The Crab Chronicles

The Past Lives in Us

Many years ago I was watching the documentary The Civil War on PBS, and Writer/Historian Shelby Foote said "The Southern Man doesn't live in History. History lives in him." 

I LOVE that quote.

The Civil War lived in my father. I spent my childhood trooping around Civil War battlefields, visiting historic sites like the Appomattox Court House, and watching my dad pull the car off the road to read historic markers.

I learned many years after visiting Appomattox, that one of my ancestors was there that day, the day General Lee surrendered and the South conceded defeat. No wonder a feeling of sadness had crept over me that day.

I am fascinated by my ancestors -- how they lived, how they died, what they endured. It's one reason why I love old photographs, particularly old photos of people I'm related to. I look in their faces and get a strong sense of who they were, and I feel connected to them.

Left, my great-great Hasty grandparents, John T. Hasty and Sarah Mahalie Nelson Hasty, who was half Native American

One of my cousins posted a photo this morning of an old mill, and I shared this: I always loved visiting the Old Mill in Pigeon Forge TN. A few years back I found out some of my ancestors on Mom's side ran a mill about 200 years ago.

I started thinking about many feelings I've gotten in my life, strong feelings upon visiting a place, or seeing film or photos of a particular place.

I think this started many years ago, when I was in middle school in Knoxville, Tennessee. My class took a field trip to beautiful Cades Cove, in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park. My ancestors never lived there but it was fascinating to me. It's one thing to read about life in the 19th century, quite a different thing to walk into a cabin with newspapers on the walls, dirt floors, and no electricity or running water. Outside, beautiful peaceful views of the mountains. Inside, dire poverty. The expression "dirt poor" took on new meaning. Some years later my parents and I visited a history center where there were furnished cabins like the ones pioneers actually lived in, small rooms with single boards for walls, tiny beds in the corner, fireplaces for cooking, and a table and maybe two rough chairs. Being in those rooms felt more meaningful and sacred than any church or cathedral.

 

There are many lakes in East Tennessee. When the South was starting to get rural areas hooked onto electricity grids in the 1930's and 40's, the Tennessee Valley Authority [TVA] created many man-made lakes where towns are once existed. Rivers were dammed and the resulting hydroelectricity brought electric power to many places.

As a kid, my family had a little cabin on Douglas Lake, one of the TVA lakes. My dad told me the lake was created by damming a river, but I never thought about the flooding that resulted. Years ago I read a book called Under the Lake, by Stuart Woods. That got me to thinking about families and communities that disappeared under lakes in the name of "progress."

Then I found out that some of my my mother's family lived, for generations, on land that was flooded to create Lake Allatoona in North Georgia. My ancestors had lived literally under the lake.

Creepy.

I believe we are all products of the generations who went before us, and so we have a genetic inheritance that impacts our lives.

Sometimes it's obvious. My dad loved history, and liked to tell me and my brother stories that had a basis in historical fact. My mom loved classical music, and I love certain classical pieces, and even some opera. They both loved to grow vegetables. I love that too.

Some connections many not be so obvious, however.

When I grow food or flowers in my garden, my soul feels at peace in a way that I cannot explain. Generations before me farmed to live. A good harvest brought joy, a lessening of anxiety about the winter,

I knew my grandmother as a dignified, proper old lady. She always wore dresses, makeup, and jewelry. She stayed inside most of the time. She got her hair "done" at the beauty parlor weekly. I never knew the young girl who bobbed her hair and liked to climb trees. Then I saw a photo of her -- many years after her death -- and I felt this familiarity that made me miss her terribly. She was a tomboy. I was a tomboy. Then I understood our deep connection.

When I was in England in the summer of 1988, studying with a group from my university, I felt this profound sense of sadness one day, on a bus traveling through the lush and lovely English countryside. I think my ancestors were stirring, deep inside me. I wondered what had motivated them to leave such a beautiful place in the 18th century and go on such a perilous sea journey to live in the wild and unknown new world? A place that promised freedom from a monarch's whims, but little else?

When my family moved to East Tennessee in 1971 it felt like we were leaving everything right and familiar, including extended family, and moving to the moon. East Tennessee was a lovely place but it wasn't home. I always felt like a visitor there, even though I lived there more then twenty years.

You see, Georgia and South Carolina feel like home. For many generations, my ancestors have lived, worked, and died in Georgia and South Carolina. They grew food in the soil, and ate it. They drank from the rivers, and were sustained. Their bodies literally were made from that soil and water. When they died, they were placed back into mother earth and the cycle continued. My people were not part of East Tennessee, and I came back to Georgia as soon as I could get a job here. Then I felt like I had come home.

I've been reading a book called Good Energy, about all the highly processed foods out there and how they make us sick. When we grow our own food, without chemicals, it nourishes and sustains us. Eating well is a way of honoring our ancestors.

I live in a very modest home, and sometimes I feel a bit sorry for myself, honestly. I try to remember this, though: my modest home is incredibly luxurious compared to how the vast majority of my ancestors lived. My floor isn't dirt. Animals don't come in and threaten me. Insects don't fly in and bite me. Thunderstorms are not a big deal. I don't have to worry about light, or food, or staying warm or cool.

Life is infinitely longer and easier for me. I have a tiny device in my chest that keeps my heart beating steadily. I can hear the voices of my friends and family members just by pressing a few buttons. My son is going to do a video call with me this afternoon so I can see what he sees as he walks around Piedmont Park, at the Dogwood Arts Festival. That's the same park where my grandfather held my small hand and walked around with me more than half a century ago.

I say these words to myself, out loud, every day: All is well. I am safe. I am strong. I am healthy. I am lucky. I am loved. I am blessed.

I do not live in the past, but the past lives in me, and my heart is better for that.

#livinginthepast, #honoringourancestors, #understandingdnalegacy

Paralegal Communication

One of the biggest lessons to learn in your professional life is the importance of clear and effective communications. It took me years to learn what to do, and more importantly what NOT to do.

In my first paralegal job I got reprimanded by one of the law partners for spreading gossip about one of the lawyers getting a divorce. I had no business doing it but I was young and stupid. He wasn't getting divorced. I am pretty sure the office manager overheard me chatting with someone and told my supervisor, who told me in no uncertain terms that if he ever heard of me spreading gossip like that again I'd get fired. Lesson learned.

Learning what to say and what not to say, and when, is critical in any job. It's really critical in law firms, where client confidentiality is very important. People who are getting sued, or who have been wronged and are suing, have entrusted the lawyers to represent them with tact and  discretion. That extends to staff.

Here are a few tips to make communications better in your firm or company:

Treat everyone with respect and courtesy, whether they are a clerk or a senior partner.

Do NOT refer to clients by their first names unless they explicitly tell you to do so. Mr., Miss, or Ms. [last name] should be the rule otherwise. It may sound old-fashioned but it's respectful, and good manners never go out of fashion.

Do not talk on your cell phone while at work, or text. It just looks bad.

Always make email communications neutral, because they can easily be misinterpreted.

General rule: don't chat with lawyers. Most lawyers are hyper-focused on time because that's how they make money. Chatting with you doesn't pay. Now, if they initiate the chat, fine. Questions like "Where did you grow up?" are such an invitation. Just don't launch into a long recitation. Keep it brief.

If you don't know something, tell someone. Then make it your business to learn it as quickly as possible. Example: I thought I knew Outlook really well, but a few years ago I got a job where the firm rules for using Outlook were extensive and allowed no room for error. I spent a lot of my free time trying to get up to speed quickly.

If you didn't get enough sleep, or aren't feeling well, or you've having boyfriend issues -- too bad. Those are not excuses for being grumpy. Tell your friend at lunch but otherwise, be professional.

Document everything you do. I use a variety of programs in my current position but I also have a Word document called Assignments where I make notes of everything I do on every case. This is important. Do not rely on Slack, or Teams, or Outlook, or any other program. Keep YOUR OWN NOTES. You will have to refer to them at some time, so you can be certain you did [or didn't] do something.

For more tips and ideas about communications and other work tips, check out Paralegal 411: Tips, Tricks and Timesavers for the Litigation Paralegal.

#paralegalcommunications, #paralegaltraining, #workinginalawoffice, #workcommunications

Getting Your First Paralegal Job

When I became a paralegal in 1985 there was only ONE paralegal school in the entire southeast! Yes, just one. I had never heard the word "paralegal" until a few months before I started school.

The National Center for Paralegal Training. It was in an office building right across the street from a mall. I used to go and walk around the mall every day after class, while I waited for my ride to finish class. I remember the mall vividly.

I barely recall anything I learned in class.

I had to choose between Litigation, Corporate, or Real Estate law. I like small class sizes and I had no idea what I was doing, so I chose Corporate. Nobody told me that I would find it impossible to get a job in Corporate.

We were exposed to the other areas briefly. I think I had 3 hours of instruction in Litigation. I barely knew the difference between a Plaintiff and a Defendant when that was all over.

My first job was as a Litigation paralegal for an insurance defense firm. I had no idea what I was doing. (I wrote about my experiences in my book Talking Back: Stories from the Big Hair and Pantyhose Years, available on Amazon...)

left, me and Dad, early in my career

I was lucky because I got my first job because my dad was a trust banker and he gave the law firm a lot of business, so they hired me as a favor to him. He told the lawyers who hired me, "If she doesn't do a good job, FIRE her! I won't hold it against you."

Way to go with the vote of confidence, Dad. To me, privately, he said "Show up on time, work hard, be nice, don't argue, never say "that's not my job," and make me proud."

Dad believed strongly in nepotism but he always warned me and Brother to work our butts off or risk his wrath. We did.

Today, there are many schools turning out very qualified paralegals, no doubt. The education of a paralegal is SO much better than it was in my day. Still, nothing beats experience.

So I'm in social media groups for paralegals and every other day someone posts and says they just finished paralegal school and they can't find a job. I am very sympathetic.

First, a couple of facts.

Where you live matters.

Big cities like Atlanta, New York, Dallas, etc. have a huge pool of paralegals to choose from so they can be very picky. Answer ads for a receptionist, a project assistant, an admin -- whatever gets your foot in the door. No, you likely won't make great money but you will gain valuable experience. As you move up the career ladder the money will get better, but you have to start somewhere.

Smaller towns, like Knoxville, are a bit easier, but the real opportunity is in a much smaller place, not right next to a big metro area. There, the candidate pool is much smaller. Sole practitioners are far more likely to hire and train you.

If you're a receptionist at a small town firm for a year, you're way ahead of the candidate with no law firm experience, even if you don't like the firm and they don't promote you.

Second, despite the promises of your school, you will likely not make a six figure salary for many years, if ever. You may even need to take on a second job in the early days, to pay the bills.

Unfortunately, for most paralegals there is not really a career ladder within a firm. Usually only large firms have someone in charge of all the paralegals.

Third, network network, NETWORK.

Is your next door neighbor a lawyer? Chat with them when you see them. Let them know you want to break into the legal profession and you're in paralegal school, or you just graduated. Smile. Be nice. Even if they aren't hiring at their firm, they probably have dozens of lawyer friends and they might forward your resume and recommend you as a pleasant, obviously intelligent person who is willing to work hard. Like most humans, lawyers often look favorably on someone who comes recommended, regardless of experience.

Lawyers are everywhere. Maybe someone at your church is a lawyer. Maybe your daughter's soccer coach is a lawyer. etc.

The point is to think outside the box.

I know how stressful it is to job hunt. I've spent a lot of time looking for jobs over the years. I wrote a little book to help paralegals called Paralegal 911: Tips, Tricks and Timesavers for the Litigation Paralegal, and there's an entire chapter devoted to job hunting as a newbie. Check it out.

#findingthefirstlegaljob, #paralegaljobhunting, #tipsforjobhunters, #paralegaljobtips

The Gift of Faith

I was 23 years old and I thought I knew everything and most other people were idiots.

My attitude about religion and God and Faith could be summed up very simply: Prove It.

I spent my Freshman year of college at a tiny Baptist school in East Tennessee and while there I was accosted on a daily basis by some earnest student asking me if I was "saved" and wanting to "share their testimony" with me.

I was raised Episcopalian. Nobody in the Episcopal church ever asks about being "saved." I was irritated every time someone tried to get me to get baptized and be BORN AGAIN. My parents had warned me not to pick fights or be argumentative, and sternly advised me to be nice when confronted. I found it really difficult. It was a great relief to transfer to a big state university the next year.

By the time I finished college and paralegal school I had decided that I was an agnostic, and proud to belligerently tell Christians they were delusional.

My mother sat me down one day and said "I want you to promise me something."

"What?" I asked, startled. She had never said anything like that to me before.

"Promise you'll do something for me."

"OK, but what are you talking about?" I asked, puzzled.

"Do you promise?" she insisted.

"Sure, okay. What am I promising?"

"I want you to go to church. Any church in town, any denomination. I want you to participate in at least one activity at the church."

"Oh no, I have no interest in that nonsense," I snapped.

She looked horrified.

I knew I better talk fast. "Look, I don't want to be a hypocrite. I don't believe all that stuff."

"You promised."

I ended up going to St. John's Cathedral in Knoxville for the next 7 years, and I sang in the choir. Then I moved to Atlanta and started going to St. Luke's and singing in the choir.

I don't go to church any more, but I have a strong faith, and an unshakeable belief in God. Mom had set me on a journey that still goes on, to this day, many years later.

When I lost my dad to cancer in 1996 I had to drive from Atlanta to Augusta by myself, knowing my dad had passed away just an hour earlier. I couldn't stop crying in the car. By the time the 2 1/2 hours were up my eyes were red and swollen. I had felt my dad in the car with me, though, talking to me in my head, telling me to watch the road. Your mama needs you, he said.

My mother was a very wise person.

My parents' marriage lasted nearly 40 years, until Dad's death, but it wasn't easy. They fought a lot. I know she called on her own faith, forged in the Baptist church of her childhood, to get her through. Dad was a person of faith, too, but he didn't talk about it. He worked quietly and tirelessly behind the scenes of his church to help them raise and manage their money, because that was his area of expertise. 

My son is now a Buddhist, and he studies at a local monastery. He thinks there is a God but he doesn't find comfort in Christianity, like I do. He believes strongly in the Buddhist virtues -- Wisdom, kindness, patience, generosity, and compassion. I am fine with that. I can see how he returns from the monastery more calm and peaceful, and he stays sober. He was my Wild Child for years, but he has reformed in the past couple of years. I am proud of him.

My more conservative friends disagree with me, but I think we all go to the same place when we die. I think to be "saved" is possible only when we are mindful of how important it is to love each other, and we constantly strive to spread the message of Love and Kindness in the world. I tell my Atheist friends that if they believe in Love, they already believe in God. God IS Love and Love IS God.

I truly believe that. I consider it the truest Gospel out there, the one we are called upon to spread.

Now, are there people who cannot love? Sure. I think they are called sociopaths or psychopaths or maybe narcissists. I don't know anyone like that but I pity those people. They are truly in Hell, because Hell is the absence of Love.

Whether you agree with me or not doesn't matter. Love yourself, love your family, your friends, your pets. Think of Love as an active verb.

Go in peace..

 

Bob Hasty and Return to Marietta

Many years ago, my mother told me a fascinating story about a family event that I knew nothing about, and I vowed to one day write about it.

In 1923 my grandfather Bob Hasty was accused of being part of a KKK mob that beat up a young [white] woman. The charges were dropped but the scandal cost him his career as a pitcher for the Philadelphia Athletics.

When Mom told me the story I drove down to Marietta and did some research in the library, and I found the articles about what happened, on microfilm. I tried to get a copy of the actual police file and the court file but too much time had passed, more than 70 years. I wrote an article about what happened and it was published in Georgia Backroads Magazine in 2015. I wrote about that here.

A few years ago I wrote a novel, Return to Marietta, that was inspired by the true story. It's fiction, because I just couldn't gather enough factual information to write it as non-fiction.

For a limited time, you can get the Kindle version of the book for FREE, on Amazon. Look here. It's a great story, and the most personal of all my novels.

#novelsaboutbaseball, #baseballlovestories, #baseballnovelsbasedontruestories, #novelssetinthe1920s, #freekindlebooks, #bobhastybaseballcareer, #novelswithstrongfemalecharacters

below left, Papa and Connie Mack and another player

below right, the poster designed by my cousin's son, Michael Hasty

 

Atlanta Paralegal Memories

On this date in 1993 I started my very first paralegal job in Atlanta. I remember it only because it's the same date as my parents' wedding anniversary. I was smart, a hard worker, and completely unprepared.

I had been a paralegal for more than seven years, but I knew nothing about Georgia law. Atlanta is a very large metropolitan area with the largest airport in the world. The town is encircled by interstate 285, a/k/a the Indy 500. Knoxville is the largest town in East Tennessee but its population is roughly a tenth that of Atlanta. It would take probably a full day to walk all over downtown Atlanta. You can walk all over downtown Knoxville in less than an hour. Most Knoxville lawyers file cases in Knox County, which encompasses most all of the city and county. In Atlanta, you have Fulton County, DeKalb County, Cobb County, etc.

In Knoxville, in 1993, most lawyers were very civil Southern Gentlemen and Ladies, who all played by the same rules. In Atlanta, practicing law as a litigator was more like a bloodsport.

In Knoxville, I once watched an attorney call a judge's secretary and sweet talk her into postponing his trial because he was scheduled to be out of town on a fishing trip. In Atlanta, trial calendars are published in the local legal publication and lawyers have to either settle or be ready to go with a couple hours' notice.

My job as a paralegal was rapidly evolving. At my last job in Knoxville I had a nice office with a window but no computer. Not even a typewriter. In Atlanta I didn't have a window but for the first time I had a computer! Shortly after I started, we got color monitors. We used WordPerfect. I had taken a class in WordPerfect in Knoxville but it was still a learning situation for me. I got a lot of emails from my very demanding boss.

Everything was paper in those days. All court filings were done in person. In Knoxville, I could walk to all of the places downtown where filings were done, and I never had to get in my car. All the paralegals in the Atlanta firm took turns going to the local courthouses [DeKalb, Fulton, and sometimes Cobb] and filing pleadings, copying things out of court files, delivering letters to judges, etc. The Courthouse Run usually took several hours and you had to use your car. I kept sneakers under my desk and quarters in my car to feed parking meters.

Sometimes the Atlanta lawyers would wait until the last minute to file pleadings in court and then two paralegals had to "tag team" -- one driving and one jumping out of the car and running into the courthouse to file the pleadings right before the court's filing desk closed. Downtown Atlanta between 4 and 5 pm on a weekday is not for the faint of heart.

In Knoxville I had only known one female attorney, and she just did legal research and stayed in the background. In Atlanta, I worked for a female attorney who was so ferocious that local paralegals didn't want to work for her, which is why I was hired, from Tennessee.

I had no idea what I was getting into. My Atlanta boss was a really hard taskmaster but I did learn a lot. I never went on vacation or stayed home sick that she didn't call me at least once, and sometimes multiple times a day. I had pneumonia once and was out sick for a week, and she called me and said if I didn't come back to work my pay would be docked. I went back to work. She was really a character. She used to routinely make plaintiffs cry in deposition -- and the secretary, associate and I would make bets how long the poor deponent would last before breaking down in tears. Usually it was accomplished by page 10 in the transcript. I devoted many pages to that attorney in my recent memoir, Talking Back: Stories from the Big Hair and Pantyhose Years. Of course I didn't use her real name. She is now retired.

Of course, my gameplan in 1993 was to simply work until I got married and started having children. That didn't happen.

Now that I'm older I look back sometimes and marvel at how energetic and optimistic I was as a young woman. I didn't give up on finding a husband until I turned 40, but I was relieved to throw away my pantyhose and buy stretchy pants, and go to work in the legal department of a company, which is FAR less stressful than working in a firm.

As the saying goes, "You either win, or you learn."

#paralegallifelessons, #paralegallife, #lawinatlanta, #paralegalmemories

below left, me in 1989, in Knoxville; below right me about ten years later, in Atlanta

Princess Megatron

My son is a proud new parent of a 1 year old Siberian husky who speaks Spanish.

Yesterday, Michael took Megan to the dog park near us. Michael said they had a great time at the park and he met some lovely [human] ladies. Michael tells ladies her name is "Meg, short for Megatron," which is "way cooler," I'm informed, than the name her prior owner gave her, Megan. We tried to re-name her Zelda but she wouldn't respond to that.

 

When they got back from the dog park, Michael showed me the funny photo (below) and I asked him how he would caption it and Michael replied "She looks like she's thinking Get in loser, we're gonna be late!" He didn't let her drive, just FYI.

 

Her prior owner was Hispanic and she responds equally to "Sit!" and the Spanish for sit, and she wags her tail when he says GOOD GIRL! in Spanish. We've never had a bilingual dog before. She is VERY smart.

 

I was thinking last week that we were doing a rescue, taking in a poor animal whose owner moved and left her behind, but no, she has been well cared-for. She came with several leashes and collars, an elaborate food and watering setup, a large and luxurious crate, a dozen toys, a brush, heartworm pills, and three or four brand new cute outfits including a Christmas outfit!

 

I see a great deal of maturity in my son since he got this dog. She already adores him. Michael has had her less than a week and he has been getting up at 6:30 to run with her for over an hour. Then he comes home at lunch and takes her out, too, and again around 8 p.m. Our apartment is pet-friendly and there is a small enclosed dog park where she can be off leash.

She is definitely high energy and I am not walking her much yet but that will happen more as she behaves more. She starts a training class at Petco on Feb. 8th. That's good because she has eaten many kleenex, various things she finds on the ground outside, and one of Michael's hairnets he carelessly took off the other day and put on the bed. She ate it in 2 seconds flat. He has to wear hairnets because he cooks all day in his job as a cook for Southern Meal Prep.

She loves me too, but she is clearly a daddy's girl, and that's fine with me.

Dogs are pure love.

siberianhuskylove, #huskiesrock, #siberianhuskyprincess, #doggydiva

Fun in the Snow

I was born in Augusta, Georgia and I never saw snow until I was 8 years old. Snow in Augusta is super rare.

If you are not from Augusta you may know it only because it hosts the Master's Tournament every April. Golfers view it like a holy place. The weather is always very mild from about September to May, then the summers are usually sweltering.

I moved to Knoxville, Tennessee, and experienced snow for the first time within a few weeks of moving, in January 1971. [see photo below; click to make it bigger]

 My brother and I had a blast, throwing snowballs, sledding, and making snowmen. We had never experienced snow and it was glorious.

Sometime that winter, or perhaps it was the next winter, my parents took us up to Ober Mountain to try snow skiing. I remember standing at the top of the "bunny" slope, looking down, and refusing to try. None of us wanted to snow ski. We were water skiing people, but not snow skiing. One rarely breaks a leg or gets a concussion while water skiing...

 

However, playing in the snow was a lot of fun for me, for years.

I was reminded of all my snow fun yesterday. Here in Atlanta, it rarely snows. Maybe once every 5 years we will have a snowy day and there will be some accumulation. Yesterday we awoke to several inches of wet snow.

My son -- now 28 years old -- was born in Kazakhstan. It's a large country just to the South of Russia. Winters are long and severe. I went there in March of 2007 to adopt him and there was a LOT of snow everywhere. I had never seen so much snow. Photo below, a street in Petropavlovsk.

My son was 10 when I adopted him. He spent a lot of time in the snow, his first ten winters. He told me last night that he really missed snow. I smiled, remembering him in Kazakhstan when we first met. It seemed like a really foreign world to me, however, because now that I'm grown, I don't play any more.

I don't even like to walk outside when it snows. Too much chance of falling.

Michael had a lot of fun yesterday afternoon in the snow. We had not seen snow like that in years.

Left, the snow people he made.

He said last night he might like to live somewhere that gets snow a lot more often.

I cannot picture myself spending my final years in a place like that. I also really hate the idea of him living far away from me in my final years...

I gently suggested he save his money for a winter vacation somewhere that offers winter ski vacation packages, like Idaho or Montana.

He learned to snowboard a few years ago, and loved it. I am happy for him to do anything outdoors. He loves being outdoors.

I will happily wave at him from my chair, warm and cozy, and INSIDE.

The snow will be gone tomorrow, as usual.

Stay warm, everyone.

Fixing This Country

Every time a new president gets elected I become hopeful that the problems in our country will finally be solved. Call me an eternal optimist. Being a pessimist accomplishes nothing.

So far, I am really optimistic about the new administration.

Just for fun, though, I thought it would be fun to do a sort of Wish List for Donald and JD, just to throw in my two cents' worth. I think even Democrats will agree with most of these ideas:

 

CONGRESSIONAL REFORMS

TERM LIMITS

Nobody in Congress should be there for more than ten years. After that, bribery and corruption are inevitable.

ELIMINATE LOBBYING

Make lobbying a crime. We don't need it. It's corruption on an epic scale.

SINGLE ISSUE BILLS

No bill should have more than ONE thing in it. No more 1,500 page pork-stuffed idiocy.

 

MENTAL HEALTH REFORMS

Our mental health system is horribly broken. Many of the homeless people on our streets need to be put into places where they will get proper care -- not old-time mental hospitals. Those places were horrible. No, we need compassionate care. It's very difficult to hold someone against their will, but mentally ill people commit mass shootings, robberies, muggings, etc. We have to think long term. Far fewer homeless will mean much less crime. Money saved can go towards treatment.

Insurance companies also need to pony up for treatment of people who simply need counseling. Most companies now will pay for almost no mental health outpatient treatment.

 

VOTING REFORM

Voting should be strictly regulated at the Federal level. Everyone should show photo id. Everyone should have access to it, easily and cheaply. We should have one type of voting machine and cheating should be punishable by mandatory prison sentences.

 

GOVERNMENT WASTE

Appointing Elon and Vivek to curb wasteful spending is a start, but we need to make sure all agencies who get Federal funds are audited, every year.

The IRS, with its labyrinth of laws, needs to be overhauled. With a flat tax scaled appropriately, budgeting will be easier. We need to make it fair -- for instance, individuals making less than $30K a year should pay no tax, and anyone making over a million a year should pay a flat 25%, with no deductions or exceptions.

 

FOOD

No American should have to worry about toxins in their food, but we need to wake up to why we are so unhealthy. A good overview of the groundbreaking work of Dr. Casey Means can be found here, a great article in Business Insider. I have been reading her book Good Energy, and trying to apply its principles to my life. I feel MUCH better!

 

There are many other things that can be done to make our country better, but these are a great start. Praying at least some of these (or similar ideas) will come to pass in the next few years...

 

The Best Gifts for Children of All Ages

Not long before she died my mother told me a story about something I had totally forgotten about. I've been thinking about that recently.

When I was about 7 years old I kept seeing a commercial on TV for a doll dressed like a ballerina, and when you pushed down on the crown atop her head she spun around. I was enthralled with that doll and I begged my parents to get her for me. She was rather expensive, and we lived on just my father's salary as a young bank officer, so my parents budgeted carefully to make ends meet. My mother thought that doll was ridiculous and had little "play value." She was very smart and Dad had enough sense to follow her lead when it came to buying toys.

However, I made a big fuss, so on Christmas morning, I got the doll as part of my Santa Claus.

I was thrilled -- for about ten minutes. I loved her pretty ballerina outfit and she did indeed spin around when I pressed the crown on her head. However, I quickly grew tired of her.

I completely forgot about that doll, for years.

My mother never forgot wasting that money on something that only held my attention for a few minutes.

We lived in a house in Augusta that had extensive woods behind it. When I was between the ages of 5 and 8, my mother allowed me to go for walks in the woods, as long as my older brother went along to keep an eye on me. (When I was 8, we moved.) Mom had no idea that we had a secret play fort back in the woods, made with scraps of wood, and it provided us with hours of imaginative play. There was also a small creek, and we loved to splash around in it on hot days, and sometimes we fished in it. It was too shallow for swimming.

I remember our forays into those woods as some of the happiest times of my childhood.

I know parents today are often fearful of letting children roam around in woods but children learn to be independent and creative by exploring outside areas on their own. If my kids were not grown I would make an effort to get them outside in the woods. I would teach them to fish, too.

As a child, I loved to fish. I have happy memories of going fishing with my brother and my parents. Right, my paternal grandfather showing a fish he caught. He loved to fish and he taught his sons.

Daddy had me fishing at the age of five, and I loved the thrill of pulling in a fish. We just used cane poles and cork or plastic floats.

We always ate the fish we caught.

The rule was, if you caught the fish you had to clean it. I would behead the fish, gut it, and scrape off the scales, under Dad's supervision, of course. Then they would go into the skillet after Mom dipped them into the cornmeal batter. Dad always de-boned my fish for me.

Homecooked fried fish, pulled out of a pond or lake just a couple of hours earlier  -- sublimely delicious.

A few years ago I was in a client meeting with an older man, and the attorney I worked for was trying to get him ready for his deposition. The old man was nervous. The attorney kept badgering him. I felt sorry for the old man. We took a break and the lawyer left the room, clearly frustrated. When he came in a few minutes later the old man was eagerly showing me photos on his phone of all the fish he had caught recently. I correctly identified the bigmouth bass, crappie, and catfish. We talked about bait. The old man was smiling and relaxed.

When the old man had left, the lawyer looked at me like I was from Mars. "How did you know so much about fish?" he asked, his voice incredulous. He had grown up in New York City, in an affluent family.

"I learned how to fish when I was about five years old. It was a fun family activity, for us," I explained. "I could bait my own hook, catch fish, and clean them, before I was old enough to read. You should take your sons fishing."

"I've never been fishing in my life," he replied.

I couldn't say it because he was my boss but I wanted to say Well maybe if you had gone fishing as a boy you'd be a nicer person instead of a condescending, uptight jerk!

He had zero people skills, except with other rich people.

Left, me and my brother at the lake

I was always outdoors, as a kid. I didn't have any expensive toys but I had a lot of fun anyway.

My early efforts at "cooking outdoors" involved an old metal bucket, the hose, and an old spoon. I made  "soup" using acorns, pinecones, and mud. I spent hours playing that way.

One summer, after we moved to Tennessee, we spent a lot of time at our little cabin on the lake and my brother and I made a raft out of scrap wood and played Huck Finn on the Mississippi -- great fun. Hours of fun.

I bet that lawyer never made mud soup, or played Huck Finn, or made a play fort in the woods either. I bet he never caught and cleaned a bass.

Instead of expensive toys, get your kids outside.

Let them use their imaginations. Tell them to pretend they are pioneers, or explorers in the wilderness, or stranded on the moon.

Give them an old blanket and let them have a picnic in the back yard.

On rainy days, show them how to build a "fort" in the family room, from blankets and cushions.

Let them build bird houses, and put out suet. Teach them how to identify common birds.

My mother often turned off the TV and told us to "Get outside and play." We made up our own games. We knew every inch of the yard. We "camped" in the yard. We raked leaves and played in the big piles. We played in the sprinkler on hot days.

My dad never made the kind of money a lawyer makes. He didn't wear Brooks Brothers suits. However, he spent a lot of time teaching his children how to love the outdoors and how to use our imaginations, and I will always be grateful for that.