It’s Tuesday, Missed My Deadline

July 21st, 2015 by elaine

Yesterday I did not feel like writing.  The main stone in my shoe, boulder in my path, nagging reprise was simply: I can’t write another piece about how bad the world is and how it is getting worse!  If you think it was a selfish attitude, honestly, I just couldn’t dump, yes, that’s the word that came to mind, dump all those bad thoughts on people I know, people I love, like, respect, don’t know somewhere out there in the world wide web.

And evidently that was all I had on my mind.  Nothing good.  So I found myself eagerly washing window (no “s”).  Yes, one window, inside and out.  My windows are very tall and not so thin.  They tilt inward so I am supposed to be able to wash both top and bottom, inside and out, from the inside.  Spare me!  Even with a ladder, it is not a job for a little old lady, not even for the lady I was before.  Happily the window I washed is accessible from my back balcony and because I have a very long telescopic window washing device, I managed to do it without a ladder.

This is the equivalent of what we used to call “sharpening pencils”.  Back in the days when we actually used typewriters, still we used the pencil euphemism for stalling, not getting down to writing what one is supposed to be doing.

Then I read a bit of the Sunday New York Times being careful what I chose to read because I did not want to read another thing about how bad the world is and how it is getting worse.  For us.  You and me and other persons who are NOT corporations, which are, under the law, considered as persons,  indeed!

So how come none of those “persons” ever go to jail, those persons who are responsible for the Great Crash of 2008?  Bad topic here!  This is what I got from a faithful reader who loves my writing so much he sends me more of the same from more distinguished sources than this one.  Like one published in Rolling Stone about the recently retired Attorney General of the United States of America, Eric Holder, written by award winning journalist Matt Taibbi.  Here’s the link: http://www.rollingstone.com/politics/news/eric-holder-wall-street-double-agent-comes-in-from-the-cold-20150708

When I protested my shock and horror about all this to my reader friend, demanding to know why it had never been mentioned before, he sent me another link to another lofty source (Bill Moyers Journal on PBS) indicating that indeed it was known, has been known, for quite some time.  Here’s the link:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=UhO–P_tVBQ

Warning! For me this information makes me think of the words  Dante saw inscribed on the gateway leading to ante-hell: Abandon all hope ye who enter here.

Why this hit me so hard, I can’t say for sure.  I told my nearest and dearest it hit me harder than the stories of torture committed by the U.S., harder than stories of mass killings of innocents, or even beheadings. Perhaps it is somewhat less painful to contemplate such acts committed by people in uniform or even the uniform of disturbed “losers”;  but men in suits who have our trust?   I can’t I can’t I can’t!

Another cherished reader wrote in response to “There Oughta Be a Law” a delightful story of how she had gone to the bank with some saved coins neatly packaged in rolls and asked the person at the counter for the bills in exchange.  The person asked for her bank card.  My dear friend asked why she needed to show her bank card when she was not withdrawing any money from her account. The person then inquired if my friend was a user of the bank, to which my friend pointed out she had been a client of that bank since 1952, that the manager of the bank had lived next door to her for many years, that his son played his guitar and sang to her daughter – when she was supposed to be in bed.  I am proud to report that my friend  got the bills and didn’t show her bank card.

I must also report, however, that there were two reasons why she was asked to show her bank card:

1. those rolls of coins may very well have contained dross, buttons, old batteries, and my dear friend may very well have been, da-ta-da, a thief, a fraudster, a cheat, a criminal. And may very well have walked out of the bank leaving the poor bank a wee bit poorer.  Perhaps the poor employee, having used her own judgment and given my friend the money, would have to pay the bank what was stolen; perhaps that brave person will lose her job anyway because she broke the rules, used her own judgment and correctly assessed my friend to be an honest person deserving of respect.

And reason 2.  While it may seem trifling, it is not.  The fact is the employee is probably not an old and trusted one;  they come and they go these days.  And so it goes, we are not known in our own environment.  And as strangers there, and everywhere we go, it seems, we have to prove we are not criminals, not terrorists!

No wonder I didn’t feel like writing yesterday!  No wonder washing window (no “s”) was more appealing to me.  Nevertheless my conscience continued to bug me.  I also washed the curtains that I had taken down.  I also hung them back up again.  And I sat in front of my computer.  And I went to the kitchen, much too late in the afternoon, and I realized the much more pressing obligation was to do something immediately with the chicken legs I had bought a day or two before and had not yet transformed into Daniel Boulud’s Chicken Tagine http://cooking.nytimes.com/recipes/1016987-daniel-bouluds-chicken-tagine

I had all the many ingredients – some never heard of before – except the green olives.  So that’s what I did.  And many hours later that’s what we dined on, sitting on our front balcony (not the one with the window) at 9 pm by candlelight.

And it wasn’t until I fell into bed half asleep but still needing to read, that I came across an article I had ignored till then in the Sunday Review section of The Times called Who Needs Deadlines Anyway? and managed to get through it to the very last line:  It’s a good reminder that the clock does not always have the final word, and that missing a deadline is not just for deadbeats.

©Elaine A. Zimbel 2015

Posted in Eighty and then some..., Letters to the corporation


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