in his way. He had killed before and not been caught.
Another dead body would make no difference.
LITERATURE OUT LOUD
Click here for a complete INDEX
LITERATURE OUT LOUD -- see and hear great literature Audio narrations with synchronized visual text
The Complete Collection of
SHAKESPEARE'S SONNETS
all 154 poems $3.99 DVD with FREE shipping
Click on the Amazon button to order