Holiday Hurry.

'Tis the Season for turkeys. I’m not talking about the steaming basted birds served with dressing and sweet potatoes. I’m talking about the ones you find in the car that just cut you off in the turn lane, or the ones you encounter blocking the aisles in the grocery store, and in long lines at banks and post offices.

It never ceases to amaze me how the season devoted to gratitude and good will toward men instead brings out the baser side of humanity.

Just today, in an hour’s worth of errands, I witnessed two near accidents--caused by people in a hurry. One man just had to be first in line when the road narrowed to one lane and zipped around the car he was tailing, passing on the left and then cutting back in front of the car he passed. The accident almost happened when he nearly collided with a car turning into the lane from the other side.

The second near accident happened when a woman made a turn into traffic, causing another driver to slam on their brakes because there had not been enough room for the first woman to enter the lane in the first place. Undaunted, the first woman then pulled into the next lane, again causing the sudden breaking of, in fact, three cars, so that she could make a left-hand turn into the grocery store. Halfway through the turn, she finally signaled.

What kills me about such moves is these people who are in such a hurry surely can’t be saving themselves any amount of time that would make it worth the accident if it were to happen. Or even a ticket. And that’s just accounting for the time involved, not the money it could cost, or the potential injury and pain. The adage “haste makes waste” springs to mind.

I am not immune to the pitfalls of holiday rush syndrome, but I find that when I rush, I get distracted, I forget things and I’m more apt to make mistakes. I also find myself yelling and cursing at the other turkeys on the road, or in my way, and by the time I get to where I’m going, my mood is foul.

If I encounter a bothersome person in a store, or at the post office, I can turn a bit nasty and rude myself. This does not make me happy. When I return to a calmer “place,” I usually regret my behavior. I feel bad about myself, and I’ve vented on a stranger who’s probably just as frustrated as I am, maybe more. And this is the time of year we are supposed to spread cheer!

To combat the "syndrome," I have instated a “house rule.” When I am in a hurry, I actually make myself slow down. It’s the old count to ten, take a deep breath thing.

And so, my wish for the holiday season is that people will join me in deliberately fighting the urge to rush. No shopping, no party, no anything is worth the stress and grief and anxiety.

Remember the reason for the season, and do unto others as you would have done unto you. Give others the benefit of the doubt. Let them into the stream of traffic if it’s busy, or you can see they’re having trouble. Smile and hold the door for the folks behind you--even if it means they’ll end up in front of you in a line somewhere. Stop and help the person struggling through the post office door with a load of boxes.
Above all, keep your head as you drive. Use your signals, and check your road rage.

Courtesy can be its own reward. Use the slower pace to take in the sights and sounds of the holidays. Take a moment to observe the people around you, to connect with them, and truly share in the reason for the season--promotion of holiday cheer and good will toward others. And who knows, the life you save may be your own!

By the people, and for the people.

In his acceptance speech, Barack Obama called his election a victory for the people. I think he hit the nail on the head.

As television broadcasts began to show people lining up across the country, waiting for their chance to vote, I couldn’t help feeling exhilarated--not for the impending change of political party, but for the fact that people were getting off their apathies and claiming their power. This government is of the people, after all, and they finally stepped up to the plate and carried out their responsibility.

As throngs filed into Grant Park in support of Obama, something I can only call pride welled up inside me. It was a truly moving sight seeing so many people come together--and peacefully. It was an historic moment, and these people knew it.

I was impressed by John McCain's concession speech too. I felt I was seeing the real McCain for the first time in the presidential campaign. He was humble. He was honest. It was as if even he was moved by the change that had come over America--a change he too wants, but couldn't bring about. As I watched him deliver his speech, I couldn’t help wonder what might have happened if he had just been himself.

Pundits opined that McCain’s age was his undoing. I suppose it was, but not in the way they mean. I think 72 is young enough to govern--my grandfather at 95 could have done the job. But the country changed the game on McCain--and his old guard methods couldn’t cut the muster. People have tired of pithy sound bites, and the smear tactics that kept him from his dream eight years ago worked against him in the new game. He was left baffled and unable to adapt.

McCain told his supporters that his loss was not their failure, but his. I do not agree with him. I think, in the final analysis, the failure was George Bush’s. A sign held up in Times Square said as much: BUSH YOU'RE FIRED.

Personally, I do not agree with all of Barack Obama’s ideas, but I am impressed at the thoroughness of his thought, by his sincerity, and by his overall aplomb. I am tired of living under fear. If he can change that, he has my support. Oprah wore a tee shirt reading “HOPE WON.” I can’t say it any better myself.

It’s the Berries!

It never ceases to amaze me how inspiring it can be to get out of one’s own little world--and how little it takes to do so. The lesson was driven home once again as I attended Cranberry Harvest Days at DeGrandchamp Farms, in South Haven.

I couldn’t have asked for a more beautiful day. It was sunny and clear, not too warm, not too cold. The sky was the color that gives meaning to the term “blue sky”--and it was dotted with white fluffy clouds.

I had a nice easy drive north from Berrien County. Interstate 96 is a smooth highway, and scenic (Red Arrow Highway isn’t so smooth, but it too is scenic, and I took it all the way through St. Joseph to Hagar Shores Road before cutting over to the freeway.). There wasn’t a ton of traffic, so the trip was not stressful. In fact, it was relaxing. A good start.

Once I arrived at the farm. I fell right in line and started to learn about the growing, harvesting, and processing of the berries. Fascinating! And all those red berries!

I admire the way the family--four siblings--has divided the labor, working together, yet separately, with a common purpose, but not in each other's way.

I especially enjoyed going out to the cranberry beds to watch the harvest. In talking to the DeGrandchamps, I was reminded of histories I already knew--about the cranberries harvested in Grand Mere, and of the cranberries that grow wild still in Mud Lake Bog, alongside their cousins, wild blueberries.

I was reminded, again, how special this area is--geologically, and geographically, and climactically.

I learned that Wisconsin was able to surpass Massachusetts in cranberry production for one reason, and one reason only: it had not developed its farmland. It is a lesson I hope this region learns--and before it’s too late, before it sacrifices its geologic, geographic, and climactic uniqueness for real estate's promises.

DeGrandchamp Farms is proving there are other ways to be profitable. They have a thriving business that fills a necessary role in providing food, and they are creating a destination, and an event, where people can enjoy learning about something new, where they can get some fresh air, and let go their daily grind.

I, of course, also took the opportunity to stock up on (locally produced!) cranberries--dried to put in my oatmeal and cookies, and fresh for making sauce. I also discovered chocolate covered cranberries, sure to become a new habit.

All in all, the experience was invigorating. It’s not too late for folks to visit the store (where they have blueberry stuffs too), but I highly recommend Harvest Days--the first Saturday in October--and have already put it on my 2009 calendar.

Bicycling Safely.

People are hitting the streets in droves--on bicycles!

And bikes aren’t only for recreation anymore. With rising gasoline prices, more and more people are turning to bicycles as an alternative form of transportation. More and more cities and towns are creating recreational bike paths, and many have incorporated bike lanes into their infrastructures.

With this increased bike traffic, there seems to be some confusion over rules and safe riding habits. I’ve witnessed some near misses lately, many of them involving cars--situations that rarely affect bicyclists positively. I thought a refresher might be useful.

First and foremost, bicycles are wheeled vehicles. They are to travel with traffic, not against it as pedestrians do. The same rules that govern other wheeled vehicles apply to bikes. Cyclists are to stop at stop signs and traffic lights, they are to yield to pedestrians, and they are to signal, using their left hands, when slowing down, stopping, or changing direction.

Bicycles belong in the road, in the right lane. Many places restrict bicycle use of sidewalks. Some ban it altogether, others regulate by bicycle size (usually allowing for smaller children to ride on the sidewalk).

Groups of cyclists may ride two-abreast, when there is room, but should ride single-file when traffic is thick, and never more than two-abreast.

Helmets, contrary to popular belief, are not required by law, though are undoubtedly a good idea.

Safety is another matter, the aim of laws, but not always achieved by laws, a point made by the website BicycleSafe.com. It offers some very specific tips to combat specific scenarios, and warrants a visit. It also offers some basic common sense suggestions for safe bicycle riding.

Visibility is paramount to staying safe on a bicycle. BicycleSafe.com recommends wearing bright clothing and using a headlight--even in the daytime. Night riders need taillights too and lots of reflectors, including reflective clothing. (Some of these things are, in fact, law for nighttime riding.)

BicycleSafe also suggests people have mirrors, horns or bells, and that they avoid other vehicles’ blind spots.

Bicycling is a good thing--good for the environment, good for the pocketbook, and good for the waistline--but only if it’s done safely! I’m hoping these tips and reminders help bring that about.

Locavore-ing.

I learned last week that I am a “locavore,” a person who buys and eats food grown, or produced, as close to home as possible. While I have been doing this for some time, I did not know my practice had a name--or that there were others!

The first conscious choice I made in buying locally was with wine. I reasoned that a ten dollar bottle of Michigan wine was more truly a ten dollar bottle of wine, while a ten dollar bottle of wine from California was a ten dollar bottle of wine--less shipping. And I saved the pollution caused by the shipping. I suppose I may be costing someone their job, but hopefully, if I drink enough local wine, I will create those jobs, well, locally.

As I discovered the local farms and farmers’ markets, I became more and more a “locavore,” not only buying local fruits and vegetables instead of transported ones, but learning the types of things grown locally, and their seasons, so I could be ready for them. I learned what I could freeze and stocked as many and as much as I could.

Buying locally grown produce not only has the same benefits as with the wine, but I can “quiz” the growers about how the food is grown. I can buy riper, fresher, better quality produce. I can support better growing practices, and can, in general, support the agricultural heritage of the region.

I am lucky to have so much quality local fare at hand. In addition to the farm fresh produce, there is the international-award-winning Bit of Swiss bakery, in Stevensville, Old Europe Cheese, out of Benton Harbor, that produces cheese under the Reny Picot label, and family-owned Drier’s Meat Market, in Three Oaks, that offers smoked meats and other delicacies, and have for over 100 years!. There are the wineries, of course, and there are even locally made beers. Why go anywhere else?!

As the dangers of industrial farming increasingly come to light, local food sources become more important, and as the economy stalls, supporting local economies becomes more important too--as does saving the fuel required to ship staples from abroad.

I will admit, I don’t buy all my food locally. I still love avocados and artichokes and fresh figs. I haven’t found anyone who grows those here, but if I do, and the quality is there, I will surely buy from them.

Now all this writing has me waiting on pins and needles for the farm markets to open and for the growing season to begin. Raspberries and apricots are right around the corner, and I can hardly wait! Yup, I’m a bona fide locavore--and I’m happy to know I’m not alone.

Oh, Maya! What’s Become of the Language?

The other night the evening news ran a story about a guy who’s traveling the country correcting grammatical errors in signs he sees--an apostrophe here, one deleted there, spelling mistakes, the like. He’s found a lot of them. I particularly liked the sign promoting stationery, for people to write on, where the company itself had spelled it “stationary,” something that stands still. I thought it was a cool way to travel. I wonder if he gets paid.

As someone schooled in English, I often wince at its “slaughter.” Newscasters particularly gall me. They have almost completely dropped the “ly” from adverbs, words that modify, or describe verbs (words of action, for those who’ve been away from the blackboard a while!)--drive safe, when it should be drive safely, eat healthy when it should be eat healthily. Healthy and safe modify nouns--a healthy snack, a healthy boy, a safe drive, a safe trip to grandmother’s house. I’m irked because they are supposed to know better, being also schooled in English. And, I am irked because I suspect the reason they butcher the language (this is only one example) is to make it fit their sound-bite time constraints.

Another side of me thinks there can be too much nit-picking. After all, I still understand the message. When they say, “Drive safe,” they mean, “Drive safely,” or “Have a safe drive.” And isn’t that ultimately the aim of language? To convey a message?

I also know that there is a difference between the written word and the spoken word. And I like the variations. They keep language, and communication, vibrant and dynamic and fun. Still, there are times and places, and, as the old saying goes, you must know the rules to break them. Knowing the rules, and purposefully breaking them gives them even more meaning, the original conventional meaning and the new one created by the juxtaposition between the accepted and the “broken” usage. But if the original rule is not known, much of the meaning and nuance of language is lost.

In watching HBO’s series, “John Adams,” this winter, I was struck by how the language has changed since the birth of the United States. It takes some close listening to understand all they are saying! They speak in eloquent, drawn out sentences that convey well-crafted and complete, no-room-left-for-doubt, thoughts. They have true discussions. Nowadays, people seem more likely to string together a series of phrases, a sort of stream-of-consciousness thing that conjures up images--you get the gist, but it’s lacking in finely tuned articulation. Such is the evolution of language.

Getting back to those typos and errors: PBS’ “Nova” recently examined the hieroglyphs of the ancient Mayan civilization. It was a difficult code to crack because the language had so many systematic variations. There would be no room for a typo--not only because they are carved in stone, but because it would drastically change the meaning of the symbol. I wonder what linguists 3000 years from now will think of our “code”--and if they'll be able to crack it!

Downer Cows and Hamburger.

I heard about it in passing, read about it on my computer. I tried my best not to actually see it, but in the end, I couldn’t avoid the videotape showing cows being shoved to their slaughter with forklifts and cattle prods. I winced. I like cows. I’ve worked with cows. In college, I took a job at a dairy. Cows remind me of dogs really, playful, friendly, and kind of dumb (as in, happy-go-lucky, not stupid, definitely not stupid).

I don’t like people mistreating cows, but if that’s all it was, I could wince and let it go. After all, people mistreat people (which may be part of why I wince). But, this incident involves the food chain. People are being fed hamburgers made from cows too sick to stand up. It is against the law, and it is not a healthy thing to do.

Fortunately, government officials have recalled the meat, most of which, they say, has, unfortunately, probably already been consumed. They also assure us we probably won’t get sick. That’s a relief--except that they cannot know that. The fact that nobody is puking their guts out simply means no one has been infected (badly enough) with E. Coli. This is good. E. Coli can be deadly, especially to children.

But E Coli. is only one concern. Mad cow disease, a far more serious concern, can take many years to show itself, and one of its initial symptoms is loss of balance. This is why cows that cannot stand up are to be kept from the food chain.

Of course the employees responsible for the using the sick cattle have been fired, though no action was taken against the company itself. But we would be fooling ourselves to think this an isolated case. I suspect this is very much standard practice. And that should have consumers worried.

Americans must stop thinking with their pocketbooks--or more accurately, they should start thinking with their whole pocket book. Factoring in the price of illness--of insurance, of medical care, of lost wages, not even considering quality of life-- it quickly becomes more cost effective to spend a bit more for better quality food, for stricter standards, for better cared for cows.

A friend of mine would say it's all about who makes the money. As it stands, the insurance, health care, and meat industries are making the lion’s share. I like to think my glasses are still tinted too pink to believe it such a conspiracy, but if there is any truth to what my friend says, it is all the more reason those eating the meat must take things into their own hands and demand better. We can only be as healthy as the food we eat.

As for that E. Coli everyone fears: it wouldn’t even exist if cows were allowed graze grass the way they are intended. But they are pumped full of grains their digestive tracts can’t handle. Their intestines become inflamed and infected. The result is industry overuse of antibiotics, and the rise of an increasingly virulent form of bacteria.

Happy Cows Give More Milk

Cows give more and better milk when they are exposed to music. It’s true. It is thought that the music calms them, they relax, and outcomes improve. Happy cows produce better product.

It stands to reason people work better when they are happy too.

As I look back at my elementary school years, my favorite teachers were the teachers who made learning fun. I can still name the teachers--and many of the things they taught me. They made me want to go to school, and inspired me to reach for knowledge.

My first boss, at Ponderosa when I was sixteen--his name was Stephen Cable--spoiled me for the workplace. He is, to this day, the best boss I ever had. As I have encountered “lesser” bosses along the way, I have tried to analyze what made Cable so great.

First of all, like my teachers, he made work fun. It wasn’t just me. The entire work crew at that Ponderosa loved Stephen Cable. There wasn’t a person there who wouldn’t work overtime, or fill in on another position, or do just anything he asked.

It went beyond fun though. He made us feel we were a part of something important, and that our contribution mattered. He respected us, and included us, and didn’t ask us to do anything he wouldn’t do himself.

I remember him pitching in to bus tables on busy nights--and I remember him helping me bus on a slow afternoon, using the time to “pick my brain” about how we could make things run more smoothly.

Cable didn't last long as manager. After he took our store from the bottom to the top in sales for the region, he was promoted to vice president.

Like I said, Cable spoiled me. I moved on to other jobs with great expectation and anticipation--only to find that the majority of my bosses were egocentric power-brokers, interested in taking the credit for the work of their “minions,” and not much interested in doing any of the work.

To be fair, I have also had some good bosses, and I have worked for them faithfully, and learned from them too, but Stephen Cable still shines forth as the best.

I have some good friends who have lately shared their frustrations with their workplaces--and their bosses. I am, as a writer, self-employed. It has its downsides, but one benefit is that I can choose for whom I work. I choose to work for people who value my talents, who give me the credit due me, who understand that a happy worker is a more productive, and loyal worker.

It’s too bad that so many businesses can’t see beyond the “bottom line” to realize they work with people--and ultimately, for people.

If you were a cow, would you be more inclined to give milk to someone who beat you with a stick, or prodded you in the ribs, or would you give your rich sweet milk to the one who played you Mozart?

The Oldest Profession.

One of my favorite movies is Pretty Woman, starring Julia Roberts and Richard Gere. What’s not to like? The movie is a modern day Cinderella story, set in Hollywood, where “everybody’s got a dream,” and is replete with beautiful clothes, cars, and five-star entertainment--polo, and the San Francisco opera, attended by private jet.

The story begins when a lost tycoon, Edward, stops to ask directions of a streetwalker on Hollywood Boulevard. The streetwalker, Vivian, shows him by driving him there in the fancy sports car he has borrowed from his lawyer and does not know how to drive because, as he tells Vivian, his first car "was a limousine."

Edward hires Vivian to be his escort for the week, and the two fall in love--natch. In fact, just about everyone in the movie--and in the theatre audience--falls for Vivian as she “cleans up” and learns to act like a lady. In a refreshing twist, as Edward climbs the fire escape to rescue his lady from the tower of her barely-scraping-by-lifestyle, she “rescues him right back” from his shallow, meaningless existence.

Pretty Woman is a delightful romantic comedy, but I think there is a deeper discussion taking place in the movie. The love story provides an examination of the nature of prostitution. While Vivian is the obvious prostitute, Edward, and his lawyer, are the less obvious--cloaked in their financial success and upper-class trappings.

A prostitute, according to the Oxford American dictionary, is "a person who misuses their talents or who sacrifices their self-respect for the sake of personal or financial gain." Prostitution, then, involves “put[ting] [oneself or one's talents] to an unworthy or corrupt use or purpose for the sake of personal or financial gain.” To prostitute is to “betray, demean, devalue or cheapen [one’s principles].”

As Vivian learns, Edward has made his untold wealth buying companies in financial trouble, and reselling them in “parts.” He and his lawyer have been partners for years and are not above playing dirty to get what they want. “So you don’t build anything?” Vivian responds, uncomfortable with the nature of his business.

Edward himself confirms the commonality of their businesses. “We are such similar creatures, you and I,” he tells Vivian, “we both screw people for money.”

Vivian reveals a newfound understanding of her own as she refuses Edward’s offer of financial support. “That’s just geography,” she replies, when he argues that it will get her off the streets.

In the end, they both change their ways--Edward agrees to build ships with the guy he’s been trying to ruin, and Vivian leaves the boulevard for Edward’s world.

I find it ironic that society admires one kind of prostitution, and frowns on the other. I am reminded of the Jackson Browne lyric, “It’s who you look like, not who you are.” What a shame. I suspect much honest talent flies under the radar--and much falsity is taken for true gold.

MLK, Jr.: Passionate about Peace.

It is unfortunate that Martin Luther King, Jr. Day has emerged as an “optional” holiday. Most of us get up, go to work, and conduct our business as usual. If banks and post offices weren’t closed, many of us wouldn’t even know that January 21 was a holiday!

I suppose there are members of the Caucasian community who consider it an African-American holiday with little relevance. And perhaps some of the African American community wants it to be just “their” holiday. But I don’t think that is what Martin Luther King, Jr. would want.

Martin Luther King, Jr. had a dream--and it was a dream for all mankind, a dream of peaceful coexistence--and of true freedom.

In his famous speech, “I Have a Dream,” King says of his vision, “It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed--we hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal.” The bottom line issue, he said, was “injustice,” the true oppressor, poverty.

While King’s vision was for “all God’s children” alike, he did not whitewash the divide between blacks and whites that has existed because of the abuse and degradation of the slave system. Slavery fostered separate cultures, as well as the fear and distrust that stand between us still. King addressed this divide by dreaming that “one day . . . sons of former slaves and sons of former slave owners [would] be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood.”

But King knew this brotherhood could not be forced. He insisted that violence would only lead to more violence. “Let us not seek to satisfy our thirst for freedom by drinking from the cup of bitterness and hatred,” he told his listeners. “We must forever conduct our struggle on the high plain of dignity and discipline. We must not allow our creative protest to degenerate into physical violence. Again and again we must rise to the majestic heights of meeting physical force with soul force.” Such sage words--for the 1960s, when he gave his speech--and for now, as America wages wars, and as African Americans, divided and frustrated, often fight each other.

It seems America has stalled out in the movement for justice, civil rights, and the abolishment of poverty. The nation has regressed into segregated schools and neighborhoods.

I wish we would all embrace King’s vision, and commemorate his birthday by reaching out to those who are different from us and by making an effort to learn from, and about, each other. Maybe then we would again feel the fire of inspiration, pick up the banner, and march for the common cause we all pledge allegiance to: one nation, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.

I can’t think of a better tribute to the man who lends his name to this holiday--and who gave his life for the dream of peace.

The Winter Solstice: Heading for Spring!

Yea! The days are getting longer! We’ve passed the winter solstice. December 22 marked the point in Earth’s annual trip around the sun where its tilt changes--and the days begin to get longer again!

I have realized that, more than the cold, more than the snow, more than anything about winter (well, maybe not the heating bills . . .), I hate that the sun goes down at 5 and doesn’t rise until 8 the next morning.

I am not the only one who celebrates the lengthening of days. In fact, it is the single most universal and ancient of celebrations. What I mean is, nearly every civilization since the beginning of recorded time has celebrated the winter solstice--Mayans, Native Americans, Persians, Egyptians, Greeks, Romans, and eventually, Europeans, whose traditions modern western societies have incorporated into their Christmas holidays.

Structures like the famous Stonehenge--and numerous others--are ancient, but precise, calendars marking the solstices, both winter and summer, as well as the equinoxes of spring and autumn.

The seasons were extremely important to the agricultural communities, and concerns for the food that ensured their survival was paramount. Early peoples were afraid of “the day the sun stood still,”fearing it would not bless them and their crops again. They also feared the forces of evil they believed ruled the dark. They pleaded with their gods to return the sun to the earth. They lit fires and candles in homage to the sun.

Many of these celebrations recognized a “reversal of order.” Feasts--often served by the masters to the slaves--marked the season, and criminals were pardoned. Presents were exchanged. Homes were decorated with “powerful” evergreens for good luck. Holly was hung around doors and windows, in Scandinavian countries, to snag evil spirits trying to enter the buildings.

Mistletoe was especially magical. It was the sacred “Golden Bough” of the Druids and the Norse, and protected the Celts from evil. To Native Americans, it was the medicinal “All Heal.” And in Scandinavian tradition, soldiers meeting under it in the forest were obliged to observe a truce.

There was of course, practicality to many of these rites. The fires helped warm the people in winter, the feasts supplied extra fat reserves for the lean months ahead, and the celebrations provided recreation during a season that was slow--between harvest and planting--and dreary.

It is amazing how much of this holds true today. I guess the old adage, “the more things change, the more they stay the same” holds some sway. The sun is still a symbol of rebirth and hope.

And so, even as winter descends, I will sip my hot cider (a remnant Romanian fertility rite), content to bide my time and comforted by the knowledge that the days are getting longer--and spring is on the horizon.