Random Thoughts

"Random thoughts" might be a bit of a strange title, but I so seldom have non-random thoughts, that I have to grab onto what I can as it passes through. I've found myself making more notes lately. Sometimes it is a book title or a praise song I particularly like. Sometimes it is an item for a to-do list. It seems many times lately, that it is musings that I jot down during a sermon or just a religious conversation. I want to try to re-catch some of those random thoughts later and jotting them down seems to be working. I'm not sure whether I need more memory help, want more memory help, or just need to have something to do with my hands. At any rate, here are some of the things that have passed from ear-to-ear and back just lately. In a recent sermon, Terry Matthews (I'm going to start using just his first name. You ought to know who I'm talking about by now.) spoke about those people who come into close contact with a Christian lifestyle. He classified them as Spiritual Spectators, Seekers, Jesus Followers, and Kingdom Builders. I won't go into how he defined each one. Suffice it to say that he made very good sense, at least to me. He made the point that it often takes a "crisis situation" to move us from one level to the other. In the sermon, he addressed positive, upward movement along the spectrum. My random thought at that time was yes, but won't a crisis situation sometimes cause us to move backward as well? I have had first-hand experience in a crisis situation causing a great shaking in my faith foundation. In that case, I think that I went from at least trying to be a Kingdom Builder to being somewhere between a Seeker and a Jesus Follower. My foundation did not crumble completely, but there was an anguished cry of, "Why, Lord?" On the cross, Christ uttered such a cry himself, so I found that I was able to cling to the knowledge that, as a man, Christ also questioned his faith. Several years ago, my friends Cory and Michelle Boyte lost their daughter, Lillie, to disease. As a parent and grandparent, I cannot imagine a greater pain. There must have been so very many times during Lillie's sickness and after her death that the cry of "Why, Lord?" was raised by them. I do not know what it must have done to their faith at the time, but I am so certain of where on the spectrum they are now. Anyone who has seen "Lillie's Friends" charitable organization grow over the past few years and especially those who have been blessed in participating with Cory and Michelle to raise money to battle the disease in Lillie's name, know without a doubt that they are Kingdom Building! I praise their effort. I pray God's blessings on them, their family, and on Lillie's Friends. I claim their friendship and love them more than I have words to tell them. They are such an example for one who stands on a shaky foundation as I do much of the time. I'm not sure where I heard this, perhaps in the same sermon by Terry, but it is a story about Jimmy Carter. You all remember Jimmy Carter. He was probably one of the most moral men to have ever been President of the United States. It is a shame that that attribute didn't transfer to being one of the most capable presidents as well. At any rate, as the story goes, someone asked Jimmy Carter, "If you were arrested and put on trial for being a Christian, would there be enough evidence to convict you?" This past president, a person who could have rested comfortably on his laurels, became very active in Habitat for Humanity. He is not only a major speaker and fund raiser for them, but he has labored until he had blisters on his own hands. Another Kingdom Builder without a doubt. I don't think I spend that much time talking to preachers, but it sure seems to me that I get some of my best thoughts from them and, I'm pretty sure, that in return, I give them plenty to use for future sermons. Seems like a fair trade to me. My friend, Christina Holder, isn't a preacher yet, but she does a pretty fine job when she has the pulpit. Several months ago, she told of a situation in Africa where a woman was placed into a pit and left there for a period as punishment for some crime. Christina's point was that sometimes, as Christians, it isn't enough to reach down into the pit and try to lift someone out. Sometimes, we are called to get down into the pit with them. After that sermon, I tended to think of myself as someone who would get down into the pit. Little did I know. A recurrence of depression hit me like a ton of bricks and, oops!, I found that I was the one in the pit. I was complaining to my friend, Paul Kennedy, a retired Baptist minister about God leaving me in the pit. He suggested that I should make it a point to catch a recent sermon by David Hughes, the pastor of First Baptist. David spoke of being in the pit and having God being there with you to hold on to you. He talked of the Psalms of King David and how David would swing from depression and the pits to love and praise of God. I really liked the sermon and dropped by to tell David that I did (I'm sure that he didn't need to hear the thanks as much as I needed to say them.) David suggested a couple of studies that he did personally that took him into the Psalms and all that they could teach him. I've ordered the books he suggested and will begin the study as soon as they come in. I guess that I've said all this to make the "random thought" point that we as Christians may find ourselves in the pit and needing help or we may find that we should get into the pit and provide the help. It seems to me that our task is to cling tightly to and love our God and our fellow man. I know, I know, it says that in the Bible much better than I ever can, I don't need to say it, only believe and act on it. Moving On. I walk down the street. There is a deep hole in the sidewalk. I fall in. Iam lost... I am helpless... It isn't my fault. It takes forever to find a way out. I walk down the same street. There is a deep hole in the sidewalk. I pretend I don't see it. I fall in again. I can't believe Iam in the same place once again, but it isn't my fault. It still takes a long time to get out. I walk down the same street. There is deep hole in the sidewalk. I see it is there. I still fall in... it's a habit. My eyes are open... I know where I am... It is my fault. I walk down the same street. There is a deep hole in the sidewalk. I walk around it. I walk down another street. Portia Nelson

Arizona!

Arizona! What a great state! What great people! Arizona was the home of Barry Goldwater, a great military strategist. He was a strong proponent of bombing Viet Nam out of existence. In the short run, this would probably have saved a long war and lots of young American soldier lives. In the long run, we would probably also have been called upon to bomb Cambodia, Laos, North Korea, China, and Russia, among others. Even that might have solved some of today's problems. He was probably just a man before his time. Arizona is the home of one of the world's biggest ditches. Where, more conveniently in this world, can Americans line up to pay good dollars (well, maybe not so good dollars in today's economy) to gaze in awe at what a trickle of water can do if you let it go long enough? I'm sure that the Grand Canyon has been responsible for lots of gutter repair and bathtub leak fixing when the visiting tourists got back home. Art! Arizona has art. Can you just picture the imagination of the first realtor to look at the dirt and rocks of Sedona and say to himself, or maybe herself in this case, "We'll never be able to sell this to normal people, but I'll just bet that we can work up a neat campaign to sell it to those crazy artists. After all, the rocks do look a little bit red in color in a certain kind of light. They'll probably like that." Exotic wildlife abounds in Arizona. You can get up in the morning and shake the scorpions out of your shoes. You can feed your little pet dog to the coyotes. Arizonans think so much of their native wildlife that they've even named one of their professional ball teams after a rattlesnake. What a tribute! With all that going for it, no wonder some 460,000 illegal Mexicans want to make it home and no wonder those pure-blooded Anglo Arizonans want to keep it to themselves. The Apache, Navajo, and other first-comers probably wanted to keep it to themselves too, but what's a poor Indian to do when the borders leak like sieves? In case you've been cloistered lately, you probably don't know that the state of Arizona has just passed a law allowing for all those suspicious looking Latinos to be questioned about their legal right to be in the state. Isn't it wonderful that legal residents of Hispanic origin can now be taxed to pay the police to question them about their origins and residential legality. How's that for a plan to keep the local dollars working in the local economy? One thing you can surely bet on is that this new law is going to help Arizona's exports. Even today, 460,000 illegal aliens are making their way rapidly toward New Mexico, Utah, Nevada, and California. Don't you just know that those states are going to have people waiting at the state line with welcoming, open arms? 460,000 more folks to clean homes, mow lawns, collect garbage, flip burgers, and pick crops... what's not to love about that? Just in case this new law doesn't do it for Arizona, I have some ideas that they might want to try. I can't take credit for the originality, I just thought that Arizona could expand a little bit. I like comedian Bill Engvall. As a part of his comedy routine, he tells anecdotes about questions so stupid that they end in the punch line, "Here's your sign." What a neat idea, have illegal aliens wear signs around their necks that say things like, "I'm illegal, but I'm happy to be here!" or "I'm with illegal (and an arrow pointing to the left or right.)" or "I may be illegal, but you're paying for my health care and education!" This idea could be the start of a whole new cottage industry. Arizona could even hire illegals to work in "illegal" factories. Bill didn't come up with this idea himself ,the Nazis did it even earlier. I'm reading, "The Diary of Anne Frank." In Denmark, the Nazis made all Jews wear the Star of David emblem cut from yellow cloth. It not only identified Jews, it made a convenient target for any hothead that wanted to take a shot at one (a problem, or perhaps a solution, that I understand Arizona has now.) In the United States, we often circumcise newborn baby boys and pierce the ears of newborn baby girls. The Nazis used tattooing to mark Jews sent to concentration camps. In Arizona, they could combine the two ideas. Any child born, from now on in Arizona, could have an "A" tattooed somewhere easy to spot by the police. Of course, you know that any child born in the United States, even if his or her parents are illegal aliens, are automatically given citizenship. The "A" could stand for "American." Just look how this could be expanded to help in other areas as well. If the child later becomes an alcoholic, another "A" is added. "AA" would then indicate to any bartender that the person was not to be served even if they were of legal drinking age. An Arizonan joins the American Automobile Association and gets to add even more "A"s. All you would have to do when you check into a motel is show the "AAA" tattoo and, presto, a discount! One other obvious use of the "A" tattoo; you finally reach the age of 55 and you get an "AARP" tattoo. Not only does this show people that you are probably older and wiser than they are, but you'll finally get the respect you deserve for just having made it that far through life. You see where I'm going with this? Arizona legislators could have a field-day passing laws for issuing new tattoos. The Arizona DOT could begin legislating "vanity" tattoos and pairing them with vanity licence plates. This could turn into a real gold mine of opportunities, one more place Arizona could put all those illegal aliens to work. Now I don't expect the state of Arizona to thank me for my ideas. It is enough thanks to know that I can pass safely through the state since I very obviously have fair skin and speak atrocious Spanish. Now for my disclaimer. I've written this all in fun; sorta dark comedy. If you happen to agree with all I've written above, please let me know. You might not be the person that I think you are and we might have to end our friendship. I respect the problems that, especially the border states, have with illegal immigration. My prayer is that the proposed solutions will never cause the human dignity of our fellow brothers and sisters in Christ to be abused and that, some day, we will find a way to share our bounty in peace.

Waving The White Flag

Okay, God, I give up! As I listened to Jeremy preach at Seeds last night, I conceded the battle to God. A part of Jeremy's message, that we are all Christ's sheep and that we should always be aware of those around us and welcoming as they approach our flock, made me actually stop and think. Just like Terry, Jeremy must sometimes believe that, just because I have a glazed, faraway look in my eyes, I've stopped listening and started traveling. Not always so. Sometimes I take the thought that is being presented and run even farther with it as it impacts my own life. I had a chance to spend a little bit of time with Anne Elmore, our associate pastor, this past week. Sometime during the conversation, I remember rather passionately telling her that I want to be a shepherd! I want Christ to assign me a little flock. Sheep who would know my voice and sheep that I would know intimately. I want Christ to trust me with the responsibility of helping in a much more direct way than what I've done so far in my life. I don't want to spend the rest of my life as a supernumerary. Last night, in the small Seeds group, as I listened to Jeremy, I found that I am ready to concede the definition of my roll to Christ. I'm ready to wave the white flag. If I am a disciple who can be depended upon to watch carefully for that one lost sheep; if I am a disciple who helps to guard the flock against enemies; if I am a disciple whose arms hold a lost sheep and returns it to the flock; if I am a disciple who is used as the Shepherd's sling or staff to ward off danger; how can I ignore being that disciple just because I think I want to be a shepherd instead? My prayerful goal now becomes one of letting go of my own desires and becoming so much more aware of those desires of Christ for me. I have accepted Him as my shepherd and I must now listen for His voice.

Something Is So Rotten That I Can Smell The Stench From Here!

I sit here tonight devastated by the news I received late this afternoon. My friend and former boss was fired by Census management today. I am so very sorry that those who are both inept and uninformed are given the power to crush a person. Based on many years of successful management; I fired no one, wrote up only one, and brought my projects in on time and budget, it is my opinion that the two persons who are mainly responsible for the act of the firing aren't qualified to carry my boss's briefcase. Given the same circumstances that she faced, neither of them is capable of either doing her job or inspiring their employees to work nearly as hard for them as her own team members did for her. I feel at least partly responsible. Possibly I had a chance to support and protect her. Until she had the time and training to learn the responsibilities of her new position, something that wasn't granted to her, I could have at least partly protected her back. When I finally gave in to depression and the pressure of the job and allowed management to run me out, there was no one left to support and protect her. You can bet your backside that her own management wasn't capable of doing it nor did they want to do it. That might have put their own head on the chopping block. There are observations that are easy to make that seem to be very telling concerning the management of the Winston-Salem Census office. First of all, I believe that my friend has had to report directly to two of the worst managers I've ever experienced. In spite of this she has managed to reach and exceed her assigned goals more often than not. One of the reasons for this is that her self pride had her putting in more work hours than anyone else in the office. Another reason for this is that she so obviously cared for her team members, that they would very often put in lots of unpaid overtime and extra effort to try to make her successful. I don't believe that either of the two persons responsible for firing her command that kind of respect and affection. Perhaps the most telling observation is that, only months ago, the Winston-Salem Census office opened with a local office manager and five assistant managers. One of the assistant managers is not a direct report to the local office manager and is, therefore, relatively safe from being fired. Of all the other managers, only one of the originals still remains. Draw your own conclusions about capabilities of an upper management that will ignore the cost of hiring, training, and then replacing a series of managers. It will be a long time before I can escape the stench of this latest incident. In the meantime, I intend to write to my senators and my congresswoman concerning my evaluation of how our tax dollars are being used and how their constituents, employees of the Winston-Salem Census Office, are being abused. I'll copy those letters to everyone in Census management that I am able to identify from the Secretary of the Department of Commerce to the Winston-Salem assistant managers. One last thing I need to say... "S", I am so very sorry that I wasn't there for you and I hope that you will be able to forgive me for letting you down.

CTO?

I had an opportunity Wednesday to attend a meeting of the Triad Job Search Network. This is a weekly meeting of those seeking to be re-employed, after losing past employment, mostly through no fault of their own. During the two hour meeting, there is peer encouragement, success stories, training, coaching, possible opportunity sharing, and moral support. The other attendees were actively looking for 40 hour a week jobs in their old career field or were considering a change to a new field. I was there more in the roll of a spectator and because my friend, Lori Carter, is one of the moderators. I don’t really want to work 40 hours a week. I’m more or less retired and just want a little something to bring in some “rainy day” money. I could hardly have picked a better day to be there. We had a guest speaker. In my career, I have run across my share of CEOs, COOs, CFOs, and more than my share of CIOs. Wednesday was the first time I ever met a CTO. Okay, you’re saying to yourself, “I know what a CEO, a COO, a CFO, and a CIO all are (if you don’t know, ask me later.) What in this world is a CTO?” Ah ha! That is the exact same question I asked myself when I read the name and title of our guest speaker as it appeared on the meeting room white board. Lisa Snowden’s business card lists her as a Senior Vice President and (pay attention, here it comes) Chief Talent Officer. Her job is to identify and hire the very best talent available for her company. She was at the meeting to share her experience with those hoping to soon be employed. I think she did a bang-up job of that. She shared her top 10 list and discussed it carefully. She used anecdotes to bring the lessons to life and answered questions until there were no more to answer. Since I’m not looking for a fulltime, career type job, I didn’t pay as much attention to what she said as I did other things about her. I knew I was going to like her as soon as she walked into the room. Her field of business is not known for being on the cutting edge of haute couture. On the other hand, since you are going to be talking to a group who is trying to put a good spin to being unemployed, why dress like you are attending a wake? Lisa came in wearing a pink pants suit. It may not have occurred to her when she put it on, but it looked like spring and like joy and like she was there to deliver good news. We sat in chairs arranged in a circle and she sat down in one too. I would have had to have had a podium to cling to and to hide my knocking knees, but she relaxed and treated us like people she might like to get to know. What I liked the very best though was her body language as she spoke. Her hands were in constant motion and so were her eyes. She leaned forward when she was really trying to drive a point home and relaxed in her seat when there was group conversation. I could have listened and talked to her all day and felt at the end that I hadn’t been interviewed so much as begun a friendship. As I walked her out to her car, I kidded her telling her that I thought I could have listened to her talk about rectal cancer in raccoons and found myself to be equally as interested. Her skills in presentation of herself and her subject were lessons for us all, whether or not we wanted a job. What company would have a CTO in their upper management? My first guess would have been one of the cutting-edge, techno industries. My last guess would have been a bank. Lisa is a member of the management team of Piedmont Federal Savings Bank. Growing up in Winston-Salem, I was familiar with Piedmont Federal Savings & Loan Association. I never considered the reputation of one bank more than another, but had I been asked, I would have described Piedmont Federal as a true example of a hometown financial institution; not one that just pretended to know their customers better, but actually worked at it and did. I don’t know whether or not Lisa is the first CTO at Piedmont, but I hope that she will be there a long time and won’t be the last one. I salute the management leadership that puts so much emphasis on its people that they are willing to invest in a Lisa Snowden. I salute Lisa Snowden that she is willing to invest in spending time trying to bring out the very best in job seekers. Just her presence sells Piedmont Federal to me. I happen to be in the market for a new banking partner. I’m not all that wild about the huge size and economic vulnerability of my current bank. I don’t know that I’ll end up being a customer of Piedmont Federal, but I do know that I’ll now stop by and hear what they have to say.

What It Is Is Depression

Well, I guess the best way to say it is just to say it... I suffer from depression. I have done so for many years now. I really didn't recognize it for what it was until about 10 years ago. I guess I figured that everyone experiences some down times, some incidences of extreme road rage, some bone deep weariness, and a huge dissatisfaction with the way God is running the world at the moment. My problem finally came to a head when Sara told me that I was either going to have to get some help or she was going to have to leave. I've never read anywhere that fear is a good technique for helping to control depression, but let me tell you, the fear of loosing my Sara was more than I could bare to think about. I can say absolutely that my friend, Lori Carter, saved my marriage, and it might not be too much of a stretch to say that she saved my life. Lori was serving as the Parish Nurse, on staff at First Baptist Church, at that time. I knew that she was someone I could talk to and, when I called her, she wasted no time in meeting with me. I didn't have a clue what was wrong. If Lori has filled me with platitudes, you know the ones, how you can set the tone of your own day, etc., I would have believed her and tried to work on having a more positive mental attitude. What she did was walk with me, listen to me, and tell me to do two things RIGHT NOW! She insisted that I see my medical doctor and that I see a counselor. I did both and began finally to recognize that I have a medical problem (for those of you who think that I don't have a brain in my head, I do, it just doesn't work right!) Medicines for depression take time to work, often as much as 4 to 6 weeks. During that time, Lori held on to me tightly. We would walk and talk and allow me to vent. Over the years since, I don't see her as often as I would like, but she has a permanent spot in my heart that time nor distance will ever be able to change. My depression is pretty much controllable with daily medication. There seems to have been lots of times over the past 10 years that my doctors and I have had to tweak dosage or to even change medicines. I've just begun either my 3rd or 4th change to a primary medicine. They seem to work pretty well for a time, but eventually they just don't do the needed job. Sometimes, I can recognize a need for change before it becomes imperative. Sometimes, I can't. Depression has cost me at least two jobs. In looking back, the pressure of the job had to have played a large part in my falling into the pit. I just didn't recognize the danger until it was upon me. Several years ago, I was on the road working as a computer systems contractor. I wasn't making it home many weekends and the hours of work were horrific. Without realizing that I was so close to falling, I suddenly found myself standing in the parking lot of the place I worked. I was in tears, on the phone to Sara, saying that I couldn't take care of myself and couldn't get home. I had to have her come get me. How wonderful to have someone who loves me so much that she will drop everything to rescue me. The last job was local, but the pressure of it was incredible as well. Ironically, I did recognize that I was in danger and had been to a psychiatrist just the day before I quit. I guess that I didn't recognize the signs quite enough in advance. I'm not working right now. I'm actively looking for something that will allow me to make a few dollars, keep me off the street and busy, and not put too much pressure on me. So, if you hear that I'm not working, "don't cry for me, Argentina." I'll find something. My depression will get better with this new medicine. I'll spend time with my whole family at the beach in a couple of months. My family and friends will hold me and pray for me while I'm in the pit. God will always love me. It may not sound like it sometime, but life is good and I really believe that.

Passion

I suspect that my pastor, Terry Matthews, is still a bit amazed when I get something out of his sermons. It's not that they aren't very good sermons. He probably just doesn't believe that I really do my best listening with my eyes closed and a thin stream of drool leaking from the corner of my mouth. I made lots of notes on Sunday's sermon and I intend to write about it soon, but this time I'm just going to pick on a single point. Terry used Rosa Parks as the example of a life defining moment. Most of you know that Rosa Parks is the black lady who refused to move to the back of the bus when commanded to do so by a Montgomery, Alabama public bus driver. I doubt that she woke up that morning thinking that this was the day she was going to change the world. She just very quietly said "no" to a social injustice. 2010 is the 50th anniversary of the Woolworth lunch counter sit-in. Blacks were allowed to order and eat at Woolworth, but they had to stand while the counter stools were reserved for whites. Four young men claimed space at the counter by taking reserved stools. They were allowed to stay, but they weren't served. From what I've read, these young men just wanted to change one small social injustice. I don't think that they set out to write history or to change the world. Just lately, I blogged about the Class of '63. We graduated high school as teens and grew to adulthood in perhaps one of the most dynamic decades in history, at least in U.S. history. We witnessed assassinations of political leaders, a foreign war that became more unpopular each day it continued, a domestic war on social injustice that also cost lives and burned cities, men walking on the moon, and a moment the world held its breath while the U.S. and Russia edged closer to nuclear war. We saw students bomb and burn campus buildings and we saw our own troops fire on and kill students on those campuses. We waited in very long lines to buy gas that wasn't even available and we began to see computers involve themselves more deeply into our lives. We said goodbye to Buddy Holly and hello to the Beatles. It was a very bi-polar decade with great highs and great lows. No matter how you view the period, you have to admit that there seemed to be a daily passion. It was hard to be a young person during those years and not be caught up in some cause. It has been several years now, but I once polled my Sunday school class about what current issues would cause them to "take to the streets" in protest. Hardly anyone could come up with a single item. I did get one person who mentioned saving the rain forests. The world is upside down. Today, in the same edition of the newspaper, you are able to read about drastic budget cuts expected in the spending on public education and about the looming chance of a professional football players strike because of disagreement about the way billions of dollars are being split between team owners and players. Not so long ago, teaching jobs and jobs in health occupations seemed to be forever safe. Not so now. Pay goes down, jobs go away, and the newspapers are full of words unaccompanied by action. Where is the social justice in that? Our prisons are filled to the bursting and yet we find no better way to handle societies problems. I cannot believe that persons with dark skin are innately more prone to crime and yet the demographics of our prison population tell a different story. During our past presidential election, I overheard someone say that, if Obama was elected, he would soon be assassinated. This wasn't said because of his politics, but because of his skin color! Race is still playing a terrible roll in social injustice. Sometimes, as a nation, we try to be the world's policemen and yet, we send troops to Iraq and Afghanistan while ignoring Darfur. Can you say "oil dependency"? We speak of opening up vast offshore areas to oil exploration and drilling. This is immediately followed by the explosion and sinking of a drilling platform accompanied by fears of a major incident of pollution. Are we as a society so demanding of having our own way that we are unable to give up some parts of our high standards of living so that others may live just a little bit better? I'm not a leader, but I'm a pretty good follower. I'm ready to take to the streets once again in protest. Let's get passionate! Isn't it time to stop world hunger? Isn't it time to reduce and balance our prison population? Isn't it time to pay for services we take for granted like being educated, protected, healthy, and clean and let athletes play for the fun of the sport? Isn't it time for the 11 o'clock hour on Sunday morning to stop being the most segregated hour of the week? Isn't it time to provide our children a better world and opportunity than to lament that the best of times are now behind us? Isn't it time to get passionate about injustice and inequality? I have the passion. I just need to find a leader worthy of following as we once again take to the streets. Could that be Christ and His church? Shouldn't it be Christ and His church?

Making Sense of the Census

I don't think that it is possible to make sense of the census. The census, by law, is taken every 10 years. I can't think of another project that depends heavily on the use of computers, outside of the Y2K projects, that has more time to plan and prepare for execution. Ten years and we still can't get it right! I don't have any insider knowledge to rely on, but what I understand is this... the taking of the census count was supposed to depend very heavily on hand-held computers. Each person in the field, and this is where the majority of employees work, would be able to enter data directly from their HHC (hand-held computer) into a major computer system somewhere via wireless transmission. The HHCs did not come close to performing as they should have. In my old office, for example, instead of 1000+ persons entering their own payroll information daily, it will fall on several office clerks (and not enough of them and those not well trained!) to manually enter 1000+ handwritten payroll sheets every single work day and this is just one of several ways that the HHCs failed. By the time the Census realized that there was a major problem, it was too late to fix it. This leads to the second thing that I have been told in conversation with management from the 2000 census... the software that is being used today is basically the same software that was used for the 2000 census, but it was quickly adapted to handle today's conditions. Heads should have rolled. Did you hear of a congressional hearing on census stupidity? Neither did I. Maybe there was one, but the waste of time, money, and manpower certainly didn't make the headlines. Now, I'm going to talk about my own office and there will be some names included. I figure that I can't be fired since I quit at lunchtime on Thursday. I might be sued, but I'm not sure that you can be sued for the truth and even if I can and loose, there isn't much anyone can take from me. The census is a firm believer in training done by verbatim reading. I understand that this aids in being certain that everyone trained gets the same instruction set. What isn't taken into consideration is that this doesn't allow for experience and expertise to be passed along and it doesn't allow for daily, hourly, and sometimes minutely changes that are made in the way things are processed and the policies and procedures to be followed. The policy is that the verbatim reading must be done by a management level person. This is a real farce. I've known some very good people managers who couldn't pronounce a three-syllable word correctly. I've also known some very sharp census clerks, who had learned their jobs by doing them and making them work, who weren't allowed to do any of the training. It is probably a ridiculous comparison, but would you want to have CPR performed on you by a doctor who had read about it or by a nurse who had actually done it many times? I once had the nerve to question this policy with my manager. I was scheduled to do verbatim training on a task on which I had no experience. We had a very experienced clerk available who could have done a much better job of the training. I asked my manager what she would do if I went out and got hit by a bus. Her response was that her family didn't play the "what if" game. As a manager of many years of experience, I learned that playing the "what if" game was an integral part of planning: if Ross is sick and I have 15 persons scheduled for training, what would we do? If the HHCs fail to perform as expected, what would we do? I used to call this "contingency planning" and made it a part of every project in which I was ever involved. In our office, we followed policy when it was expedient to do so, but we bent and even broke policies when we felt it was necessary. I have no trouble backing up this claim. I wonder, is the way that lower level census personnel are treated a symptom of poor management, the economic times, both, or some other reason? There are so many persons wanting a job and the census can't hire them all. There is a ready supply of job candidates. Don Shank is the area manager for the area that includes my old office. In a teleconference on the last day I worked, he said, and I'm paraphrasing here, that we should just get rid of any clerk that isn't doing the job and hire replacements until we get clerks that can do the work. There was no question of the legitimacy of their training or support. There was no thought given to the fact that management might be failing our clerks rather than our clerks failing to perform. There was no mention of where the time might be found to properly train them. I mentioned in an earlier blog, that I had done verbatim training for a class and was so pressed to get them out into the field that I wasn't allowed time to cover instructions on the daily activity of filling out a time sheet. Again, this example is a real reach, but can you imagine doing verbatim training to teach a squad of Marines how to shoot a rifle and then send them to war without any instructions on how to reload their weapons once they had used all of their original bullets? One of the favorite responses given when a procedure question is asked is to "look it up in the manual." Not once are we ever given sufficient time to digest the instructions found in the "manual" nor is consideration given to how much longer it might take a neophyte to find something in one of many manuals than it does to just give a straight answer to a straight question. If there is plenty of time, this might not be a bad training technique. Given the fact that there is never enough time, this approach fails miserably. Time after time, in our office, we have found that there is never enough time to do a task right, but time is always found to do it over. I hope that all of the rest of the many census offices in the US are managed differently than my old office. The technique of choice is in the Winston-Salem office is "fear and intimidation." The mantra is "what have you done for me lately" and blame is the name of the game. I absolutely adore the direct manager that I had when I left yesterday. She puts in way too many hours trying to do the the best job of which she is capable. She was just moved from manager of one area to the management of my area. She has been ill-trained for the change and yet is ahead in the major milestones just as she was in her last area. At the same time, she constantly fears for her job. I have seen her publicly berated in front of the whole office staff and held and comforted her as she tried to hide her tears back in a corner of the office. I suspect that, if her husband knew what really goes on, he would be ready to clean up the office with some of the managers. I left in order to protect what little sanity I had remaining, but I feel so very badly that I put more pressure on her. I hope that she understands and forgives me. I don't know the area manager, Don Shank, as a person or a manager. I haven't been around him enough to draw any real conclusions. This much I do know; if he is as important as our office management make him out to be, he must sit at the left hand of God. I can't count the number of times that I've heard, "Don Shank wants this now!" I can't count the number of times that I've had to interrupt something that desperately needed done to hire persons or to get them paid because "Don Shank needs this 10 minutes ago!" Maybe Don Shank is a convenient scapegoat for my old management. I hope so. I have trouble believing that someone could be such a poor manager otherwise. While I'm naming some names, and I intend to name others later, let me mention three: Rea, Arizona, and Tony are not actually assigned to the Winston-Salem office although they all spend considerable time here. I admire each one of them for their knowledge and their desire to get the job done. I have disagreed with their approaches sometimes, but I cannot ever fault them for their work ethic. I claim the friendship of all three and hope that they feel the same. It would really hurt to know that they thought I wasn't worthy of their friendship. As the clock approaches 5 p.m. each day, we hear the "what have you done for me lately" cry. A clerk can knock out a ton of payroll forms or call, interview, and hire a dozen census takers, or plan and schedule 20 training sessions, or process several dozen personnel folders, or prepare supplies for the training sessions and the crews going out into the field, and at 4:45 p.m., you can bet that one of the upper management is going to ask why some other task hasn't been completed yet (and probably drop Don Shank's name as the requester of the uncompleted task.) This one thing turned out to be the straw that broke this camel's back. At 8 a.m. on Thursday, I joined my manager, and the manager of the Winston-Salem office in a teleconference with Don Shank. I was a second thought, pulled into the conference once it had already begun. I think that Don wanted to impress on me just how tenuous my job as a supervisor in the Admin Dept might be. He pointed out that some changes could be made and probably would be made. That didn't really bother me much since I work hard and don't feel like I owe the government a penny back on my paltry paycheck. Later that morning, I was a part of firing an employee. He really wasn't performing up to standard, but it is never fun to be a part of giving someone the axe. At what should have been my lunchtime, I was pulled into another meeting with my manager, the Winston-Salem office manager, and one of the regional technicians assigned to our office. It was pointed out to me that I had failed to accomplish an assigned task. I made the point that everything in our office was treated as a #1 priority. I said that I was willing to get the task done that afternoon, but I really didn't want to hear the "what have you done for me lately" questions at 5 p.m. The office manager stated that she would reserve the right to ask that question no matter what. As long as she was manager, she said, she would ask anything at 5 p.m. that she felt like needed asking. That was the straw! I calmly stood up, laid my ID badge in the middle of the table, and walked out. I will work as hard as I possibly can, but I will not be crucified for not completing something in a perceived timely manner when every single task is considered a #1 priority. The last thing (that I'll mention, not that bothers me) is the "blame game." For many years of management, my technique, when things went wrong, was three-fold. First, I wanted to fix the problem regardless of the cause. The second step was to find a way to prevent the problem from recurring, whether by a software change, a procedure change, a retraining, or whatever. The third step, and it was used only when the same problem was recurring, was to identify the individual responsible and offer retraining. Only on very, very rare occasions did I find it necessary to take any other action. People want to do good. They don't want to make errors and they want to establish themselves as dependable. If you believe that about your people, than the fault has to be in the tools that they are provided by you or the training that they receive from you. If you want to place blame, blame yourself as a manager. That certainly isn't the case in our local census office. In my entire career, I never fired anyone, I wrote up only one person, and was never written up myself. At our local census office, the joke is that, if you haven't been written up, you just aren't doing anything. Before I mention a few more names, let me say that the way we were all picked for our jobs was to do well on the census test (and sometimes get veteran's preference points), show up on a list of candidates by test score, and accept the offer. When I first came to the Winston-Salem office late in 2009, I don't think that I could have picked or worked with better people if I had personally interviewed each one of them. Robert, Lori, and I came almost all at the same time. Lori and I were soon promoted and the only reason that Robert wasn't was that he just didn't want the grief that would go with the job. He was as good or better than any of us. He left a couple of weeks ago because he had other things he wanted to do. Scott, Justin, and David came a bit later and fit right in. Scott, too, has left us for greener pastures. David is running our supply room and I hate to think of the mess we would be in without him. Justin has just been promoted and will be missed in his old job. Frank is a manager and we have become friends. Sara and I have been out to dinner with his family and I hope that we continue to build on this foundation. Suzanne works so very hard, cares so very much, and is my lifetime friend. She has the promise of a heartfelt hug anytime I see her. I hope to be able to build on a friendship with Suzanne and her husband. There are so many others in the office and in the field that I've gotten to know. With the attitude the office shows toward them, the office just doesn't deserve them. I'm so very glad to know them and would like to see them all often in the future. There are many I've not named, but I hope that they will forgive me and that we will rejoice whenever we see or hear of each other in the future. Who knows, maybe 2020 will find us all fighting the same battles all over.

The Class of '63

Sara is actually a member of the Class of '65. I'm a member of the Class of '63. Sara's brother found her copy of the '63 yearbook from her high school and got it to her. We enjoyed looking through it so much that I pulled out my own '63 annual and paged through it remembering things that took place almost 50 years ago. I worry that the youth of today are going to miss out on something big by not having yearbooks. I read that more and more schools are not having them made. The current crop of young people are members of the computer age. They don't know a time when there were no computers on each person's desk. They don't understand being able to revisit memories 50 years removed, so they aren't worried about whether or not annuals are available. While it is true that pictures and writings can be saved on a computer, how can we possibly tell what they will look like in 50 years? Is there going to be computer systems available that will still show pictures of the Class of '10? Will there be some way that the remembrances and musings of our best friends from high school are still available to recall? I'm afraid that this won't be the case. As I looked through the two annuals, I thought about how much we seem to have lost already. Sara's yearbook showed a picture of the Future Homemakers Club and another of the Future Farmers Club and yet another of the Future Teachers Club. Since I attended a much more "sophisticated" city high school, we didn't have those particular clubs. We did have have pictures of the Home Economics classes and the Shop classes. In my school, girls were expected to take Home Ec and boys took Shop. I stunk at Shop and would probably have done better taking Home Ec. I do remember making a lamp that was supposed to resemble an old pump. When the handle was pumped, the light switched off and on. It sure didn't look like much, but at least the light worked. In Home Ec, the girls learned to cook and sew. The boys always volunteered to try out the cooking results, but we weren't about to model the aprons that were sewn. Clothes sure seem to have changed. The senior pictures in both annuals had the boys in shirts and ties and the girls in nice dresses with necklaces. I guess that the pictures in the '10 yearbook with be in color so that the low-slung pants of the boys will allow the color of their underwear to show. Many of the students in the '63 yearbooks wore letter sweaters and jackets. This included both boys and girls. I understand that in the '10 class, it is a constant fight to keep students from wearing gang colors. My annual had a whole page dedicated to pictures of Hall Monitors. Hall Monitors, of course, were students assigned to sit in the halls and check passes of students moving about during class periods. Now the hall monitors wear law enforcement uniforms and go armed. It is enough to make an old person want to cry. I walked in fear of my parents, my football coach, and the assistant principal. If I got into trouble in class, something that seemed to happen a lot, the assistant principal would have me doing something we called "detention hall". Once I was released from detention hall, I would rush to football practice only to find that the coach already knew why I was late and that he planned to have me run laps, after practice, until I, hopefully, had learned my lesson. Besides the assistant principal and the coach, I was doubly cursed. I had twin sisters who attended the same school. It was their greatest joy to race me home and report to my mother and father the latest kind of trouble I had been in. Detention hall, extra laps, and then grounding for a couple of weeks. You would think that I would have learned sooner or later, but that doesn't seem to have been the case. Just read the comments that my fellow students and friends made in my annual! In just 3 more short years, the Class of '63 will be able to hold its 50th class reunion. Since my school was pretty small, we will probably be able to hold it in a telephone booth (oh yes, for those of you who aren't old enough to remember '63, a phone booth is quite small, if you can even find one now.) I spent 3 years in high school and, at the most, knew my fellow students for only 17 or 18 years (that's if we grew up in the same neighborhoods.) Just the same, I remember them, love them, and hope to be able to see them at the 50th reunion. I just don't think that the Class of '10 will have the same warm, fuzzy feelings about each other 50 years from now. There are just some things that the computer can't replace.

Mowin' Lawns and Old Dogs Redux

This afternoon, I mowed the lawn for the first time this year. I seem to be able to let my mind just wander better when I'm mowing than any other time. I really, really miss Abby. Abby was my big, old black Lab. She died about 1 1/2 years ago. I loved her more than I have ever loved anything on earth that wasn't human (and loved her a lot more than most humans that I know.) Outside of work and church, Abby went almost everywhere with me. She would have done those two things two had I only invited her. When I mowed the lawn, she would plod along behind me, patiently getting out of the way when I made turns, until the heat of the day got to her. At that point, she would go lay in the shade and watch every step I took. If I disappeared around a corner, you could bet that she would be up and following, just to be sure I didn't get away from her. She was my dog and I was her human. She loved me unconditionally. I love Sara and she loves me, but there are conditions. We expect each other to be faithful to our wedding vows. Abby and I didn't need vows. I could no more have hit her or starved her than I could take a couple of running steps and bound into the sky flying. Abby protected me. She never barked unless someone she didn't know tried to come into the house. Even then, it wasn't so much a bark as a very deep growl and a charge at the invader. I've seen people back out of the house twice as fast as they came in frontwards. Whenever we drove somewhere, she either carefully watched out for other traffic or slept with that big head on my lap, trusting me to take care of her. She feared only thunder. If a thunder storm came, it was my job to open the door to the bedroom closet, where she would stay until the storm passed. If you really love dogs, you know you have to be able to accept some things about them. Dogs smell like dogs. That shouldn't surprise anyone. Horses smell like horses and, I suspect, that elephants smell like elephants. Sure your house is going to smell like a dog lives there. I much more like the idea of visiting a house that smells like a dog than visiting one where the lady of the house wears a gallon of some awful perfume each day or the man of the house wants to smell like he just bathed in musk. Dogs poop and pee. So do I, but I was taught at an early age to use the bathroom. I believe that, had I been able to teach Abby to use the toilet, she would have done it just to please me. Sure dogs can be taught to use the yard and that brings on some other problems, but farm kids learn early on to watch their step. Maybe that's an art that city folks ought to practice as well. To tell you the truth, I believe that I would rather have to wash dog poop off of my sneakers than to try to get someone's big, old wad of gum unstuck from the bottom of the same shoes. Dogs shed. Abby was black and she seemed to be shedding all the time. Our carpet always had a black sorta tint to it. Well, Sara and I shed too. The difference is that we know how to clean up behind ourselves. When Abby died, Sara wanted to know why I even wanted another dog. There are lots of reasons I could have used, but what I told her was that, when she started meeting me at the back door, dressed in the suit she was born in, jumping up and down for joy at seeing me, I might not want a dog so badly. We went out and found Pepper. Pepper is my dog now and I'm mostly hers. Pepper is a miniature poodle. Poodles don't shed, which takes care of one of Sara's biggest complaints about Abby. Another truism: big dog, big poop; little dog, little poop. We don't have to be nearly as careful where we walk when we go out into the back yard. We've had Pepper for several months now and we are still getting used to each other. Pepper likes to be with me. When I take a nap, she will be right there at the foot of the bed and almost nothing will make her move. On the other hand, when Sara and I are sitting in the den reading or watching TV, Pepper will only sit with Sara. Maybe Sara's lap is softer. Pepper barks. She doesn't bark a whole lot, but neighborhood dogs barking will set her off. Also, when anyone comes to the door (including me!) she runs down the hallway away from them and barks. None of that jumping for joy at the back door for her - probably beneath her dignity. I'm trying to teach her to play rough with me, but somehow it isn't the same wrestling with a 12 pound poodle as it was wrestling with a 100 pound lab. I'm hoping to teach her, this summer, to want to ride with me everywhere and to want to go anytime the truck door opens. For now, I'm just happy having her here. Will Rogers once said, "If dogs don't go to heaven, then when I die, I want to go where they do!" I've sent a few dogs that I've loved dearly on ahead of me. I just hope that they are all there waiting and jumping up and down with joy when I finally make it home.