Saving "for good?" Now is GOOD!

At age 68, my mother, a life-long non-smoker who had seldom even been near second-hand smoke, was diagnosed with lung cancer. It was thought that surgery would remove the small spot and surrounding lung lobe; the outlook was good for totally removing the cancer and recovery. However, she acquired Acute Respiratory Distress Syndrome and died shortly after the surgery.
 
Later when my sisters and I were readying her house for sale, we had to go through every drawer, closet, and storage space. Know what we found? New unused clothing with the tags attached. New unused towels and sheets with sales receipts. Barely used “good china” along with the seldom used Irish wool blanket I’d given her decades ago.

My mother was a frugal but not miserly woman. She lived carefully within her means and enjoyed her possessions. Underneath her actions was a driving philosophy of “save it for good” that led to leaving behind unused and barely used treasures that could have brought her pleasure during her life--waiting for something unknown and undefined. I don’t know whether this philosophy was born in the Great Depression or part of life beliefs carried across the sea from Scot Irish ancestors and instilled into generations of Shenandoah Valley residents.

I thought about the joy and pleasure she had missed from not using these obviously treasured belongings—waiting for some undefined “good” in some unknown future time.
 
While there is merit in this philosophy which can extend the useful lifetime of a piece of clothing or teach one the benefits of not always choosing instant gratification, there is also an element of fear of “not enough” and a concern that everyday living is “not worthy” of the best that life has to offer.

Like many aging children, I thought I have enough time and distance to have carefully chosen which childhood mantras, beliefs, and teachings I follow. However, I’ve come to question whether I, too, have not unknowingly followed the “save it for good” philosophy.
 
During the past year, my husband and I, like many Boomers, have faced life threatening illness and accidents, loss of jobs and income, distress within the extended family, and concerns about the future of our family and our nation. I’m trying to determine the optimal balance for me between work and home. Big decisions are required. So I’ve been reviewing my own actions and life philosophies. Know what I learned?

I, too, have been “saving it for good” in many ways. Yes, I realized I was delaying wearing certain items of clothing or jewelry, waiting for increasingly less frequent “special” occasions. There are some linens and decorations that have been stored away waiting for “company.”
 
But more insidious than delaying my enjoyment of these belongings, is the creeping thought process that can delay action in other parts of my life.
 
I had procrastinated resuming yoga classes—waiting until I was in perfect condition. Sometimes there’s the thought that I must wait until my spirituality is “perfect” before advancing prayer or meditation practice or joining a group.

Looking in my closet, I rediscovered a beautiful handmade, brilliantly colored blue poncho that I had purchased in Ecuador nine years ago—seldom worn. I’ve been “saving it for good” waiting for some worthy occasion! There are a couple of beautiful jeweled rings and a couple of pairs of earrings that have been languishing unworn in the jewelry box.

Well, I am not a frivolous spendthrift nor do I abuse my belongings. These treasured items bring me joy just by looking at them and it makes me smile to wear them, so I am now wearing them without waiting for a big occasion. It’s ok to wear the earrings and rings and beautiful poncho to the grocery store or to yoga class.

I’m no longer waiting until I’m perfect to express my spiritual beliefs, prayer practice or meditation. I resumed my yoga classes and am regaining my strength.

The “good” is every day. Every day is good. I can enjoy NOW without fear of being undeserving or unworthy. “This is the day the Lord has made; let us rejoice and be glad.”

 

 

BWM Breathing While Male--He's Guilty!

I’ve served as the prosecuting attorney, judge and jury in the case against TLH (The Loving Husband). I’ve already convicted him of BWM (Breathing While Male), which might be known in some locations as BUIT (Breathing Under the Influence of Testosterone).



Now, I love this tall, skinny husband dearly and wouldn’t trade him for anything. He buys me jewelry, writes romantic verses for me and cares when I feel sad. However, the man is guilty, guilty, guilty of BWM (Breathing While Male).


What did he do? Well, in the big scheme of things his actions are not galaxy-sized transgressions. He hasn’t gone off for a pack of cigarettes and disappeared, or gambled away our nest egg, or done more than look lustily at the beauties of South America on our travels. I’ve clearly warned him it’s a look but don’t touch policy!


But he acts just like a male. For example, I was in the midst of sorting tubsful of laundry into piles organized by color, fabric type and level of dirt. There were piles of towels to the left, underwear to the right, and dark colors in the middle. Even as I was stooping, reaching, and placing clothing, he walked on the laundry!

Now, this man is no slouch in the intelligence arena. He has a PhD in molecular biology, plays classical guitar and works in biotech. Yet, when I screeched “HUSBAND” at him and inquired why he walked on the clothes I was sorting, his best reply was a double-shoulder shrug accompanied by “huh?” After a few moments, he added, “well, you’re going to wash them aren’t you?”


Shortly thereafter, I discovered that for the hundredth time he had used a measuring spoon to pour coffee into his special coffee maker (Yes, we have separate coffee makers—another tale!) and then returned it to the drawer with clean utensils, spilling coffee grounds in the drawer. Overcome by exasperation and a total inability to understand why someone would do this, I foolishly asked him “why?” From the man who can spend an hour explaining to me the structure of crystals when I just asked him to pass the salt, once again came the “huh?” This time, it was followed by “well, I won’t do it again.” Do you think he caught on that I didn’t like coffee grounds on every spoon, measuring cup and spatula in the drawer? The “why” mystery remains.

Evidence of yet another BWM transgression is apparent on his side of the closet. I try to avert my head, but he recently asked me for help in packing for a business trip. (He cleverly gained my labor by praising my ability to pack things with layers of plastic so the clothes don’t wrinkle.) I started selecting shirts and pants from the shelves and noticed they were hung crookedly, stained, stinky or, in general, not suitable for wear. As prosecuting attorney for this charge, I asked “why can’t you put dirty clothes in the laundry or take them to the dry cleaners instead of just putting them back in the closet?” Again, “huh” was the reply.


So, I ask you, isn’t he clearly guilty of Breathing While Male? I’ve sentenced him to life—in marriage with me. Of course, if you were to hear his summation, he might tell you I’m guilty of BWF (Breathing While Female) and list among my transgressions putting underwear in the dirty basket after one use, singing off-key, and having an inordinate desire for purses, jewelry and handbags.

Radio: The Magic Carpet Ride

As a teenage Baby Boomer, it was a major thrill when I received a small, portable radio for my birthday. It was about 7 inches wide, about 2 inches deep and about 5 inches tall. A long pullout antenna allowed me to search the airwaves for any station whose signal was strong enough to push through the mountains into my little valley near the James River in the southern end of the Shenandoah Valley. A little cylinder would spin and spin past FM and AM stations seeking a sound.

The nearest major city was Roanoke Virginia, a little further south. FM was king of the airwaves; but AM was still a powerful queen. Rock n’roll ruled, and I thought DJs had the best jobs in the world.

Listening to radio was close to a religious rite for me and other teens, and what we heard lured us into a world of ideas translated into music--ideas that were beyond what we read in textbooks or Sunday School literature.

It was on that little radio with the pullout antennae that I first heard the Beatles’ Strawberry Fields and was amazed because it was unlike anything else at that time. In those teen years, I listened to a variety of sounds from “Puff, the Magic Dragon,” to “Deep Purple,” to “Surfin’ USA.”

Radio introduced me to The Righteous Brothers, Aretha Franklin, the Byrds, the Animals, Sly and the Family Stone, Simon and Garfunkle, Percy Sledge, the Turtles, the Doors, Bob Dylan, Emmy Lou Harris and hundreds of other Boomer entertainers who became part of the musical fabric of my life and the lives of my peers. These were not the musical choices of my parents.

At night when I couldn’t get a clear strong signal on FM, WOWO, an AM clear channel 50,000 watts station from Ft. Wayne , IN, blasted in my ear. I had no idea what kind of city Ft. Wayne was; I just listened because it had a strong signal. I was impressed to receive my music from a thousand miles away.

Radio was a magic carpet ride for me. It was woven of dazzlingly different designs and patterns from my everyday life. Radio gave me rock n’ roll and new ideas. I developed favorites and listened eagerly waiting hours for them to be played. Moreover, I enjoyed the exposure to new artists.

Now, I’m in a different decade of my Boomer life and I still enjoy radio—in the same and different ways. My radio signals mostly arrive on my computer now. There’s live streaming commercial radio as well as Public Radio from nearby and afar. I listen to these stations and enjoy the variety. I like the idea a program director or station manager has selected music for me; I enjoy the commercials.

Yes, I do enjoy being in charge of my stations on Pandora, and I am impressed by the multitude of music available at my whim on Spotify. I like it all. There will always be a place in my heart for radio—even if it comes to me via the Internet.

May I quote the Boomer philosopher we knew as Steppenwolf? “I like to dream, yes, yes, right between my sound machine, on a cloud of sound I drift in the night…Why don’t you come with me, little girl, on a magic carpet ride?”

Do leaders lose their moral compass or did they have a faulty one all along?

Recent news of international and national business and government leaders with faulty judgment have made the news and stirred conversation.

Here are my thoughts: 1) Many organizations (large to small; government, business or non-profit) have policies that reward those who deliver flashy “results”--regardless of harm along the way, who tell leaders what they want to hear, and who are willing to bend the rules. 2) Organizations brand as "not-a-team-player" individuals who have a less flexible moral standard. 3) Regardless of the "talk" of doing right, organization leader do not "walk" the talk. 4) Those who are rewarded for their "flexibility" and "team player" ability surround themselves with like-minded folks as they advance. 5) The process is self-perpetuating and those with a faulty moral compass continue to advance.

There are some who hold onto their beliefs and act based on their sense of morality. For example, I have long admired Senator Richard Lugar from Indiana. I believe he has a strong moral compass and uses it to guide his political decisions. And, no I don't support his political party or any other specific political party. 

In my 12 years in a large major corporation I saw those who got ahead by treading on others, by corruption, and by trickery. A few got caught along the way. Others did not. Frequently these individuals were on the "fast track" and were held up to the rest of us as examples to follow. I remember one entrepreneurial-spirited young man who used company time to build his own business over a period of two years; he then leave the company to run an already strong corporation. Many of the rest of us chaffed when upper management held him up as a positive example. 

Another “flexible” manager finagled his way into a top communications job by chicanery and was caught at last when the ad agency made public his demand for kickbacks. Yet, for years, the organization rewarded him instead of praising and promoting those who had a good moral compass along with skill and true dedication to the company. Many of us were aware of his outside “girlfriends,” yet we were helpless as he ruined the career of less “flexible” underlings and by-passed for promotion those with real talent who did not blindly praise him. 

Do I think the recent publicity will make a difference or make those folks change? No, absolutely not. They feel above the rules and do not feel badly about what they are doing. They do not think they will be caught because they are doing “nothing wrong," since they don't have a sense of right-and-wrong that we would recognize.

Until all organizations have a culture that “walks the talk” and has leadership that values skilled individuals who have a moral compass, nothing will change. 

One final note: please do NOT confuse having a strong sense of moral right-and-wrong with being “overtly, publicly religious” or with professing to be a follower of any specific religion. The two are not synonomous.

Answering "How Are You?" in Southern

Something a bookstore owner in Roanoke, Virginia, asked me a couple of years ago has been rattling around in my brain. "Why is it," she asked, "that when I (who grew up in another state and recently moved to the Valley of Virginia), "ask people how are they, they don't respond by asking me how I am?"

That was a new question to me and I couldn't help but think that I, who grew up in the heart of the Shenandoah Valley, in Rockbridge County, Virginia, have always had a bit of reluctance to respond to that question and to ask it back to the questioner. Why is that?

Having pondered that question, I have a few guesses. My thoughts may be based on snippets of information jumbled together in a stew of opinion, but I'll share them anyway. Perhaps a reader who is experienced in linguistics and history can tell me if I'm even close to the factual evidence. Of course, my friendly bookstore owner who didn't grow up in the Shenandoah Valley may be overgeneralizing. 

My theories on why we "mountain people" aren't comfortable with the typical "HowAreYOU?" accompanied by "FineHowAreYOU" line of questioning are: 1) We consider it a personal intrusive question. 2) We don't want to reveal personal detail, and a "fine" response would be an untruth, and we are not comfortable with untruths. 3) We don't want to get involved with strangers on personal issues. 4) We want to be polite and respectful. 5) We want to keep a distance from strangers.

When I think back on the core values of my mountain, Scot-Irish, Presbyterian childhood, I view: privacy, honesty, tending-to-your-own business, being respectful, being polite and having manners, and being suspicious of outsiders. Now, I'm not saying these are all admirable traits; I'm just saying, these are core values I inferred from those around me.

The call-and-response "HowAreYou" ritual brings these values into collision. First, we are a bit shocked that someone who is not family or a close neighbor asks an intrusive question because the questioner is being nosy and crossing an invisible border. Then, we remember our manners and want to polite but we don't want to answer that the mortgage is past due, we just lost our job, the kids were arrested for drugs and we don't know where the next meal is coming from. (Ok, I'm exaggerating a bit.) So the manners kick in, and we fake a smile and reply "fine." Honesty versus manners. Keep your distance from others.

However, we don't want to be intrusive into the questioner's life, so we don't follow up with the "and how are you?" easily. We don't want to put that stranger into the same uncomfortable position we were in. 

I’ve just returned to live in the Shenandoah Valley, this time at the top of the Valley in Winchester, Virginia. For over 30 years I lived in Indiana, where Hoosiers have mid-Western politeness. I’ve visited 48 of the 50 states, Canada, Europe, the Caribbean, and South America. It’s easy for me to ask and answer in Spanish “Como estas?” “Estoy bien, y tu?” because it’s what I’ve learned from phrase books. Yes, I can go through the “HowAreYOU?” ritual with only minimal distress now. If the situation demands it, I even ask “and how are you?”

But I know this is different than when an old-timer from “back home” asks “how are mama and them?”

Sunrise and sunset are different at the eastern edge of the time zone!

With sunny skies, little wind, warmish temperatures and fall color decorating the trees, today was a lovely day in Winchester, VA. But it just seems to get dark so much earlier here than in Indianapolis, IN.

How can that be, I wondered. Then, answered my own question. I'm on the eastern edge of the Eastern Time Zone, more than 600 miles east of Indianapolis, which is close to the western edge of the time zone.

If I were an early riser, which I'm not, perhaps I would see the sun rise minutes earlier than the folks in Indy. However, by 6 pm, it's dark here now.

What a difference a few hundred miles make!

I'm looking forward to spring and the return of Daylight Savings Time.

I can say it freely now: I like bluegrass music

Remember when you were a kid and went somewhere with your parents and tried to pretend that you were not really with them? Well, I did that a few times. I don't think I fooled anyone, including my parents.

It was sort of the same way with bluegrass/country music. My father, who's now 91, used to play guitar (not very well) and sing songs made popular by Bill Monroe, Ralph and Carter Stanley, Mother Maybelle, Hank Williams, and Patsy Cline. I used to pretend I didn't hear him. 

As a teen and young adult, I was trying to "prove to them" (whoever they were) that I wasn't a hillbilly and that I could indeed thrive in non-hillbilly conditions. I used to cringe at the fiddle sounds in Orange Blossom Special and pretend I wasn't captivated by the rhythm of Wildwood Flower.

I'm not sure what changed. Did I gain enough self-confidence to be myself? Did I gain enough knowledge of musical theory that I could appreciate the nuances of sound from opera to rock to bluegrass? Did I gain enough life experience to emphathize with the emotions in bluegrass and country music: love lost, love unrequited, hard times?

Somewhere in my mid-to-late 20s, I began to tap my feet to bluegrass, to sing-along, to hear the beauty of bluegrass harmony, to listen in amazement at the sounds of a dobro and a licketysplit banjo or fiddle.

Yes, I'm a child of the 60s and I "Cain't Get No Satisfaction" and I grooved to "InaGaddadavida," and knew "There's a Bad Moon Risin.'"

I weep with pleasure listening to Mozart. All I want is "R-E-S-P-E-C-T" and want to feel like a "Natural Woman."

However, I would like to ride "The Orange Blossom Special." I would like to hear the "Wabash Cannonball" rumble past. I occassionally have seen "The Wildwood Flower" here in the mountains of Virginia.

Yes, I do like bluegrass music.

I miss the "old" hardwear store; I'm glad it's gone

When I was eight or nine years old, I didn't think of myself as a tomboy. (Does anyone even use that expression now?) Of course, I didn't think of myelf as a sissy either. What I did know was that it was more fun to tag along with my Dad to the hardware store than to go to the department store with my Mom.


Hardware stores had a better smell and had aisles full of mysterious implements that I couldn't reach. It was a man's domain, and I was a visitor to this strage land. Maybe the smell was of metal rusting combined with oil, but I liked it. The deities were the men who knew where everything from a molly bolt to a belt for the tractor was kept. I don't remember any women staff.


The way I remember it (which may/may not be the way it really was) is that it was ok for a little girl to tag along with Dad, but when I was over 18 and went in the hardware stores by myself to select a tool or supply, I was looked at suspiciously, as if I had the wrong religion or had wandered into the wrong territory--sort of like Gary Powers flying over Russia.


Now, the big box stores that sell hardware may have a department called hardware. But they are more than that. They actively market to women. There are sections that sell home appliances such as vacuum cleaners, dishwasher. And just wander down the curtain and window covering aisles, called home decor. There are women who actually know where the molly bolts are and who can direct me to the lumber section of the stores.

Yes, I miss the mystery and smell, but I like that men and women seem to be equally ignored by the staff. Well, in fairness, there are actually helpful staff who've shown my everything from the deck stain to the molly bolts.

In fact the last time I went into the "hardware" store which is now a home improvement store, searching for a variable speed drill, I knew more about it than the "helper." I'm glad I was able to visit those mostly disappeared wooden-floored, male-dominated stores as a girl.

Boomers Do Social Media

Enough with the talk about digital natives and digital immigrants. Some of us Boomers have been working with computers since before the Millenials were even born. Ok, so there wasn't all the fun stuff to do--such as games, etc. And yes, we were using them for WORK.

However, some of us have decades of experience and do use social media and do use smartphones for work AND fun. We're individuals, and so are our colleagues in Gen X and Y and the Millenials.

Why go to my high school reunion—41 years later?

The 1968 graduating class from Natural Bridge High School held several reunions. I never ventured back until the one held in 2001—or 2002, I can’t remember. Nor can I remember my reasons for attending. Once again, a class reunion is planned—for Labor Day weekend 2009. Why am I planning to attend?
1. I never thought I’d live to be old—past 30, that is—and I want to see who else is surprised at still being alive.
2. Talk with others who experienced the same place long ago and far away that no longer exists. A high school with 400 students grades 8-12. No air-conditioning. No art classes. No sass to teachers and no messing up. Did they have the same or different experience as I, even though we were in the same time-space continuum? How did those experiences shape their lives?
3. Encounter my frenemies from that era and determine their current attitudes about themselves, the world and me.
4. Be amazed at how many of my classmates remained in the same geographic area.
5. Explore the influences from those years that shaped me into the being I am now.
6. To rejoice in myself. I survived; and to celebrate with other survivors.

Bumble Bee Thoughts

Today I saw the first bumble bee of the season and looked to see whether his face was black. Why? Because of my great uncle Charlie.



He must have given me the advice about bumble bees well before I was 5 years old since he died about the time of my fifth birthday. I remember being afraid of bumble bees when I was little and he told me I had to worry about a bumble bee stinging me only if he had a black face. Of course, I never could tell about the color of the face; they always looked yellow to me! Is it true? Are there black-faced bumble bees. I don't know, and that's not the important part of the lesson.


Bumble bees make a big boring buzzing sound and fly slowly; in some ways they remind me of helicoptors. The most memorable bumble bee experience in my life occurred about 15 months before my great uncle died. It was a hot summer day in the Shenandoah Valley. A wooden rocking chair, a favorite of uncle Charlie, was waiting for us on the back porch; I would sit and he would rock and tell stories and smoke his pipe. Of course, being a Southern child, I called him "Unk Chalie." It was years before I would learn the "correct" pronunciation of those words. It surprised me to learn his name when written contained the letter r!


The busy bumble bee started, about mid-morning, burrowing a hole into the wooden seat of uncle's favorite rocking chair. As the doy progress "Unk" and I peeked. The busy-boy bumble bee noise continued as he bored a hole deeper into the wood. The seat was a couple of inches thick and he disappeared below the surface. I was as impressed by this magic as by any trick that my amateur-magician father performed. The noise continued for hours.



Finally, my kind-hearted uncle became concerned that the bee might burrow too deeply and be unable to get out. So, he took his pocket knife and and cut into the wood to free the bumbling bumble bee.


What an experience. My uncle, who had been one of the original Forest Service employees, had been willing to let a bumble bee put a hole in his favorite rocking chair to give me a nature lesson. And he was willing to damage the chair even more to free the bee.





From my great uncle I learned to observe and respect life. How many people today would be willing to teach a child such a lesson?

So they think the recession will still impact us in five years

A few days ago, I read an article with a headline that said a majority of Americans believe we wil still feel the effects of this recession in five years. Yes, I agree.

I've been thinking about the ways in which I, personally, have been affected. One: ATA Airlines went bankrupt owing my small buisness about $10,000. I don't know about you, but losing that amount of revenue put a "crimp" in my financial situation in 2008. That fee would have helped fund a vacation to South Africa my husband and I had planned for January 2009, my annual SEP contribution, and some "just plain" fun projects. Now, admittedly, the $10,000 wouldn't have been enough by itself, but the loss of the $10,000 meant I had to shuffle other funds around. It meant we didn't go to South Africa this year.

Other ways I've felt the recession impact: I believe most people are kinder and more understanding of those who are unemployed or underemployed. I believe most of us think "There but for the grace of god, the universe, etc...go I...."

I personally remind myself to be grateful for the important things in life including friends, family, ability to move about freely, ability to express my opinion without fear of retribution, joy in the sunshine, joy in the moment.

Somehow, I am not filled with "fear" for the future. There have been some tough times and scary times that I have managed to get through. So I continue to have confidence that I will get through these tough times in a satisfactory way.

I think the recession reminds me to choose love not fear as a way to live.

How many of my friends will blog and tweet?

Yes, you know I'm a Boomer, and so are some of my friends. I don't know why, but some of them aren't involved in social networking yet.

About two hours ago I invited a couple dozen friends and business colleagues to participate with me. Wonder how many will check out my blog? Wonder who will accept my invitation to network? Wonder why not?

The idea of making new friends, extending my knowledge, keeping in touch, reconnecting, asking for advice--all appeal to me. Why not?

January already seems like a long month

Yes, I know it's only eight days into the month, but it already seems like weeks. Do you feel it, too?
Every year, it happens; in pre-holiday December, I envision lots of time to "get things done" before the new year. Somehow, I have the mistaken idea there will be a slow, relaxing period during the first week of January. Every year I am wrong. Yes, I keep working during the holidays, but it seems as if all my colleagues take a couple of weeks off and return in January with a long list of things that I need to do "yesterday."
So, here I am, in the early hours of morning, trying to catch up. Guess I should just accept that the first week of January will always have more work than can fit in a "normal" workweek.
Thank goodness I have work. Now, I'm thinking, maybe next week will be slower. Or, am I just fooling myself?

It's great to have friends

Maybe you were different--but when after I finished undergraduate school and starting working "in the real world," I lost my interest in having female friends. Perhaps it was the "times," and the workplace (with men in charge) subtly encouraged us women to be competitors instead of allies. I had enjoyed my female roommates and friends in college, but I lost touch with them afterwards. I just didn't choose to have close female friends for many, many years.

Maybe I was too busy working and dating. It wasn't until I was in my late 30s that I started valuing female friendships again. Now, I am reminded of how wonderful woman friends can be. A friend just stopped in to bring a pot of soup she had cooked. My husband and I had a Dec. 24 dinner with two other couples. One of the women has been my friend for 30 years now.

It's great to have male friends, but I realize how many wonderful, talented, attractive, energetic, brilliant female friends I have. Thank goodness I got over that jealous, catty, fearful time in my life when I didn't seek out women friends. Here's best wishes to all my friends in 2009.

Alice's Art

Thoughts for the New Year

Have you ever considered that it might be more logical to start a new year at a solstice or equinox? Why not start the new year with the vernal equinox--a time of renewal and planting and growth?

Regardless of the reasons for using the calendar that we do, a new year started today--especially a new fiscal year. Like most business people, I am involved in end-of-year accounting and start-of-new-year implementation of business goals.

For AIRvan Consulting, we hope to expand our scope regionally and nationally. We hope to maintain relationships with current and past clients and add new clients. We are offering new services which include website usabililty testing.

Personally, my goal this year is to spend less time volunteering for professional organizqations and more time painting. My husband and I love to travel, but had to cancel plans for a dream trip to South Africa in early 2009 due to the economy. However, we are happy together and extend our wishes to family, friends, colleagues, and all fellow citizens of the world.

Hope for the best and be prepared to deal with whatever happens!

Losing our individual rights

Had lunch with a friend / business colleague today. After discussing how "nigh impossible" it is to make an accurate forecast for 2009 business, we hit upon the topic of losing our individual rights.


We decided that here in the US, a small group of people seem to want our rights limited, and the vast majority--the silent majority--don't seem aware that privacy is eroding.


What do you think?