The Four Letter “C” Word
Ruth Lampert Copyright May 2009
If you are thinking what I think you might be thinking, shame on you. This is a family blog. The word I am thinking is “cute.” As it is all too often applied to older people as in “Look at that couple over there on the bench, holding hands.
. Aren’t they cute?”
If the subjects of this comment were two little children holding hands, it would be appropriate. When the reference is to aged people being together, showing affection for one another, it is – well, not so cute.
My attitude might justifiably be ascribed to the fact that I myself am, as my grandson charmingly puts it, “chronologically gifted.” In case you wonder why occasionally I am snarly, argumentative, bossy, nasty, querulous, or all of the above, it is because I know that these attributes will not lead to my being described as “cute.” “Cute” goes with “sweet.” I prefer “tart.”
Other adjectives that go nicely with advanced age are “regal;” “dignified;” “inspiring;” “stately”.
“Humble?” Not so much.
Nothing brings out the cute card faster than weddings of older people. Wedding ceremonies that is. A quiet, inconspicuous marriage at city hall or in a clergyperson’s office can escape the appellation, but let there be traditional trappings such as long gowns, a flower girl, a fancy wedding cake, and I can hear it now:
“Oh, isn’t that adorable!”
Toddlers toddling down a make believe aisle, dressed up in grown-ups cast-off clothing, make a poor second in sickening sweetness.
Funerals, on the other hand, by their very nature escape the label. A cute corpse is, if not exactly an oxymoron, a rarity.
Many clichés apply, the favorite being “he/she she lived a full life” but while that aged body in the coffin may be many things, it is not “”adorable.”
If it’s all the same to everybody, I would prefer not to have to wait until my demise to be spared the “cute” word. So to all you medical personnel who say things like “just climb up here sweetie,” and salespeople who coo “Oh, you look just precious in that” and restaurant servers who advise “That is really easy to digest, honey” and so forth and so on, I recommend use of a c-word I particularly favor, as in:
Cut the Crap.
Friday, May 29, 2009
Friday, May 1, 2009
Remembering Mr. Popenoe or
“What Goes Around Comes Around – With Interest”
by Ruth Lampert copyright April 2009
I came in with a depression and, if health (mine and the
Global economy’s) fails me; I may go out with one. In between, I had the
Mixed fortune to experience a couple of personal financial catastrophes of my own. . I say “mixed” because one of the things I would have missed, if my fiscal life had been less tumultuous, was the experience of a bank whose name I have forgotten, and Mr. Popenoe, a bank executive whom I will always remember with gratitude.
I was in my late 40’s, divorced, in the process of “recycling me” (a term, like many others, seldom heard these days.) I had returned to college and earned my long-delayed bachelor’s degree (that’s another story, which I will tell another time) and was working as an educational therapist. My goal was to become a licensed psychotherapist, which required a master’s degree, which required more financial clout than I could claim. I did the logical thing – I applied for scholarships (and was awarded a partial one,) and also a loan from my bank. And that’s when “double standard” and “unequal opportunity” were dramatically and revoltingly illustrated.
The bank turned down my application. I asked why?? Because,” the
Loan officer (whose name, like that of the bank, I have forgotten but whose supercilious voice I will never forget,) said “You have money in your savings account (I think it was about $900.00) so you don’t need a loan.”
“But, but, but doesn’t the fact that in spite of starting over again on a small income, receiving no support from my ex-husband, I have managed to not only pay all my bills but put a little aside – doesn’t that prove I am a good risk? Doesn’t it?” I responded.
“Well yes, that’s true,” he said in effect, “so here’s another reason we are turning you down: as it is clearly spelled out (in what document I don’t recall) loans for higher education are limited to persons under a certain age, and you are too old.”
Yes, Virginia, in those days age and gender discrimination were rampant. My indignation and anger weren’t exactly muted either. I obtained the document in question, read it, and called back: “It clearly states that the age restriction is for undergraduates. I’m applying to graduate school so I’m not too old for a loan.”
“Uh, yeah, well, you’re actually right about that, but here’s another reason we are denying your request. When divorced women of your age go back to school presumably to pursue a career they actually are looking for a husband and if they find one they will never use the degree.”
I’m not making this up. That’s what he told me, I believe in almost those very words.
Somehow, through the haze of shock and rage which engulfed me, I learned about the bank’s “Consumer Advocate,” a Mr. Popenoe, may his name live forever in the annals of fairness and decency.
I wrote to him, explaining all the circumstances. In short order I received a copy of the letter he had sent to the bank’s lending office:
“Give this woman her loan and do so immediately.”
They did.
How I wish I had saved that particular piece of paper.
And that’s the story I have always told l to anyone who smirks about equal opportunity or feminism. Now I also tell it to anyone who talks about the failure of banks, the need for nationalization, I realize that this incident has nothing to do with the current troubles of the banking institution. It has everything, for me, to do with the misguided notion of the so-called “good old days.”
I’d like Mr. Popenoe to know that I did indeed get my degree and my psychotherapy license. After 30 years of private practice, I am on the verge of retirement. I’m also married. And to that mean-spirited, misogynistic loan office I’d like to say – well, this is a family blog, so use your imagination.
“What Goes Around Comes Around – With Interest”
by Ruth Lampert copyright April 2009
I came in with a depression and, if health (mine and the
Global economy’s) fails me; I may go out with one. In between, I had the
Mixed fortune to experience a couple of personal financial catastrophes of my own. . I say “mixed” because one of the things I would have missed, if my fiscal life had been less tumultuous, was the experience of a bank whose name I have forgotten, and Mr. Popenoe, a bank executive whom I will always remember with gratitude.
I was in my late 40’s, divorced, in the process of “recycling me” (a term, like many others, seldom heard these days.) I had returned to college and earned my long-delayed bachelor’s degree (that’s another story, which I will tell another time) and was working as an educational therapist. My goal was to become a licensed psychotherapist, which required a master’s degree, which required more financial clout than I could claim. I did the logical thing – I applied for scholarships (and was awarded a partial one,) and also a loan from my bank. And that’s when “double standard” and “unequal opportunity” were dramatically and revoltingly illustrated.
The bank turned down my application. I asked why?? Because,” the
Loan officer (whose name, like that of the bank, I have forgotten but whose supercilious voice I will never forget,) said “You have money in your savings account (I think it was about $900.00) so you don’t need a loan.”
“But, but, but doesn’t the fact that in spite of starting over again on a small income, receiving no support from my ex-husband, I have managed to not only pay all my bills but put a little aside – doesn’t that prove I am a good risk? Doesn’t it?” I responded.
“Well yes, that’s true,” he said in effect, “so here’s another reason we are turning you down: as it is clearly spelled out (in what document I don’t recall) loans for higher education are limited to persons under a certain age, and you are too old.”
Yes, Virginia, in those days age and gender discrimination were rampant. My indignation and anger weren’t exactly muted either. I obtained the document in question, read it, and called back: “It clearly states that the age restriction is for undergraduates. I’m applying to graduate school so I’m not too old for a loan.”
“Uh, yeah, well, you’re actually right about that, but here’s another reason we are denying your request. When divorced women of your age go back to school presumably to pursue a career they actually are looking for a husband and if they find one they will never use the degree.”
I’m not making this up. That’s what he told me, I believe in almost those very words.
Somehow, through the haze of shock and rage which engulfed me, I learned about the bank’s “Consumer Advocate,” a Mr. Popenoe, may his name live forever in the annals of fairness and decency.
I wrote to him, explaining all the circumstances. In short order I received a copy of the letter he had sent to the bank’s lending office:
“Give this woman her loan and do so immediately.”
They did.
How I wish I had saved that particular piece of paper.
And that’s the story I have always told l to anyone who smirks about equal opportunity or feminism. Now I also tell it to anyone who talks about the failure of banks, the need for nationalization, I realize that this incident has nothing to do with the current troubles of the banking institution. It has everything, for me, to do with the misguided notion of the so-called “good old days.”
I’d like Mr. Popenoe to know that I did indeed get my degree and my psychotherapy license. After 30 years of private practice, I am on the verge of retirement. I’m also married. And to that mean-spirited, misogynistic loan office I’d like to say – well, this is a family blog, so use your imagination.
Friday, April 17, 2009
Evals
Copyright by Ruth Lampert February 2009
Report cards have a long and sometimes dismaying tradition, but back in the day it was students who received the evaluations from the teachers, and not vice versa. Of course teachers were always judged by students, with grades ranging from “fantastic” to “stinko,” but these were informal, word-of-mouth judgments. Everyone always knew who to seek out and who to avoid if at all possible. But it came as something of a shock about 15 years ago when I became an adjunct college instructor and was formally “evaluated” by my students, with the reports going directly to the dean. .
“Born too late!” I thought, not for the first or last time. It was weird beyond weird to realize that just as some students “sucked up” to teachers in the hope of getting a good grade, the reverse -- or corollary -- situation now existed for the teachers, ushering in a new and wicked temptation. When did this start? Of course it could not be objectively demonstrated that giving easy exams and being generous with high marks resulted in favorable evaluations from the students – but of course the thought had to pass the mind of at least one somewhat insecure instructor. (Not me, of course.)
The Great Evaluation Movement persists and increases unto this very day. Whether I order books online or avail myself of the grocery store’s delivery service, I am inevitably “invited” (or sometimes “chosen” – occasionally bribed) to “evaluate” the service. On the face of it this seems like a good thing, but really, it is getting out of hand.
How long will it be before it happens that at the conclusion of a dinner party given by friends for friends we will be handed a form to fill out with questions such as?
“How would you rate the food?” (on a scale of 1 to 10 with 10 being
“To die for” and 1 being “I almost died of it.”)
“Was dinner served within a reasonable time after your arrival?”
“Were the other guests friendly?”
“Was the conversation stimulating
“Were the guest towels arranged creatively?
Etc etc etc
And weddings would be rated on the basis of such criteria as:
“Did the bride and groom seem truly happy, or was their pleasure
Forced and insincere?
“Was the wedding cake (check one)
1) Appropriately large and sweet
(2) Tilted
(3) Yucky
And funerals:
“Were the eulogies
1) inspiring
2) Too long
3) ‘Oh get off it’
“Did the mourners seem genuinely sad, or
was it obvious they really wanted to be
at home watching T.V.?”
For medical and dental appointments:
“Was the amount of time you had to wait in
the waiting room longer than (check
one
1) The time it takes you get home from
work during rush hour on the 405?
2) The time you stood in line at the airport
on your last trip
3) The time ou were put “on hold” when you
called to make the appointment in
the first place
“Were the magazines older than God?
1) A little
2) A lot
3) I don’t know, I am an atheist
Psychotherapy treatment offers an obvious opportunity for written evaluations after each session. E.G.:
Was this session? Productive? (Whatever that means to you.)
Do you feel angry at having to pay so much for so little?
Do you feel grateful for the therapist spending his/her valuable time with you?
And at the end of a first date, instead of the obligatory “I really had fun” the date-ees would each take a few moments to check off:
How, on a scale of 1 to 10, did this compare to other first dates?
If you were introduced by a friend, are you grateful or are you silently fuming “what was he/she thinking of?”
Would you recommend your date to your friends? Your enemies?
I know what you are thinking at this point, but relax. No need to evaluate this posting. After all, I can’t evaluate you as a reader; why should you have all the fun?
Copyright by Ruth Lampert February 2009
Report cards have a long and sometimes dismaying tradition, but back in the day it was students who received the evaluations from the teachers, and not vice versa. Of course teachers were always judged by students, with grades ranging from “fantastic” to “stinko,” but these were informal, word-of-mouth judgments. Everyone always knew who to seek out and who to avoid if at all possible. But it came as something of a shock about 15 years ago when I became an adjunct college instructor and was formally “evaluated” by my students, with the reports going directly to the dean. .
“Born too late!” I thought, not for the first or last time. It was weird beyond weird to realize that just as some students “sucked up” to teachers in the hope of getting a good grade, the reverse -- or corollary -- situation now existed for the teachers, ushering in a new and wicked temptation. When did this start? Of course it could not be objectively demonstrated that giving easy exams and being generous with high marks resulted in favorable evaluations from the students – but of course the thought had to pass the mind of at least one somewhat insecure instructor. (Not me, of course.)
The Great Evaluation Movement persists and increases unto this very day. Whether I order books online or avail myself of the grocery store’s delivery service, I am inevitably “invited” (or sometimes “chosen” – occasionally bribed) to “evaluate” the service. On the face of it this seems like a good thing, but really, it is getting out of hand.
How long will it be before it happens that at the conclusion of a dinner party given by friends for friends we will be handed a form to fill out with questions such as?
“How would you rate the food?” (on a scale of 1 to 10 with 10 being
“To die for” and 1 being “I almost died of it.”)
“Was dinner served within a reasonable time after your arrival?”
“Were the other guests friendly?”
“Was the conversation stimulating
“Were the guest towels arranged creatively?
Etc etc etc
And weddings would be rated on the basis of such criteria as:
“Did the bride and groom seem truly happy, or was their pleasure
Forced and insincere?
“Was the wedding cake (check one)
1) Appropriately large and sweet
(2) Tilted
(3) Yucky
And funerals:
“Were the eulogies
1) inspiring
2) Too long
3) ‘Oh get off it’
“Did the mourners seem genuinely sad, or
was it obvious they really wanted to be
at home watching T.V.?”
For medical and dental appointments:
“Was the amount of time you had to wait in
the waiting room longer than (check
one
1) The time it takes you get home from
work during rush hour on the 405?
2) The time you stood in line at the airport
on your last trip
3) The time ou were put “on hold” when you
called to make the appointment in
the first place
“Were the magazines older than God?
1) A little
2) A lot
3) I don’t know, I am an atheist
Psychotherapy treatment offers an obvious opportunity for written evaluations after each session. E.G.:
Was this session? Productive? (Whatever that means to you.)
Do you feel angry at having to pay so much for so little?
Do you feel grateful for the therapist spending his/her valuable time with you?
And at the end of a first date, instead of the obligatory “I really had fun” the date-ees would each take a few moments to check off:
How, on a scale of 1 to 10, did this compare to other first dates?
If you were introduced by a friend, are you grateful or are you silently fuming “what was he/she thinking of?”
Would you recommend your date to your friends? Your enemies?
I know what you are thinking at this point, but relax. No need to evaluate this posting. After all, I can’t evaluate you as a reader; why should you have all the fun?
Friday, February 20, 2009
I’m Confused
copyright Ruth Lampert February 2009
O.k, at my age that’s not exactly unusual. Still, this whole controversy over same-sex marriage seems a bit perplexing on its own merits.
.
For example, I have been trying to understand how same-sex marriage threatens my own different-sex marriage, or anybody else’s, but I just don’t get it.
It seems to me it wasn’t that long ago that differences were the big problem, the condition to be avoided, in choosing a mate. Different religions for example. Jewish parents were sometimes known to rend their garments and otherwise mourn for children who married outside the faith. Wikipedia notes that “ ..some religions prohibit interfaith marriage, and while others do allow it, most restrict it.,” I have never heard a word against same-faith marriage.
Ethnic background sameness have always enjoyed a good press. Presumably if your parents and your beloved’s parents came from the same village or at least the same country, you’d authomatically have a lot in common.
Marrying someone of a different race was really bad. The word for it was
“miscegenation “ At one time in Kentucky the penalty was three years' imprisonment.
(Think Oboma’s parents)
“Close in age,” if not “same-age,” was also traditionally considered a plus. A big difference either way was looked upon askance, although an older woman-younger man difference met with greater approbation (except among the older women.)
Certainly educational equivalence was considered desirable. Again, there was always some sexism in the notion s: a man could marry a woman with less education,n he, but the reverse was..well.. you know.
Everyone agreed that divorced or widowed people were better off marrying someone of the same “previously married” status. It just made sense.
Risk was also seen in unions where there was too much disparity in bank accounts. A poor girl marryng a rich man was often viewed as a gold-digger, while a a poor manwho married a rich woman was known as a “gigolo,” apparently a bad thing to be..
Then there is the matter of parenting. Those opposed to same-sex marriage often make the claim that children thrive best (or only, depending on the degree of bias in the claimant .) when raised in a “traditional” family with a mother and a father. But isn’t it generally acknowledged that children of an unhappy marriage have a difficult time? And haven’t those marriages been between different-gender parents?
And haven’t some children of single parents turned out acceptably?
(Think Obama’s mother)
Slogans abounded testifying to the excellence of sameness, e.g., “Stick to your own kind.” and “Birds of a feather.” By God (and generally it was accepted that the advice came from a “higher source”)) those were precepts you could count on (I almost said “bank on,” but in these recessionary times….hmmm, maybe there is a message here too…)
I must be mssing something.
I recall a cartoon (I believe it was in The New Yorker) some years ago that depicted two men walking behind a man and woman who were screaming in rage at each other. One of the men says to the other: “These mixed marriages never work.”
(hmor and truth, a time-honored coupling.)
So that’s why I am confused about the controversy over same-sex marriage. However, I am clearly and adamently opposed to same-sex divorce. I’m not sure why. It just doesn’t feel right.
copyright Ruth Lampert February 2009
O.k, at my age that’s not exactly unusual. Still, this whole controversy over same-sex marriage seems a bit perplexing on its own merits.
.
For example, I have been trying to understand how same-sex marriage threatens my own different-sex marriage, or anybody else’s, but I just don’t get it.
It seems to me it wasn’t that long ago that differences were the big problem, the condition to be avoided, in choosing a mate. Different religions for example. Jewish parents were sometimes known to rend their garments and otherwise mourn for children who married outside the faith. Wikipedia notes that “ ..some religions prohibit interfaith marriage, and while others do allow it, most restrict it.,” I have never heard a word against same-faith marriage.
Ethnic background sameness have always enjoyed a good press. Presumably if your parents and your beloved’s parents came from the same village or at least the same country, you’d authomatically have a lot in common.
Marrying someone of a different race was really bad. The word for it was
“miscegenation “ At one time in Kentucky the penalty was three years' imprisonment.
(Think Oboma’s parents)
“Close in age,” if not “same-age,” was also traditionally considered a plus. A big difference either way was looked upon askance, although an older woman-younger man difference met with greater approbation (except among the older women.)
Certainly educational equivalence was considered desirable. Again, there was always some sexism in the notion s: a man could marry a woman with less education,n he, but the reverse was..well.. you know.
Everyone agreed that divorced or widowed people were better off marrying someone of the same “previously married” status. It just made sense.
Risk was also seen in unions where there was too much disparity in bank accounts. A poor girl marryng a rich man was often viewed as a gold-digger, while a a poor manwho married a rich woman was known as a “gigolo,” apparently a bad thing to be..
Then there is the matter of parenting. Those opposed to same-sex marriage often make the claim that children thrive best (or only, depending on the degree of bias in the claimant .) when raised in a “traditional” family with a mother and a father. But isn’t it generally acknowledged that children of an unhappy marriage have a difficult time? And haven’t those marriages been between different-gender parents?
And haven’t some children of single parents turned out acceptably?
(Think Obama’s mother)
Slogans abounded testifying to the excellence of sameness, e.g., “Stick to your own kind.” and “Birds of a feather.” By God (and generally it was accepted that the advice came from a “higher source”)) those were precepts you could count on (I almost said “bank on,” but in these recessionary times….hmmm, maybe there is a message here too…)
I must be mssing something.
I recall a cartoon (I believe it was in The New Yorker) some years ago that depicted two men walking behind a man and woman who were screaming in rage at each other. One of the men says to the other: “These mixed marriages never work.”
(hmor and truth, a time-honored coupling.)
So that’s why I am confused about the controversy over same-sex marriage. However, I am clearly and adamently opposed to same-sex divorce. I’m not sure why. It just doesn’t feel right.
Friday, February 13, 2009
Farewell to the Time Lady
Copyright Ruth Lampert 2009
Last night we experienced a power outage – it was taken care of within the hour, but, every electric clock in the house needed to be changed..
I automatically reached for the phone to verify the correct time, and then I remembered – the Time Lady is long gone.
She was always there when I needed her. In tones that were clear, friendly, but never unctuous, she immediately gave me the information I needed. “At the tone,” the response came with a reliability seldom experienced in today’s hectic modern world, “the time will be…” and she would announce what the time would be, to the very second. Then a pleasant yet authoritative tone would sound, bringing a blissful sense of closure.
The argument I was having with whoever I was arguing about the exact time was solved.
The nagging suspicion that my watch needed cleaning was either confirmed or allayed.
If I was lonely, and just needed to hear a friendly voice, I could count on her.
She was the friend and counsel of my youth, the dependable helper of my middle and older years.
Now, she is gone. Sent away without fanfare or ceremony.
Well, time marches on, no pun intended. . I just hope what my computer says in tiny, silent, numbers at the bottom of the screen is correct. I did appreciate her while I had her, and I think she somehow knew, just as she always knew the correct time.
Copyright Ruth Lampert 2009
Last night we experienced a power outage – it was taken care of within the hour, but, every electric clock in the house needed to be changed..
I automatically reached for the phone to verify the correct time, and then I remembered – the Time Lady is long gone.
She was always there when I needed her. In tones that were clear, friendly, but never unctuous, she immediately gave me the information I needed. “At the tone,” the response came with a reliability seldom experienced in today’s hectic modern world, “the time will be…” and she would announce what the time would be, to the very second. Then a pleasant yet authoritative tone would sound, bringing a blissful sense of closure.
The argument I was having with whoever I was arguing about the exact time was solved.
The nagging suspicion that my watch needed cleaning was either confirmed or allayed.
If I was lonely, and just needed to hear a friendly voice, I could count on her.
She was the friend and counsel of my youth, the dependable helper of my middle and older years.
Now, she is gone. Sent away without fanfare or ceremony.
Well, time marches on, no pun intended. . I just hope what my computer says in tiny, silent, numbers at the bottom of the screen is correct. I did appreciate her while I had her, and I think she somehow knew, just as she always knew the correct time.
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