tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6265556264403495882024-03-19T02:21:40.116-07:00The Virtual PenMaria V. Eyleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13304424281178049817noreply@blogger.comBlogger18125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-626555626440349588.post-72357775997663766782015-10-25T20:29:00.000-07:002015-10-26T12:16:14.922-07:00Writing My First Novel: Finding and Exploring Ideas<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Writing My First Novel: Finding and Exploring Ideas</span></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">By </span></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b><span lang="FR" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: FR;">Maria V. Eyles </span></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b><span lang="FR" style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: FR;">(a.k.a Maria Christina
Vidale)</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“I want to
write a novel someday” is a dream for many of us. I finally fulfilled my dream
and have published my first novel, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">God’s
Beautiful Dream </i>by Maria Christina Vidale. (See article below for more about my novel.)</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">It sounds
easy, but how do you start? Where do you get your ideas? Or maybe you have too
many novel ideas and can’t narrow them down.</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Starting
your novel raises your chances of finishing your novel. You can’t finish what you
never started.</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Here are a
few techniques to get your creative flow primed for starting. They really
helped me, and continue to help me stay creatively healthy.</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The Nugget.</span></i><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> Search your mind and writings for a
nugget that fascinates you. I started my novel, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">God’s Beautiful Dream</i>, based on a description of a young woman
standing in the sunset in Paris, soaking in the rays, while someone watched
from a balcony above. </span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Years later
I came across this scene and it intrigued me. Who was that young woman? Who was
watching her? A man, of course, who wondered what was happening to her. The
idea evolved from there. The woman was on the verge of having mystical
experiences (unbeknownst to her) and the man became a young priest struggling
with his faith. There was a built-in story, with tension and possibly
conflicting goals. </span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">As Luke and
Maya’s story evolved, it became too big for the short story I had intended it
to be—and the novel evolved naturally on its own.</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraph" style="margin-left: .75in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Start with a character who intrigues
you.</span></i><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> Maya spoke
little, yet she stood there in the sunset hugging a story. But Father Luke was
different. He talked to me quite frequently. Luke was the voice of my own
spiritual conflicts. At the same time, he had his own struggles apart from
mine. In the process of writing, we tried to work on them together.</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraph" style="margin-left: .75in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Splice together different eras of
your life.</span></i><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> Experiment
with your own story. What would have happened differently if you knew Person Q
during Era 3? What if Person A had ever (or never) met Person Q?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What if you had made a different career
choice? What if a major incident in your life turned out much differently? Take
people and/or incidents from the distant past and put them together with others
from the recent past. Ask “what if?” As with all fiction, make sure you create
original characters and story lines based on a variety of people and contexts so
that they are not identifiable as real people. Nor is it a good idea to write a
novel straight out of your own life without doing a lot of disguising and
reworking of the story. Remember, this is called fiction for a reason. </span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Once you
have your best idea, it’s time to explore it. For this, I find <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">freewriting</i> the most useful. For me, great
ideas come out in freewriting more easily than they do while trying to
painfully outline a story.</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Peter Elbow
developed this method. Take an empty pad and a pen. Write a key word on the
paper, or start with a sentence about how you are feeling<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(“I’m feeling blocked right now.”) Time
yourself for five minutes. Then put the pen on the paper and write anything as
fast as you can. You may repeat your key word or your sentence dozens of times
if you want to, but keep your hand moving and the pen on the paper for five
minutes. Don’t stop or go backwards and don’t erase; simply keep repeating your
last word until something else shows up. If you feel like you’re going to stop,
just keep rewriting the last word you wrote until something else comes along.
At the end of five minutes, your hand should be sore, your paper should be
messy, but your mind should feel clearer.</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">If your
freewriting produces only one good idea, it hasn’t been a waste of time. It if
produces nothing fruitful, it has started to unblock your mind or to clear out
emotional clutter. Either way, you can’t lose.</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">This method
is good for unblocking and for exploring. The pen moves fast so that your brain
can unleash what it wants to say without your logical mind blocking or editing
it. When you are done, read it. Then try to find at least one word, sentence or
section you can explore again, either by freewriting or by normal methods. If
not, throw the paper away and start anew. </span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The beauty
of freewriting is that you are <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">writing
without judging or censoring. “</i>Just writing” is a good habit to get into.</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Once you
have one or more energetic ideas for your novel, you are on your way. The next
step varies by person. You can just start writing or you can make an outline of
your story or you can write out scenes. We can talk more about these steps in
an upcoming article.</span></b></div>
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Maria V. Eyleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13304424281178049817noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-626555626440349588.post-9599198870895120672015-10-08T22:24:00.001-07:002015-10-08T22:24:55.022-07:00God's Beautiful Dream<h3>
God's Beautiful Dream</h3>
<br />
I have just published my first novel, <u>God's Beautiful Dream</u> by Maria Christina Vidale (that's me)!<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYNS9I3pRABA0GRX0vetqtWF90KNJPIlw6Y1gyw1E_5FCZ3qxQzA4ONT7OGFCgt13i4oWZ84qX9Cp9V-u_Lv9VZBFVR8Ih4-pDoqkcgfhJ4G77nmd5no_n-5OnaK1Qz95bIpQHgtqHN2I/s1600/GBD_Cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYNS9I3pRABA0GRX0vetqtWF90KNJPIlw6Y1gyw1E_5FCZ3qxQzA4ONT7OGFCgt13i4oWZ84qX9Cp9V-u_Lv9VZBFVR8Ih4-pDoqkcgfhJ4G77nmd5no_n-5OnaK1Qz95bIpQHgtqHN2I/s320/GBD_Cover.jpg" width="199" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
You can go to the following link and find out all about it and read a long excerpt to preview the book :<br />
<br />
<a href="http://booklocker.com/books/8242.html">God's Beautiful Dream</a> <br />
<br />
The story takes place in Paris in 1972 when a young priest falls in love. Check it out!<br />
<br />
My novel is also available on Amazon, Barnes and Noble, iTunes, Kobo, etc., in paperback and in e-book form (e-books are only $2.99!)<br />
<br />
You may post comments and feedback to this site or to<br />
marinastar805@gmail.com<br />
<br />
<br />Maria V. Eyleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13304424281178049817noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-626555626440349588.post-83789001799105515452014-07-01T22:31:00.000-07:002014-07-03T13:02:33.028-07:00No Fun Sunday<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">Copyright </span><span style="line-height: 115%;">Maria V. Eyles 2014</span><span style="line-height: 115%;"> </span></span><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">J</span></span><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">uly 01, 2014 </span></span><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; font-weight: normal; line-height: 115%;">No
Fun Sunday</span></h2>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%;">By<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Maria
Vidale-Eyles<span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The
<a href="http://theclassicatpismobeach.com/photo-gallery/nggallery/page/4/">Pismo Beach Car Show</a> is dismantling its tents and concessions at 6:30 Sunday
evening. The bulging attraction, held yearly near Father’s Day, makes Coney
Island in July seem bare and spacious. But the Pismo tourists and fair-goers,
just two hours ago shoulder-to-shoulder, now trickle out singly, squalling
children in tow. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Back
near the Addie street lot, Raphael and I are the sole bodies to show up for my
SOS Beach Clean-Up. Not a surprise, I sigh lightly. Like a friend quipped over
his Starbucks latte, “Who would want to go do <i>that</i>, when they could stay here with friends, or go home and watch <u>The
Amazing Race</u>, or otherwise have <i>fun</i>?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Raffy
and I descend the stairs behind the old Pierside, a 5-6 block walk on the
boardwalk from where we parked. Sinking into the sand up to our ankles, our
steps spew chutes of sand up our legs as we walk. The sand’s too talc-like to
leave footprints: no proof of our presence here. No one caring about it either.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But we
do. Some oddball things are fun for us OCD people, like cleaning up messes even
if they get your back sore and your ire up. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">If
nothing else, the theater for this event is unsurpassed in beauty, yea even by
whatever they want to show you digitally on an <u>Amazing Race</u> rerun. Here
is living joy in color, light, sound, feel and smell...the lowering sun,
highlighting the magical contours of beach and ocean, as if with a Waterman fountain
pen. The cobalt breakers foaming rapturously ashore. The sea breeze cooling the
skin and playing with one’s hair. The briny, vaguely shell-fishy scent. The
mosaics of seaweed clumps resembling vegetables—carrots, onions, and kale. As
your foot steps on the sea carrots, they explode with a satisfying pop. And, as
a bonus, most of the tourists have left the beach. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKaU_xgI9Y4xg7xOiDcggKPP5AlxNhtXtciQpaK5mmet6K3EGcznW6t8XLeWha8I7ctnj9M9tKJxSfyBEShwRFO4SI4WgYccjprWgvU4juP-ix1mqu4CFLc_o1i4as7YJEH46eRgZ9yrc/s1600/No+Fun+1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKaU_xgI9Y4xg7xOiDcggKPP5AlxNhtXtciQpaK5mmet6K3EGcznW6t8XLeWha8I7ctnj9M9tKJxSfyBEShwRFO4SI4WgYccjprWgvU4juP-ix1mqu4CFLc_o1i4as7YJEH46eRgZ9yrc/s1600/No+Fun+1.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Of
course, there is the diabolical side of the heavenly theater: the inevitable
debris from “having fun” the American way: “Drop it on the ground and let
someone else clean it up! After all, they pay someone to do that, don’t they?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">No, my
friends. Ocean and beach clean-up depends not only on volunteers, or members of
great organizations like Surfrider Foundation and Greenpeace, but upon every
single living person who is not seriously disabled. As someone wisely said, no
matter where you are on earth, you are still near an estuary to the ocean,
where all the trash ends up.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis-caZgoXc3P-yImEE04xNE4BxT8iZzO0YoXeQ3IaQq7zvV-gepRyH1YocS3mT96esVF5U3FunpdyviD15eGRcNDNzh6osikREiOJWe5q_qRxAjis5JwCpoqdNz9ZwzRZj-7wf8sKIDq0/s1600/100_0517.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis-caZgoXc3P-yImEE04xNE4BxT8iZzO0YoXeQ3IaQq7zvV-gepRyH1YocS3mT96esVF5U3FunpdyviD15eGRcNDNzh6osikREiOJWe5q_qRxAjis5JwCpoqdNz9ZwzRZj-7wf8sKIDq0/s1600/100_0517.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Looking
around, I’m feeling like the movie theater cleaning “crew” going down the rows
after the main feature has ended. Plastic trash bags, doggy bags, and
protective gloves flap out of my every pocket (though I am lacking a broom and
dust pan). My hands fumble with dog leash, dog and trash picker. Like the movie
usher, I even carry a flashlight in my pocket for when the light fades and
everyone else has gone home. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">As the
breeze buffets my trash bag, I fill up most of it before I reach the strand:
plastic bottles, bottle caps, plastic cups, plastic bags, spoons, and forks;
Styrofoam plates and cups pecked into art by the seagulls, so all the tiny
pieces, too; toys, pails, shovels, and sharp plastic shards of same; baby
diapers (yeeew!); beer bottles, soda cans and straws; kites, netting, string,
balloons, chapsticks, wipes, shoes, socks. Add a zillion cigarette butts which
I have no time to remove while I’m alone.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">By the
time I reach the waterline, the tide is rambling in. I take out a second bag
and decide to concentrate right there on the waterline. I’m dismayed at how
many plastic bottles are already floating out to sea; how many plastic bags are
already half buried under wet sand; how many plastic straws and bottle caps are
already intertwined in the wet sea plants as if a part of nature now.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It’s
getting later and I have to concentrate, so I let Raphael off the leash. He’s
been on his best behavior, demonstrating his training by helping me or staying
out of the way. Ecstatic to run free, he chases the gulls making his kangaroo-like
hops. He checks into rest stops formed by abandoned sand castles where he seems
to daydream. Yet he prances gracefully out of the way of the incoming waves
hurtling toward us, ready to drench everything in their path.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Yes,
who would want to come out and do this on a Sunday evening? Some kind of no-fun
nutcase, I guess. What compels me to come out here? It is not anger; I could
never do this in an angry spirit. It is the thought of those one million sea
animals who die annually from ingesting plastic, of which our oceans are
inundated. It’s the thought of a bottle cap going down the throat of an
adorable baby seal, or seagull, or otter, or even some ugly fish, and
strangling him. This thought keeps me awake at night. This thought also makes
my job more painstaking because I try to pick up every tiny straw and bottle
cap, even those half buried or hidden in the seaweed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">As I
do this—concentrate on removing as much plastic as I can—my mind slowly stops
grinding with worry over my own life and problems. I stop mentally berating the
Pismo beachgoers for being slobs with no conscience. All annoyance ceases, and
suddenly I gain a focus of attention, a spiritual awareness. With just myself,
my dog, my picker, and this plastic, a new resonance invades me and I feel
connected to all beings and all things.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And
with that connection comes a flowering sense of gratitude. I fantasize that
maybe, just maybe, I might be helping the beautiful ocean and the mysterious
life it enfolds. Like me, it may live one more day. The feeling of serving and
caring—whether it is true or not— sometimes allows this force field of peace to
descend on me, that rare, loving peace that is not of this world.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Wet,
dirty, sore, and alone but for Raphael, I slog back up the sand—much slower
this time— dragging a heavy trash bag, two pails and the dog leash. The fog is rolling
in with the twilight and the Technicolor beauty of a half hour ago has turned
to black and white.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Unloading
the trash, and re-leashing Raphael, I turn back and look at the Pacific Ocean.
Its vehement beauty is undimmed by nightfall; I am overwhelmed by the gift of
it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Again,
there are no footprints showing we had been on the beach, but a smile deep in
my heart tells me there would have been three sets of footprints, not two.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And
now: How glad I am to report to you that I had no fun on Sunday night.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">The End<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Please send comments directly to me at<br /><br />marinastar805@gmail.com</span></div>
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Maria V. Eyleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13304424281178049817noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-626555626440349588.post-33610199675722400582013-04-07T14:56:00.001-07:002014-05-31T00:04:11.684-07:00Embalmed in Plastic: You, Me and the Synthetic Sea<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></b>
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<span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Embalmed in Plastic Pollution: You, Me and the Synthetic
Sea</span></span></h2>
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<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis">by<br />
Maria V. Eyles</span><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></b></div>
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<h4>
<a href="http://www.facebook.com/?ref=tn_tnmn#!/pages/Rise-Above-Plastics-Surfrider-Foundation-San-Luis-Obispo/281478015210305">This article also published (via a link to here) on the Facebook Page of Surfriders.org, San Luis Obispo, Rise Above Plastics</a><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b> </b></span></h4>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b><br /></b><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><b><span style="font-family: "Constantia","serif"; font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Survival of the Plastics: The Pollution of Pismo Beach, California</span></b></span></span></h4>
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<span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><b>A seagull cocks his head toward a
treasure glinting in the sand. His dive off the pier railing, though noiseless,
alerts dozens of other gulls to materialize. They chase after him, circling, remonstrating
with angry caws. Swarmed to the sand, the seagull rallies: he shoots straight
up through the frenzied cyclone with the precious morsel gleaming from his
beak. Darting under the pier and weaving through the columns, he tries to elude his flying posse</b></span></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">. </span></span><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The chase turns uglier. From my sandy perch,
I begin to fear for this seagull’s life as his fellow gulls attack him, honing
in scattershot, pecking furiously. What could be so delicious, so worth his life?
A strip of surfperch? A crab leg? An open clam, French fries, a carcass of some
kind?</span></span><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Abruptly, he sheers off the pier again
and soars above me. The fought-over food fragment still dangles from his beak
and I gasp. </span></span><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The food frenzy is not about food. It’s
about a plastic zip-lock sandwich bag half-filled with dirt. </span></span><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><b><span style="font-family: "Constantia","serif"; font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Bask in the Trash</span></b></span></span></h4>
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<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Pre-sunset and twilight are the times my
dog Raphael and I prefer to walk Pismo’s shoreline. Cool sea breezes and room
to walk are the advantages of strolling well after the crowds have left the
beach. One Sunday June evening after a huge weekend fiesta, I saw the revelers
had left the beach alright—they had left it a plastic and trash waste dump. </span></span><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAlx2vxadA8cijDSC9Fn6bWMOdsrZBKg6MpKr7eyZ-AY0uKiXz61T8W2fDXU2L052oLOsNPELdCbEyqFEMFkajAltdfjwie4uiM2CQrHnRNYmSF_tyblt_VIsB8CUwcYwi_G2Wmsdo92U/s1600/000_0003.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAlx2vxadA8cijDSC9Fn6bWMOdsrZBKg6MpKr7eyZ-AY0uKiXz61T8W2fDXU2L052oLOsNPELdCbEyqFEMFkajAltdfjwie4uiM2CQrHnRNYmSF_tyblt_VIsB8CUwcYwi_G2Wmsdo92U/s320/000_0003.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pismo Beach near sunset April 2013<br />
Plastic litter to the waterline; seagulls raiding <br />
the styrofoam from trash cans<br />
Photo by Maria V. Eyles</td></tr>
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<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> Bad enough that the trash left a sordid
blight on Pismo Beach, this despite the many aware beach-goers who are normally
protective of our stunning environment.</span></span><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Worse was the pain of seeing all the plastic
and Styrofoam litter next to the waterline where the night’s high tide would suck
it into the ocean. The thought of scenarios like the seagull’s above—of birds
eating Styrofoam cups and plastic bags; of fish, seals and otters swallowing
bottle caps or getting entangled in plastic netting, and dying miserably—all
this impelled me to attempt to clean as many non-biodegradable products as I could beyond sunset. </span></span><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">For this reason—the night’s tides
washing over the shore and the plastic waste —I knew I could not wait until the
beach clean-up crews arrived in the morning. My concern was (and is) the ocean.
So that first evening I picked up some abandoned pails and started filling them
with plastic debris along an 800 yard area of the shoreline. The filled sand
pails were very heavy, and I had to drag them. It got dark, so I came back the
next evening with a large garbage bag and a flashlight.</span></span><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></b></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihZTTYQXhNECzohDfRmG5G0pMJFPBBFA67oS_XgmBk26zfaY35t0E5BRnCkvQBRFAutOCFLNRqmLDiEGA2Tlb0-8VjY8PZ0H0WCgPHuEAO91uRPgtRAtFSQ4-pUcVEo1IhEx8lbV0L604/s1600/Raphael+Shows+The+Last+of+a+Long+Haul+on+Pismo+Beach+July+2012.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihZTTYQXhNECzohDfRmG5G0pMJFPBBFA67oS_XgmBk26zfaY35t0E5BRnCkvQBRFAutOCFLNRqmLDiEGA2Tlb0-8VjY8PZ0H0WCgPHuEAO91uRPgtRAtFSQ4-pUcVEo1IhEx8lbV0L604/s320/Raphael+Shows+The+Last+of+a+Long+Haul+on+Pismo+Beach+July+2012.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></span></b></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Raphael guards the last of many hauls that</span></b><br />
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second evening. Pails could not fit in bins.</b></span><br />
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<span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><b>Plastic removal from the strand is now
my mini-mission in the name of protecting our beautiful ocean from more damage.
For hundreds of years, as Jacques Cousteau lamented, the sea has been “the
universal sewer.” In addition, for five or six decades now, due to (all of) our
nonchalant trashing of beaches and coastlines, the seas have been reduced to
lethal plastic gumbo.</b></span></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">And so I collect. Even Raphael senses my
seriousness: either he runs ahead and shows me “plastic!” as I call out to him,
or he digs a cool burrow in the sand and relaxes patiently while his mum does
all the heavy lifting. </span></span><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">And heavy lifting it is. May through
September, each evening along a few hundred yards, I can fill three or more
tall kitchen bags so heavy they take a long time for me to drag up to the trash
cans one by one. I long for help because I’d rather be recycling the plastics
than stuffing them in our landfill, another nightmare-in-progress for future generations.</span></span><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">A quick list of plastic products I
scavenge will give you an idea of what we are up against along a very short
strip of Pismo Beach: plastic bottles, bottle caps, cups, lids, spoons, knives,
forks, baby bottles, sippy cups, pails, shovels, molds (for making figures and
castles), toys of all kinds, kites, netting, shoes, baby diapers, chairs, squeezy
juice containers, candy and cigarette box wrappers, balloons, boogie boards, thongs,
kiddy jewelry, flashlights, lighters, infinite plastic and Styrofoam containers,
bags of all sizes (This is how I knew the gull’s sandwich bag was full of dirt
or worse, because I pick up so many identical ones), and, finally, assorted
unmentionable products for adults, some used. </span></span><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Due to the latter and to dirty baby
diapers, I now wear protective gloves as I clean up to prevent my coming down
with those strange viruses and rashes.</span></span><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><b><span style="font-family: "Constantia","serif"; font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Unplanned Plastichood: Forever times
Eternity</span></b></span></span></h4>
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<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Plastic in paradise is a lethal hazard <u>not</u>
because the beach won’t look pretty for the next cavalcade of Pismo tourists. I
(and several like me) do not clean up the beach: we pre-clean the ocean, with
the prayer that it doesn’t suffocate and die in plastic stew. </span></span><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The concern for all living creatures,
including humans, is dire. Statistics vary but they get worse each time you
look at them. Concerned scientists apparently agree that worldwide in one year,
industrialized nations produce enough plastic to make one to three freights
train to encircle the globe. The shocking photographs of the North Pacific
Gyre, a plastic island nearly as large as the Continental US, are
heart-breaking. That island was “built” from plastic trash that most often
“accidentally” finds its way out to sea. </span></span><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> For a local example, just last night I had to
chase a Styrofoam cup as it was being sucked out by the tide. It took me ten
minutes, and though it was well worth it, it would have taken the cup’s user
less than a minute to properly dispose of it. </span></span><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></span></span></b>
<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Nearly all of this plastic is
non-biodegradable. Plastic and Styrofoam take longer than forever to break
down. In other words, they don’t. Ever.</span></span></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-family: "Constantia","serif"; font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Man-made Manna Equals Death</span></span></span></b></h4>
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<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Unfortunately for our oceans (and rivers
and lakes), plastics are photodegradable but only to a degree. These plastics
actually never degrade completely: they become microscopic plastic dust
particles invisible to the naked eye. Two tragic facts about the plastic dust:
As a plastic bottle, for example, photo degrades, it not only emits toxins but
also attracts other toxins. Worse, the toxic plastic dust is often mistaken for
plankton—and actually outnumbers plankton in several areas of the Pacific. So
not only are our oceans and waterways being poisoned, so is all marine life,
whose food chain begins with plankton. </span></span><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Tragically, the marine food chain is
ours too. The human food chain starts with plankton and grass. All life on earth is seriously threatened by
the plastic pile-up.</span></span><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></b></div>
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</div>
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<span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><b>Even if the plastic microdust were not
enough to stamp out life, marine animals are being mercilessly slaughtered by
the presence of visible plastic. Referring to the North Pacific Gyre, or
Plastic Continent, Matt Ransford, a writer for Popular Science, states in his
article “Why Trashing the Oceans is More Dangerous than We Imagined”: </b></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; text-indent: .5in;">
<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span></span><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0.5in 10pt 1in; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-size: 10.0pt;">Turtles
mistake bags for jelly fish and birds mistake floating chips for prey. Animals
have been discovered starved to death because the entire contents of their
stomachs were plastic fragments. </span></span><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-size: 10.0pt;"><br /></span></span></span></b>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-vQA-xC5teoTUJE8ZsDmQvO5_rxG4qadqr4azwlfng404aYckRX8vu_9rU7bkqgfeKWAVDAUAYkZU31S6WFDz0Wvx5AUYJ6hp-lEf-tHxLrBmgY8DXDzYH6odwdl60jOoIuuqRwGJabM/s1600/Fish+Caught+in+N.+Pacific+Gyre+courtesy+of+Marcus+Eriksen.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-vQA-xC5teoTUJE8ZsDmQvO5_rxG4qadqr4azwlfng404aYckRX8vu_9rU7bkqgfeKWAVDAUAYkZU31S6WFDz0Wvx5AUYJ6hp-lEf-tHxLrBmgY8DXDzYH6odwdl60jOoIuuqRwGJabM/s320/Fish+Caught+in+N.+Pacific+Gyre+courtesy+of+Marcus+Eriksen.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fish Caught in N. Pacific Gyre; stomach contents plastic<br />
Photo courtesy of Marcus Eriksen</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-size: 10.0pt;"><br /></span></span></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><b>Those of us who would never dream of
harming a dog, cat or horse are unknowingly condemning perhaps dozens of marine
animals to a cruel death by tossing away one plastic bottle and bottle cap.
Animal lovers must be in the forefront in the fight for all of our survival.</b></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<h4>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><b><span style="font-family: "Constantia","serif"; font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">One times 4 billion: worldwide plastic blight</span></b></span></span></h4>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; text-indent: .5in;">
<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Moreover, just the shards of one plastic
sand pail—made from “PETE,” #1 of 7 grades of plastic, will live forever. Not
only can these shards kill countless animals, they also leach antimony trioxide
into the liquids, skin, and lungs in contact with it. Forever! </span></span><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><b><br /></b></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; text-indent: .5in;">
<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The number of these dagger-like shards I
pick up in the summer on Pismo Beach is staggering, not to mention the plastic
netting the pail set came in, netting which invariably gets shoved into the
sand and abandoned there. When I see this, I have to wonder, who would want
their toddler playing with anything so dangerous, a toy that not only leaches
dangerous chemicals but also shatters with ease into little plastic
switchblades and needles? And imagine what these shiny fragments would do to an
adorable seal or sea otter’s belly. </span></span><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><b><br /></b></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; text-indent: .5in;">
<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Indeed, it takes <u>seeing</u> this
pernicious plastic and consciously thinking about its deadly nature to combat
the problem of our programmed bad habits.</span></span><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></span></span></b>
<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></span></span></b>
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzJw3RIL4-lMmIxnj1UCbStVYxlkjRAyvmKhrwpGSRtsdWPIkFWKuospzqu_cMXblub-1AHEWG_mcL9biIySkRM1R1Uhwpf1UcYnBJAOrrTaJWDPfhVPpxvfSoD9DERJVWfgZ4FLNqmy0/s1600/Hawaii+Beach+Plastic+Pile+Up,+courtesy+of+Sarah+Cummins.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzJw3RIL4-lMmIxnj1UCbStVYxlkjRAyvmKhrwpGSRtsdWPIkFWKuospzqu_cMXblub-1AHEWG_mcL9biIySkRM1R1Uhwpf1UcYnBJAOrrTaJWDPfhVPpxvfSoD9DERJVWfgZ4FLNqmy0/s320/Hawaii+Beach+Plastic+Pile+Up,+courtesy+of+Sarah+Cummins.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Hawaii
Beach 1, Plastic Pile-Up,<br /> photo courtesy of Anna Cummins and 5gyres.org</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></span></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><b><br /></b></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; text-indent: .5in;">
<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Thus, one moment of thinking, “I’ll just
leave this bottle (toy, candy wrapper, cup) in the sand this <u>one</u> time,”
times one billion similar thinkers on the shores of China, Australia, the US,
Canada, or Central and South America
equals one billion more plastic fragments. And if all billion thinkers think
this way 4 times a year, you have 4 billion more bottles/fragments per year
choking the life out of the oceans. </span></span><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><b><br /></b></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; text-indent: .5in;">
<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">And when a dolphin mistakes that plastic
for food then washes up on your shore; or when a lab technician puts your fish dinner under a microscope,
you will know that the problem is neither remote nor invisible. It starts—and
it can end—with people like you and me. </span></span><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><b><br /></b></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-family: "Constantia","serif"; font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Planetary Survival Means Serious Self-
and Other Education and Activism</span></span><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: 9.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; text-indent: .5in;">
<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">I plead with you to familiarize yourself
with the plastic waste tragedy. </span></span><span style="line-height: 18px;">We've</span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"> buried our heads in the sand so long that
the sands of the Pacific coasts contain alarming amounts of polystyrene flakes
and other plastic fragments.</span></span></span></span></b><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><b><br /></b></span></span>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVCEQrPoOrTF3FsM1t4l5MghG4wif1vwW1j6-CaCDjPFywsnG2gyQ2bt2evmyeIiaGspWHakPlx11FunZH5Asl4lTBrouWQ0AxYN2k8tjlx5PrKDxU35LdOwLvHt03VfiToTdgWWGkPFw/s1600/Hawaii+Beach+3,+Plastic+Chip+Sand,+courtesy+of+Sarah+Cummins.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVCEQrPoOrTF3FsM1t4l5MghG4wif1vwW1j6-CaCDjPFywsnG2gyQ2bt2evmyeIiaGspWHakPlx11FunZH5Asl4lTBrouWQ0AxYN2k8tjlx5PrKDxU35LdOwLvHt03VfiToTdgWWGkPFw/s320/Hawaii+Beach+3,+Plastic+Chip+Sand,+courtesy+of+Sarah+Cummins.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Hawaii
Beach 3, Plastic Chip Sand (Photo Courtesy of Anna Cummins, 5gyres.org)</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><b><br /></b></span></span><b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span></span></span><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; line-height: 115%;"><b><br /></b></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; text-indent: .5in;">
<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The plastic problem affects all our
waterways, including lakes and rivers, not to mention the landfills. The
oceans, however, are extremely threatened. According to <i>National Geographic News.com</i>,
scientists recognize that our oceans produce at least 50% of the earth’s oxygen
supply. When they die, we die. Yet we can pull back from the brink of self-destruction.</span></span><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><b><br /></b></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; text-indent: .5in;">
<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">One way is to form or join local
volunteer and/or community action groups if you are able. You and your family
and friends are the best places to start. Local chapters of Surfriders.org can
help you find ways to act and educate on ocean preservation. Those who live
inland can combat bad landfill practices as well as work to preserve our fresh
water supplies.</span></span><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><b><br /></b></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; text-indent: .5in;">
<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Moreover, as stewards of our planet, we
must all learn to take personal responsibility for the items we take onto a
beach or into nature all the time. We should be sure to pack plastics and other
trash <u>out</u> as carefully as we brought them in. Three nights ago, I saw a
family pack up all their plastic toys and bottles—then, as an afterthought,
their mom tossed the netting and a broken shovel into the sand and left. This
is what she taught her children by modeling this behavior. </span></span><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></span></span></b>
<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgetc2siG5ub7CiwcmRhBh6Sx7zqEa50TTwJEFuFAhPCOnx9Z3vSEVA3B4l8OBphRHvLqtvfzzfhPKzJKtJHw8uzoWXKymDrgdXLn9min7sZM5Li5LQW_-YUTEQodd2TPYfx1sJ4iG1Kmo/s1600/100_0481+-+Copy+-+Copy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgetc2siG5ub7CiwcmRhBh6Sx7zqEa50TTwJEFuFAhPCOnx9Z3vSEVA3B4l8OBphRHvLqtvfzzfhPKzJKtJHw8uzoWXKymDrgdXLn9min7sZM5Li5LQW_-YUTEQodd2TPYfx1sJ4iG1Kmo/s320/100_0481+-+Copy+-+Copy.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px; text-align: center;">Author's Photo of Plastic litter woven into the seaweed reflux after<br />
a February <span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="line-height: 14px;">storm, months after crowds had left </span><span style="line-height: 14px;">the beach.<br />The plastic returned with the high waves.</span></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</span></span></span></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><b><br /></b></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; text-indent: .5in;">
<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Let us instead teach others about the
beauty of the sea and its wildlife, and its vital importance to personal and
planetary life. Let us encourage our children to pack out their toys. That way
when today’s toddlers bring their kids or grandchildren to Pismo Beach or any
other beach, those yet unborn children actually might be able to swim, play and
surf in living waters—instead of in a tragic replica of a giant bounce-house
filled with toxic plastic debris and dust.</span></span><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><b><br /></b></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; text-indent: .5in;">
<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The dangers plastics pose to consumers
are rampant. In self-defense, it is a good idea to educate oneself on the
types. Baby bottles, for examples, are sometimes made from very noxious
plastics that disrupt hormones and can cause brain wave or developmental problems.
Manufacturers may not care about your baby, but they will listen seriously to
the pitter-patter of informed adult feet running away from their products. An
excellent list of common plastic types and their harmful possibilities is
contained in the article “Be Plastic Aware—Dangers” by the LFT Group (see
References below).</span></span><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><b><br /></b></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; text-indent: .5in;">
<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I beg the people of San Luis Obispo County
and the City of Pismo Beach to become a part of the solution to toxic plastic
waste that is killing our ocean. </span></span><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><b><br /></b></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; text-indent: .5in;">
<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Please consider volunteering to help
with beach and ocean clean-ups, for a few random people cannot do this alone.
There is too much trash, and some late afternoons we plastic grabbers must be
elsewhere. Dedicated evening ocean clean-up should never stop because of that.</span></span><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><b><br /></b></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; text-indent: .5in;">
<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I make the following recommendations to
the City of Pismo Beach:</span></span><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><b><br /></b></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; text-indent: .5in;">
<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The city has signs regarding doggy doo
clean up and heavy fines for violators.Yet, unbagged doggy doo constitutes less
than 4% of my pickings. Those signs must be working! So, now. Where are the
signs for plastic bottles, Styrofoam cups, seventeen layers of plastics type
baby diapers, and blankets’ full of meal containers and papers? Signs don’t need to start off sounding threatening.
But if they can direct attention to the plastic problem, that would truly help.
In fairness, most people need to become aware of a problem before they become
motivated to fix it.</span></span><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; text-indent: .5in;">
<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; text-indent: .5in;">
<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Encourage ocean preservationist
organizations to have talks and displays along the boardwalk.</span></span><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><b><br /></b></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; text-indent: .5in;">
<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Add more and larger trash bins, maybe in
seaside pastels, that are more easily accessible to all beach-goers, including
those closer to the water. </span></span><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><b><br /></b></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; text-indent: .5in;">
<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Consider adding a few more recycle bins
on the beach itself.</span></span><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><b><br /></b></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; text-indent: .5in;">
<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Secure existing trash bins so that the shorebirds
cannot shred and scatter the Styrofoam food containers inside them. Conscientious people usually toss their
containers into the trash cans. But what good does that do when the birds
ravage them? These Styrofoam confetti bits scatter all over the beach and the
strand, and are hard to see and sift out. If no one picks them up again, they
will remain there in one form or another—yes—forever. </span></span><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><b><br /></b></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><b>To go a bit further, might the city
think about eliminating Styrofoam in restaurants or as packaging containers?
Styrofoam contains one of the worst toxins, styrene, which is linked to cancers
and a host of other medical problems. It’s a hard one, but it’s doable—after
all, the county has successfully eliminated plastic shopping bags in stores.
Many California cities and several counties have already eliminated Styrofoam
packaging, including Laguna Beach and Santa Cruz. </b></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; text-indent: .5in;">
<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; text-indent: .5in;">
<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“People protect what they love,” said
Cousteau. Do you love the beach? The ocean? Kayaking? Marine animals? Fishing? Making bonfires? Surfing? The sound of the
waves? Show your love! Come out and pick up some bottles. Join a beach clean-up
group. Pester your city councils. Above all, self-educate and spread the word.</span></span><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><b><br /></b></span></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Awareness of plastic dangers could be as
critical as your next breath. It definitely was for that poor seagull’s.</span></span><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></span></span></b>
<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></span></span></b>
<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></span></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><b><br /></b></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis">“It is a curious situation that
the sea, from which life first arose, should now be threatened by the
activities of one form of that life. But the sea, though changed in a sinister
way, will continue to exist: the threat is rather to life itself.” –Rachel
Carson</span><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; text-indent: .5in;">
<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">References </span></span><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Coursey, Blair.
“Plastic Waste—More Dangerous than Global Warming,” Ethical Corporation’s
Magazine and Business Intelligence Resources. </span></span><a href="http://www.ethicalcorp.com/content/plastic-waste-%E2%80%93-more-dangerous-global-warming">http://www.ethicalcorp.com/content/plastic-waste-%E2%80%93-more-dangerous-global-warming</a><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span></span><a href="http://www.ethicalcorp.com/content/plastic-waste-more-dangerous-than-global-warming"></a><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span></span><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> LFT Group. “Be Plastic Aware—Dangers.” </span></span><a href="http://www.lft-group.com/journal/2008/21/2/be-plastic-aware-dangers.html"></a><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span></span><a href="http://www.lft-group.com/journal/2008/12/2/be-plastic-aware-dangers.html">http://www.lft-group.com/journal/2008/12/2/be-plastic-aware-dangers.html</a><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Learn, Scott. “Seaside
Activist Tracks Waves of ‘Microplastic’ Washed onto Oregon Beaches,” The
Oregonian. </span></span><a href="http://www.oregonlive.com/environment/index.ssf/2012/09/seaside_activist_tracks_waves.html"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">www.oregonlive.com/environment/index.ssf/2012/09/seaside_activist_tracks_waves.html</span></a><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Ransford, Matt. “Why
Trashing the Oceans is More Dangerous than We Imagined,” Popular Science. </span></span><a href="http://www.popsci.com/environment/article/2008-04/why-trashing-oceans-more-dangerous-we-imagined">http://www.popsci.com/environment/article/2008-04/why-trashing-oceans-more-dangerous-we-imagined</a></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Roach,
John. “Source of Half Earth’s Oxygen Gets Little Credit,” National Geographic
News. <a href="http://news.nationalgeographic.com/news/2004/06/0607_040607_phytoplankton.html">http://news.nationalgeographic.com/news/2004/06/0607_040607_phytoplankton.html</a></span></b><br />
<b><br /></b>
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<div style="text-align: center; text-indent: 48px;">
<span style="font-size: 16px; line-height: 18.399999618530273px; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Cambria, serif;">PS TO MY READERS: The Comment function does not seem to work, so please feel free to contact me at my email, marinastar805@gmail.com</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center; text-indent: 48px;">
<span style="font-family: Cambria, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 18.399999618530273px; text-indent: 0.5in;">All civilized comments will be answered. Thanks for reading!</span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://www.facebook.com/?ref=tn_tnmn#!/pages/Rise-Above-Plastics-Surfrider-Foundation-San-Luis-Obispo/281478015210305">This article also published (via a link to here) on the Facebook Page of Surfriders.org, San Luis Obispo, Rise Above Plastics</a><br />
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Maria V. Eyleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13304424281178049817noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-626555626440349588.post-63683940224379634542012-12-22T00:58:00.001-08:002012-12-22T21:07:55.086-08:00This Forever Christmas (21 Dec 2012: Not the End of the World)<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<h3>
<span style="font-family: "Constantia","serif";">This Forever Christmas </span></h3>
<h3>
<span style="font-family: "Constantia","serif";"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Maria V. Eyles</span> </span></h3>
</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Constantia","serif";">An occupied
country. A poor family, homeless, on a forced march. Oppressively high taxes—for
the poor and laborers. Religious hypocrites and bullies. Cruel treatment of the
weak; double standards prevailing. A government riddled with corruption and power
abuse. Indifferent rich people, into their own pleasures and exemptions from
the law. Rejection by the townspeople.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Constantia","serif";"><br />
The night bitter cold. Comfort coming only from the presence
and warmth of animals. Love coming only from sheep/goat herders, and from foreign
astrologers of different cultures and skin colors.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Constantia","serif";">A
foreshadowing: The violent Slaughter of Innocents, of little children brutally
killed for no apparent reason. </span><span style="font-family: "Constantia","serif";"><span style="font-family: "Constantia","serif";">Flight into the starlit desert, running for their dear, fragile lives. </span>The
people divided into bitterly opposing factions, all accusing the others of
evil, of being unfit to live or to receive God’s grace. Hatred darkens the world.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpYT0wW0PVybZsqDUAqtMC-qcF5R2It9xO67btGzz1ep4pruTuhd-QA6sW5HptL7JOMoHI6ywWm1IsZiNfChZEQ3yjPwXc8eZn13jH5eEJDU5vvPbjUTxsgR7Y6nW3WevvXIGIO9SphWI/s1600/Star+of+Bethlehem.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpYT0wW0PVybZsqDUAqtMC-qcF5R2It9xO67btGzz1ep4pruTuhd-QA6sW5HptL7JOMoHI6ywWm1IsZiNfChZEQ3yjPwXc8eZn13jH5eEJDU5vvPbjUTxsgR7Y6nW3WevvXIGIO9SphWI/s1600/Star+of+Bethlehem.jpg" /></a><span style="font-family: "Constantia","serif";"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Constantia","serif";">And then—An infant, “God Is With Us,”
glowing in a feeding trough, tended by angels and saints:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hope Eternal, Alight and Alive!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Constantia","serif";"><br /> </span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Constantia","serif";">Blessings and Love, Forever. And Ever. Maria, JP, and Raphael<br />
(21 Dec 2012: Not the End of the World)</span></div>
Maria V. Eyleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13304424281178049817noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-626555626440349588.post-34570331455663004282012-11-25T14:49:00.001-08:002012-11-25T14:58:51.439-08:001-800-PetMeds Next Pet TV Star Contest<a href="http://contest.1800petmeds.com/#.ULKgYGI5nns.blogger">1-800-PetMeds Next Pet TV Star Contest</a><br />
<br />
See Raphael in this contest! Voting Starts November 29th--Tell your friends!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXJ69omQjMp03M0zLYjS1dQKEd1z16yVVa7qRXBX8mDflRKmZdFFTFTrm1jcKyWCLk59FoJN9fP0KirCj-wB788WJLx5axIcwdTiVnnLbAlInOrICSkYPL6No-fxHmIxwWIIgzORoKDpI/s1600/photo_cropped.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXJ69omQjMp03M0zLYjS1dQKEd1z16yVVa7qRXBX8mDflRKmZdFFTFTrm1jcKyWCLk59FoJN9fP0KirCj-wB788WJLx5axIcwdTiVnnLbAlInOrICSkYPL6No-fxHmIxwWIIgzORoKDpI/s320/photo_cropped.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
Raphael, aka Snow-crab Legs<br />
<br />
<br />
OR, enter your own adorable pet. Also, If your have a better caption, let me know, Maria Maria V. Eyleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13304424281178049817noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-626555626440349588.post-7638658572101941082012-05-14T22:05:00.003-07:002012-05-16T09:31:02.381-07:00Delivering My Change.Org Petition to Wells Fargo<h4>
</h4>
<h4 class="MsoNormal">
Delivering My Change.Org Petition to Wells Fargo</h4>
<h4 class="MsoNormal">
Wednesday May 9<sup>th</sup>. 11:00 a.m. Arrived in San Luis Obispo with my
friend Melanie, a veteran, and my service dog Raphael accompanying me. Parked in
the lot of Wells Fargo Bank and Wells Fargo Home Mortgage, 665 Broad Street,
San Luis Obispo, California 93401. Occupy SLO was conspicuously absent; perhaps
they no longer exist. Down the street, two men were setting up a KSBY-TV camera.
We approached these cameramen who then asked me for a short interview. I was
more than happy to comply. </h4>
<h4 class="MsoNormal">
</h4>
<h4 class="MsoNormal">
Again they filmed the large, bound petition book I
was carrying, and asked many questions about Change.Org. I told them how
supportive Change.Org’s staff had been to me, but I re-emphasized that these
opinions of Wells Fargo were my own, not those of Change.Org. I explained that Change.Org
only provides a platform and voice for me and the thousands of others who
signed up with them. Then KSBY-TV supposedly filmed us walking into the front
doors of the bank, but instead filmed another woman walking into the side door.
This weakened the spot on the local 6:00 news. Still, I was grateful for the coverage.</h4>
<h4 class="MsoNormal">
</h4>
<h4 class="MsoNormal">
11:35 a.m. Melanie, Raphael and I entered Wells Fargo Bank.
As we looked around for the staircase to the Home Mortgage Division on the
second floor, a man in a suit politely approached us and asked if he could help
us. I saw right away he was waiting for us. He introduced himself as Mark
Corella, the district manager for the Central Coast Market. </h4>
<h4 class="MsoNormal">
</h4>
<h4 class="MsoNormal">
Ah, see there! I hadn’t known the Central Coast was a
“market” for Wells Fargo. Silly me; I’d thought this was a geographic area.</h4>
<h4 class="MsoNormal">
</h4>
<h4 class="MsoNormal">
Mr. Corella told me that he and the branch president, Mike
Henson, had been waiting for us. Mr. Henson arrived and shook my hand. Both men
escorted me and my companions upstairs where we were invited into a conference
room to sit down and talk. On my way up the sweeping staircase, I observed that
the building’s interior was round with a domed roof, along the Byzantine
architectural style of cathedrals, temples, and mosques. A fitting sanctuary, I
mused, for the altar of the almighty dollar.</h4>
<h4 class="MsoNormal">
</h4>
<h4 class="MsoNormal">
Melanie noticed that the mortgage department, which took up
the whole second floor, was bereft of customers that day. Interesting. Keeping
the children out of the busy street?</h4>
<h4 class="MsoNormal">
</h4>
<h4 class="MsoNormal">
Both men immediately expressed great sorrow at the fact that
I had suffered so much at the hands of Wells Fargo Home Mortgage, and begged to
hear my story. Mr. Corella seemed especially sympathetic, and claimed he had
“no idea” this was going on in his community until he saw the newscast on KSBY
the night before.</h4>
<h4 class="MsoNormal">
</h4>
<h4 class="MsoNormal">
(Scary, huh?)</h4>
<h4 class="MsoNormal">
</h4>
<h4 class="MsoNormal">
To their credit, the men tried to make me feel welcome and
comfortable. Before I launched into my story, I let them know that I was aware
that Mr. Henson’s domain was generating <u>new</u> mortgages and not dealing
with loan modifications. However, I softly chided them, this has been a sore issue:
The ironically named “Home Preservation Department” is a warehouse of, I
suspect, temporary, untrained employees without face-to-face presence. But I
was here <u>demanding</u> that the bank
sit up and pay attention to this issue face-to-face, i.e., this issue of
endless runarounds, bad faith, dual-tracking, lies.</h4>
<h4 class="MsoNormal">
</h4>
<h4 class="MsoNormal">
They asked if they could look at the petition, and I told
them, “Here! It’s yours. This is what I am presenting today.” They were quite
astonished to see so many signatures from all around the country and, I pray,
embarrassed. </h4>
<h4 class="MsoNormal">
From about 11:45 to 12:30, I spoke, telling them every
detail I could squeeze in, and how I was shafted by the bank at every turn.
Both Corella and Henson appeared to listen attentively. I explained about how I
had so far received good media attention, much of it from the almost 17K
signatures. </h4>
<h4 class="MsoNormal">
</h4>
<h4 class="MsoNormal">
I recounted some examples of other people’s miserable
experiences with Wells Fargo, and that many were horrific and morally repugnant
(not to mention criminal, but this was not a tribunal. Yet.) I explained how
the banks had created this economic downfall to begin with and had unleashed an
American tragedy. These Wells Fargo representatives could hardly believe their
ears because “we always try to help people and do the best for our customers—and
our community right here in San Luis Obispo.” </h4>
<h4 class="MsoNormal">
</h4>
<h4 class="MsoNormal">
To this form of dangerous and willful ignorance, I suggested
that first, they drive around and see the empty houses in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">their</i> community; and second, they pay more attention to the
walloping the WF Brand is getting on the Internet and in other media. “Oh, not
just from me but from thousands of customers—and, uh, <u>former</u> customers,”
I drawled sweetly.</h4>
<h4 class="MsoNormal">
</h4>
<h4 class="MsoNormal">
Near the end, Mr. Henson asked what they could do to help
me.</h4>
<h4 class="MsoNormal">
</h4>
<h4 class="MsoNormal">
Someone suggested that he call the Executive offices in Des
Moines to see if he could bring attention to this matter. At that I reeled off
the names of people in that executive office I had spoken to in the past, and
how they no longer answered my calls or returned my messages, at least as of
March. Yes, even Ms. Dawn Nelson, from the Media Division, who chatted so
amiably with me and insisted I reapply for a loan mod. Ms. Nelson recited all
the perfect formulaic hogwash previously spewed at me, such as how she would
“be there” for me and serve as my exclusive point of contact, and how she would
help me with the new application, and so on.</h4>
<h4 class="MsoNormal">
</h4>
<h4 class="MsoNormal">
Okay. Now let’s break and try out your psychic abilities:
How many times since that call do you think Ms. Nelson talked to me or even
returned my calls? Yes, by golly, zero times. How many times did I call leaving
frustrated messages only to hear that Ms. Nelson was “out of the office” for
weeks on end? Bingo! Yes, every time.</h4>
<h4 class="MsoNormal">
</h4>
<h4 class="MsoNormal">
After this, Mr. Henson declared that I had ventured closer
to the President’s Office than any of them ever had. I told them that was
thanks to my enlisting the help of U.S. Congresswoman Lois Capps’ office. As to my attempts to open a case with the
OCC, that was a waste of time. The OCC, not surprisingly, did nothing but stick
up for Wells Fargo and tell me that WF did not have to follow <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">any</i> regulations. No, those OCC
“regulations” I was quoting, the OCC person told me, were really only <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">guidelines</i>, for did I not know that “the
banks can do what they want?”</h4>
<h4 class="MsoNormal">
</h4>
<h4 class="MsoNormal">
Do I know that. Ya think? That’s exactly what I’m fighting
to change.</h4>
<h4 class="MsoNormal">
</h4>
<h4 class="MsoNormal">
The meeting with Corella and Henson ended by Mr. Henson
promising to contact the executive offices in Des Moines, send them the petition,
and let them know they I had spoken with them, and as a result, they, Henson
and Corella, wanted to try and help me succeed in obtaining this loan
modification. Henson frankly admitted that it would probably do no good as he
was “small fry,” but at least he was willing to try.</h4>
<h4 class="MsoNormal">
</h4>
<h4 class="MsoNormal">
Back in the car, I asked Melanie’s opinion. Melanie is a U.S. Marine veteran with her feet squarely on the ground, so her opinion counts. </h4>
<h4 class="MsoNormal">
“A game of
Klingon Boggle would prove more productive," she sighed. "Seems like the same dog-and-pony
act from what you described before: they’re nice, they listen, they do
absolutely nothing.”</h4>
<h4 class="MsoNormal">
</h4>
<h4 class="MsoNormal">
“Then, while they have you on infinite hold, they send the
foreclosure attorneys out. Don’t forget that step.”</h4>
<h4 class="MsoNormal">
</h4>
<h4 class="MsoNormal">
“Even in there, I was worried that the nice guys in suits
might just be shape-shifters and any minute would revert to their true form of
cosmic gases.”</h4>
<h4 class="MsoNormal">
</h4>
<h4 class="MsoNormal">
“Oh, Melanie. Don’t be so unkind. I’m sure <u>Star Trek</u>
does not want to be associated with…such…deceptive practices.”</h4>
<h4 class="MsoNormal">
</h4>
<h4 class="MsoNormal">
Friday May 14, 2012. Not
a word from Wells Fargo in SLO, a word like, “I phoned the executive offices in
Des Moines but they will be closed for three months while renovations and
remodeling take place. I’ll try back in early September.”</h4>
<h4 class="MsoNormal">
</h4>
<h4 class="MsoNormal">
I couldn’t stand it, so I phoned Mark Corella, the more
sympathetic one. He answered, but seemed very surprised to hear from me. </h4>
<h4 class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
“Uh..oh…Maria!” he exclaimed. “Uh,
remember I said that mortgages were not my area? I gave your case to Mike
Henson to take care of.”<br />
“Well, then let me speak to
Mike, please.”<br />
“He’s not here.”<br />
“Aha. Where might he be?”<br />
“Well, he and his whole group
are out of town. In a training session. Yes, they are all in Santa Barbara at a
training session. I won’t see him till Monday morning or so.”<br />
“Can you at least tell him I
called? Give him a message?”<br />
“Yes, sure. In fact I’ll call
him right now on his cell phone. But—he probably won’t be able to get back to
me. But I’ll try. I know before he left he did send some emails to the
executive offices, but I don’t know any more."</h4>
<h4 class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;">
<br />
A few hours later, Mr. Corella left a message on my home phone stating that he
did indeed put that message on Henson’s cell phone.<br />
<br />
Monday, May 14, 2012, 4:44 p.m. No word. No calls. SUPPORTERS: You are WONDERFUL! Couldn’t do
this without you. More updates soon!</h4>Maria V. Eyleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13304424281178049817noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-626555626440349588.post-64852676781758540102012-03-24T13:34:00.001-07:002012-03-24T13:34:32.392-07:00Loan Mod Hell: The Parable of Hells Un-Fairgo Bank<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
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<span style="mso-no-proof: yes;">Saturday, March 24, 2012</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The
Parable of the Unforgiving Servant (Matthew 18:21-35) Rewritten</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype","serif";">Or Now,</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype","serif"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The
Parable of Hells Un-Fairgo Bank<br />
</span><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype","serif";">(The original copied
directly from <a href="http://uscch.org/bible/matthew/18/">http://uscch.org/bible/matthew/18/</a>)<br />
by<br />
Maria V. Eyles <br />
(Words in parentheses and italics my additions, not in original)</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype","serif";">Then
Peter approaching asked him, “Lord, if my brother sins against me, how often
must I forgive him?” As many as seven times?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype","serif";">Jesus
answered, “I say to you, not seven times but seventy-seven times. That is why
the kingdom of heaven may be likened to a king (<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">a nation’s President, its agencies, and its law makers</i>) who decided
to settle accounts with his (<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">their</i>)
servants (<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">the</i> <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">big bankers</i>).</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype","serif";">“When
he (<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">they</i>) began the accounting, a
debtor (<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">one particular big banker</i>)
was brought before him (<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">them</i>) who
owed him (<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">them</i>) a huge amount (<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">restoration of the nation’s economy</i>).
Since he had no way to (<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">honestly</i>) pay
it back, his master ordered him to be sold, along with his wife, his children <u>and
all his property</u>, [Ed: Emphasis mine] in payment of the debt.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype","serif";">“At
that the servant fell down, did him homage (<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">or
pretended to</i>), and said, ‘Be patient with me, and I will pay you back in
full.’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype","serif";">“Moved
with compassion the master of that servant let him go and forgave him the loan.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype","serif";">“When
that servant left, he found one of his fellow servants (<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">a tax-paying citizen</i>) who owed him <u>a much smaller amount</u>. [Ed:
Emphasis mine.] He seized him and started to choke him, demanding, ‘Pay back
what you owe!’ </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype","serif";">“Falling
to his knees (<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">with the threat of sudden foreclosure
and destitution</i>), his fellow servant begged him, ‘Be patient with me and I
will pay you back.’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype","serif";">“But
he (<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">the big banker</i>) refused. Instead,
he had him (<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">the tax-paying citizen</i>) put
in prison (<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">and took away his house,
making his wife and children homeless</i>) until he paid back the debt.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype","serif";">“Now when
his fellow servants (<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">all the tax-paying
citizens</i>) saw what had happened, they were deeply disturbed, and went to
their master and reported the whole affair. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype","serif";"><i>(The
master in this rewritten version actually turned blind eye to the tax-paying
citizens and did nothing about the unforgiving servant for several years. But
in the original we see the cosmic consequences played out in truth. And here it
is:)</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype","serif";">“His
master summoned him and said to him, ‘You wicked servant! I forgave you your
entire debt (<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">and even bailed you out</i>)
because you begged me to. Should you not have had pity on your fellow servant,
as I had pity on you?’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype","serif";">“Then
in anger His master handed him over to the torturers until he should pay back
the whole debt. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype","serif";">“So
will my heavenly Father do to you, unless each of you forgives his brother from
the heart.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype","serif";">(<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">That is, shows the same mercy and
forgiveness to his brother/sister as he/she was shown</i>.) </span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype","serif";">The End</span></div>
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<br /></div>Maria V. Eyleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13304424281178049817noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-626555626440349588.post-51276143808529449942011-11-08T09:30:00.000-08:002014-05-03T16:35:15.562-07:00Wells Fargo Home Mortgage: Predators<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Heading1Char"><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">Predators<br />
</span></span><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; line-height: 115%;">by<br />
Maria V. Eyles</span></span></div>
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<span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; line-height: 115%;"> By mid-morning, my shoulders slump and my face sinks sideways onto my table, ever-littered with documents, scrawled notes and phone numbers. The so-called “loan modification” people at Wells Fargo have me limp as a rabbit in a wildcat’s mouth, treacherously shaking out my strength, savings, time, and resolve, while their foreclosure attorneys—fangs bared, I imagine—declare another victory for the one percent.</span></span></div>
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<span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; line-height: 115%;"> I close my eyes. Images of the old anti-ads against the Big Robber Barons and Evil Employers who battened on child labor sear through me. I don’t want to open my eyes, for I see a very Ugly America now in 2011, one to make Bernie Madoff seem like Shirley Temple’s dress designer. </span></span></div>
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<span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; line-height: 115%;"> If for the past thirty years since the deregulation of the powerfully greedy, banks and corporations were on steroids, now they seem to be acting as if on crack cocaine and LSD combined. They are playing with me and millions of others a hunting game called Loan Modification Limbo and Dual-Tracking on the see-through pretext of “helping people stay in their homes.” (Don’t they have “homes” confused with “homeless shelters” in that sentence?) Dual tracking is </span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">dangling the client in a loan modification process and a foreclosure process simultaneously so that the bank/mortgage servicer can defraud the applicant of the home by foreclosing on it while the applicant is in good faith waiting for the loan modification to be resolved.</span></div>
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<span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; line-height: 115%;">Both are supposed to be illegal, but the banks haven’t heard. We have to guess that all those profits rolling in (in July this year Wells Fargo boasted a piffling 3.4 billion dollar profit in one quarter) deafen them to the cries of the 99%, those of us who actually worked for our homes. </span></span></div>
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<span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; line-height: 115%;">Envisioning this Bunuel/Hitchcock hallucination, I shake my shoulders resolutely and shoot upright at my table. “No way! These predatory swindlers will not get their greasy fingers on MY house!”</span></span></div>
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<span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; line-height: 115%;">My condo/townhome here in Pismo Beach, California, is the only real bank account I have. The little equity left was forged from the 35 years of work that my late husband Geoffrey, a research scientist, civil and structural engineer, and I (California Community College Instructor, writer and editor) put into it. My husband and I actually made a conscious effort to make less money in our fields in order to contribute to the betterment of our society and the great and beautiful State of California. Guess that made us saps in the eyes of the banks, big business, and unfortunately the legislatures.</span></span></div>
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<span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; line-height: 115%;">Now a widow on disability, I did well with the house for many years before being suckered into a bad loan by a Wells Fargo rep. I hold myself completely responsible though—so much so that I spent the last four years trying to refinance it. Wells Fargo refused me a refinance option over and over while extending me much credit. The evasion, we now know, was because they no longer had any say in the loan, but had sold it to some ruthless speculators, who turned it into “mortgage backed securities,” which means it is lost somewhere in a pool of millions of dollars. I have no real investor, but that cardboard “investor” has total power over my fate.</span></span></div>
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<span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; line-height: 115%;">My story parallels millions of others. Hardship upon hardship ensued, ironic backfirings of my trying to improve my financial situation. In October of 2010 I first phoned WF’s Loss Mitigation department. That day a year ago I joined the rest of the P.T. Barnum Company of the Bamboozled and was “invited” to try for a loan modification and a HAMP. Ha. I would have done better getting on a plane to Lourdes.</span></span></div>
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<span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; line-height: 115%;">Since then, endless unpaid full-time work filling out forms for a voracious Wells Fargo Paper Mill has only heightened my despair. That shoulder-slumping morning, I rallied remembering the success I had upon plying some tactical judo and turning this intensive writing and paperwork against Wells Fargo. Recently my irate letters got the attention of U.S. Congresswoman Lois Capps’ offices, whose intervention had, in turn, catapulted me as far as the Offices of the President of Wells Fargo Home Mortgage. </span></span></div>
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<span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; line-height: 115%;">I picked up my landline and dialed Congresswoman Capps’ San Luis Obispo office, where a wonderful advocate had been helping me. Meantime I ignored my cell phone whose display blinked with realtor after realtor wanting me to hire them for short sales. </span></span><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">No!</span></span><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; line-height: 115%;"> I hissed back at the muted display. </span></span><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Not yet.</span></span></div>
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<span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; line-height: 115%;">Miraculously, the young woman assigned to me at Lois Capps’ office answered the phone. I asked if she could aid “communications” with Wells Fargo. My fourth representative—oh, I mean “Home Preservation Specialist”*—in four weeks apparently decided not to respond to my six messages in response to his insistence that I get in touch with him 72 hours previously. The congresswoman’s advocate (a case worker, not an attorney) was happy to help by phoning him on special congressional lines. This—and only this—worked.</span></span></div>
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<span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Aside</span></span><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; line-height: 115%;">: *The travesty of the titles of these reps from Wells Fargo boils my Italian blood: They are actually called “Home Preservation Specialists.” Quite an insult to the millions of Americans whose homes they have foreclosed on. The name also suggests that, among others, the true reason they keep you dangling about your loan modification right up until the hour of the auction block is so you don’t inflict damage on the house as they drag you out kicking and screaming. That way they can “preserve the home” for the bank’s speculative realtors. Big joke on the dummy client.</span></span></div>
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<span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; line-height: 115%;">To continue, this Mr. P from Wells Fargo Mortgage, office of the president, did phone me back almost immediately. (How great it felt to put pressure the other way around.) The “resolutions” he spoke of on the message felt to me like the Cadillac version of The Run- Around, that is, no resolution at all. The Run-Around is a dance invented by Wells Fargo Home Mortgage where you only step backward, in circles, covering the same old ground, sure to get nowhere, very, very slowly, like blood-letting by leech.</span></span></div>
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<span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; line-height: 115%;">The Run-Around Bank Limbo Rock goes like this:</span></span></div>
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<span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; line-height: 115%;">Demand a 35-75 page application packet<br />
Rush the client with threats of shredding the instantly obsolete packet<br />
Lose the packet, and repeat steps one and two several more times<br />
Sit On the packet for months<br />
Reject the packet<br />
Repeat Steps one and two<br />
Change Partners (the “specialist”) then repeat all the steps above, again<br />
Promise to get the packet to the underwriter within 3-5 days<br />
Go back on Promise and go the other direction<br />
Begin Foreclosure Double Cross<br />
Repeat all the moves from Step One<br />
Stall till moments before the grand finale<br />
Refuse the loan modification<br />
Pose like a vulture and swoop down on client’s home<br />
Foreclose on the home; or, levy heavy fines and fees on your “partner”</span></span></div>
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<span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; line-height: 115%;"> This is the premeditated theft so many banks have choreographed, a sorcery of poorly performed illusions under the guise of “helping people stay in their homes.” None of this is in the spirit of the</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> Emergency Stabilization Act of 2008, which spawned fair guidelines for HAMP and othe loan mod programs in the American Recovery and Reinvestment Act of 2009. No—it is a new form of predatory lending practices.</span><span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; line-height: 115%;"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; line-height: 115%;">What defines human predators is a total lack of empathy and conscience. The fact that someone gets hurt, tormented or even killed is matter of complete indifference to a human predator. By contrast, in the nights surrounding this phone call, I had brushes with two different kinds of predators. </span></span></div>
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<span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; line-height: 115%;">“Mountain lion sighting” the little piece on the online <u>TheTribune</u> (San Luis Obispo) said. This was at 10:50 p.m., just before I was to take my dog Raphael on his final walk, and just before every place shuts up for the night here in dark, deserted little Pismo Beach. “In Chumash Park, off the Fourth Street Exit,” the article informed. A MapQuest search made my scalp tighten: Chumash Park is less than one mile from my house as the equity flies! A curious or hungry mountain lion could easily saunter through the brush, cross along the railroad tracks and creek under Highway 101, and come into Ira Lease Park just steps from my house. Sauntering would take a few minutes; running would take no time at all.</span></span></div>
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<span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; line-height: 115%;">For the next fifteen minutes I sat paralyzed at the computer screen, trying to figure out what to do. It does not help that my dog Raphael, a giant blue shepadoodle, looks exactly like a sheep from a distance. Surfers off Pismo Pier regularly come out of the water exclaiming that they had never seen anyone walk a lamb on the beach till now. Then they get closer and laugh…sheepishly. Call me unimaginative, but I just don’t think a mountain lion would stop to make the inquiry about Raphael’s species.</span></span></div>
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<span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; line-height: 115%;">Not only is Ira Lease Park steps away from what is still my house for a month, but the streets of Pismo Beach at night are a chiaroscuro patchwork of parking lots, alleys and illumination around the boardwalk and hotels. </span></span></div>
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<span class="MsoSubtleEmphasis"><span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; line-height: 115%;">Finally I grabbed Raphael’s leash then shoveled him into the back seat of our car, mercifully parked at the foot of my stairs. I took off for Shell Beach and the Spyglass Inn four miles north. There I yanked the poor canine around, exhorting him to hurry up with his duty. Not sniffing or detecting anything awry, except my palpitant fear, Raffy gave me that intelligent, withering look of serene pity that I have only seen in German Shepherds (half his heritage). He refused to produce for me not quite enough pee to fill a tiny vial.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">A mountain lion, in all its vehement beauty, evokes a clean, unpremeditated kill. An un-premedicated one too, for that matter. Thus the fear the cougar evokes is visceral, natural. Such a bone-shuddering scenario as death-by-mountian lion is motivated by hunger, defense of cubs, the refusal to become prey: Raphael and I traipse innocently into Ira Lease Park, unaware of the creature lounging on a high tree limb above us. Her neck stretches to alertness, and in regal calm her yellow eyes record every detail of size, shape, movement and distance. We move closer. Noiselessly she crouches, poised….A soft thud from behind, a crash; one or both of us a blood-streamed puppet, slashed by razor claws while she nuzzles for the jugular.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">The prospect is terrifying. Yet this primordial fear is one the human body-psyche can instinctively cope with, even prevent. Thrust into a high alert fight-or-flight mode as I have been for the last week, a person can take great precautions to prevent such an encounter by avoiding the sighting area especially at dawn, dusk or nighttime, and sticking to lighted, semi-populated areas. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Taking just such precautions a few nights later, I learn that not all predators can be avoided. Raphael and I wended our way toward the boardwalk and hotels around 10:30 p.m. A circling parade of Pismo Beach police cars and a group of nicely dressed adults on one corner let us know we were not alone this night.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">At the boardwalk, I wave at one of the officers. We all know each other by sight from our respective late night rounds. Often the patrol cars will slow down and wave when they see my flashlight’s halo. But this time this officer addresses me. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">“Did you see anything strange or unusual?”<br />
“Like a mountain lion?”<br />
“No—we haven’t found the lion yet. Like a young (ethnicity mentioned) man running on foot.”<br />
“Robbery?” I remembered the well-dressed people huddled on the street corner.<br />
“No—street fighting. Not a pretty picture. Fight with his girlfriend. Apparently he was kicking her while she was lying on the ground. Some people ran downstairs to help and called us. He ran off.”<br />
I raised up my cell phone. “I have you right here. I’ll let you know if I see him.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">The officer took off jogging toward the SeaVenture. Beyond the boardwalk, the headlights of a patrol car zoomed along the strand. Raphael and I stood alone again on the deserted boardwalk. The ocean gleamed in patches under the low-lights of the moon. Swallowed up in the velvet blackness was another predator lurking, maybe stalking.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">The young man—a predator? Yes. Abusive and violent—yes. Dangerous—definitely. His assault on his girlfriend—an appalling criminal act? Of course. But under most California Statutes, <i>a crime only because</i> <i>there are visible cuts and bruises to “prove” it</i>. Some torn clothing, a trace of DNA; in this case, witnesses. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">The mental ambuscades of cruelty and abuse built into the WF (and other Big Bank) loan modification process are, on the contrary, are just as damaging to human life but “invisible” and hard to prove. Yet, like in any other case of domestic or workplace emotional abuse/bullying, the “home preservation specialists” are expert abusers, whether conscious of it or not. They use all the same methods of the narcissistic sadist. Here I quote psychologist Linda Martinez-Lewi, Ph.D., speaking of sadistic narcissists in divorce cases:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 9pt;">The narcissist often starts out with the commitment that he (she) will be cooperative. He puts the spouse off guard and leads her to believe that the settlement and the decisions about custody will be fair. The word “fair” is not part of the narcissist’s vocabulary….During a divorce, the narcissist <u>uses intimidation, stalling, empty promises, psychological manipulations and hidden agendas</u>. When the narcissist thinks he has his soon to be ex-partner up against a wall, he turns the screws….<u>No matter what the agreement is at the time, the narcissist will always find flaws: “I need one more form; I need time.</u>” (emphasis mine) --</span><a href="http://www.wellsphere.com/"><span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 9pt;">www.wellsphere.com</span></a><span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 9pt;"></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Once you see them listed as above, it isn’t hard to match up the abuse to the loan mod process: </span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Intimidation</span></i><span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"> while in negotiations: “You sent us the wrong documents. Now you’ll have to start over.” [Also counts for <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">nitpicking</b>] “You are 91 days late on your payments. We are starting foreclosure proceedings </span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Stalling:</span></i><span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"> the average loan mod application takes 12-18 months, and very few relatively are approved.</span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Empty promises</span></i><span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">, a.k.a LIES: a steady diet chokes the client/victim of deceit: “As soon as you get us the rest of the documents, we will pass them on to the underwriter.” </span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Fault-finding and nitpicking</span></i><span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">: (“You didn’t fill in your f4506t form right. Read line nine. Do it right or we can’t accept it.” [Of course, they never tell you exactly what they want on line nine, so you keep guessing and faxing.] “You signed but forgot to re-date page 37 in your 85-page application packet. That makes the packet invalid.” </span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Psychological manipulations</span></i><span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">: Everything they say, and everything so far covered here are psychological manipulations. Two other psychologically abusive, crazy-making techniques that pervade the loan modification offices are <i>gaslighting</i> and <i>double-binds</i>. In gaslighting, the abuser denies that real events have taken place in order to throw the victim off-guard and make her doubt her perceptions and sanity. This is a diabolical way to “blame the victim,” as are many of the other techniques. A double-bind is a Damned If You Do—Damned If You Don’t command, so that when the victim tries to obey the command, nothing she can possibly do is right. This paralyzes her, and turns her into prey. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">A conversation I had with my third Wells Fargo “specialist” illustrates both, and more:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Mr. J: You didn’t send in all the bank statements for XYZ Bank. (<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">gaslighting</b>)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Me: Yes, I absolutely did. They are right behind the Wells Fargo accounts. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Mr. J: I’m looking right at your 71 pages, and they are not there. (<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">gaslighting</b>)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Me: Yes. They are. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Mr. J: Well, some of them are here, but I can’t read them. (<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">gaslighting; fault-finding</b>) You sent too many statements. (<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Double-bind</b>: I sent only what <u>they</u> requested only.)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Me: They are ALL there. Why can’t you read them?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Mr. J: They’re a mess. I don’t like them this way. (<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i>obstructivism</i></b>)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Me: So you don’t want to read them even though they are there in front of you? So, what way would you like them? [<i>Thank heaven I bit my tongue before telling him <u>where</u> he could have them</i>.]</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Mr J: Well, you need to send them separately but all together. (<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">double-bind</b>: impossible command)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">We went around with this double-bind for a while. He decided he wanted cover pages for each account, which meant separating statements with two accounts piggy-backed on them.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Mr. J: Why do you have so many accounts? Why do you keep moving little amounts of money from one to the other? This makes no sense to us. (<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">demeaning</b> the victim by criticizing something personal that is not his business.)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Me: Mr. J! That’s irrelevant, but I do that in order to have enough bill money each month, if you need to know! By the way, Mr. J—I DID send a hard copy along with the fax. You should have that too.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Mr. J: Well, you didn’t send it to <u>me</u>. (<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">retro double-bind</b>)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Me: No, because you weren’t my “specialist” at the time! It was Ms. H. I sent it to <u>her</u>. Why don’t you ask her. Or maybe it was Ms. M, whom the bank switched me to the day I sent the package, just to make sure it got lost, I’m sure.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Mr. J: Well, because you didn’t send it to the right person, I’m sure it went to Imaging. (<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">blaming the victim</b>)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Me: Well, then can you ask Imaging to give it to you?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Mr. J: I’m sure they just shredded it. You’ll have to send it again (<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">all of the above</b>). Hurry up or the whole package will be stale…in three days it will be stale!” (<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">coercion</b>; <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">threats</b>)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Finally, <i>hidden agendas</i>: Wells Fargo Mortgage has One not-so-hidden Agenda: To grab up people’s homes. “No loan mod. So now we have to sell it tomorrow at noon at foreclosure auction. Have a nice day!” </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">The Machiavellian minds behind this Loan Mod Scam know very well that the human brain is not equipped to handle this kind of stress, frustration, and abuse. Double-binds are particularly dangerous because they really do paralyze proper thought functioning, much like giving a computer an unsolvable math equation.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Unlike the primal fear the mountain lion evokes—or even the violent man abusing his girlfriend—this kind of psychological abuse/bullying, which goes on in many workplaces, renders people deeply confused, paralyzed, powerless, depressed and physically ill. This destruction occurs because it is only too easy to believe the “reasonableness” of the abusers’ insane requests, or to think you were mistaken about the hint of contempt in the voice.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Even in that warren of half-lit little streets in nocturnal Pismo Beach, there may have likely been a collision of hearts, of passions, and of loyalties that drove the young man out of his human self into animal mode. As intolerable as his act was, at least it was motivated by some emotion, distorted of course, but perhaps normally human at the start one hopes. In the theater, don’t we feel a teensy bit of empathy for the jealousy-tormented Othello? Only because it is human as well as reprehensible? Perhaps the man will regret his behavior, and feel lasting guilt. And at the very least, when caught, that predator will pay for his cowardly abuse.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">“The banks can do whatever they want!” is the chorus from all agencies involved in my case, including HUD, and every attorney’s office I have spoken to. Can they? Can the banks do anything they want? This financial mafia reigns from distant, sterile offices, spouting soul-killing policies, fattening their pockets with government bail-outs, and arrogantly treating troubled clients like dirt, while barely covering up their criminal intent to steal their homes.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">The Occupy Wall Street movement, now world-wide, is a fresh stream of sanity in an increasingly crazy world. I urge all who are as unhappy as we are to hit back where it hurts: Follow the Bank Transfer Day wherever possible and close any checking and savings accounts you now have in the big corporate banks like Well Fargo. Instead, re-invest that money in your local credit union, where you will have a say in how it is handled. They’ll start to listen harder if their assets start to dwindle, like yours and mine.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">And as to me, if I have a choice, I’ll take my chances with the mountain lion.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 16px; line-height: 18.399999618530273px; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Cambria, serif;">PS TO MY READERS: The Comment funtion does not seem to work, so please feel free to contact me at my email, marinastar805@gmail.com</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Cambria, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 18.399999618530273px; text-indent: 0.5in;">All civilized comments will be answered. Thanks for reading!</span></div>
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</script>Maria V. Eyleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13304424281178049817noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-626555626440349588.post-42465606392891995292011-09-26T17:18:00.001-07:002011-09-26T17:18:53.693-07:00Frustration and Elation<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">25
September 2011</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Frustration
and Elation</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">My frustration at being steamrolled by
bronchitis and pneumonia has given way to elation: Today’s headlines trumpet
the decision by King Abdullah of Saudi Arabia to enfranchise Saudi women and,
unbelievably, allow them to run for local public office, beginning in 2015.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I worked with Saudi Arabians for eight years
(1977-1985) in Cupertino, California.<span>
</span>Hired to teach in a corporation that contracted to train Saudi Arabian
men in computer skills (yes—we still had keypunch machines and computer
languages at that ancient time), I was the first female instructor assigned to
the two-man (Ron L. and B. Clay) ESL “department.” It seemed like a strange
job, but after two years of sporadic part-time jobs, I grabbed the incredibly
well-paid position as soon as it was offered.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">What was it like getting to know Saudis and
working with them at close range?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">In my first weeks at Sysorex, I was
terrified.<span> </span>Young and clueless about
Arabs and their culture, I found myself in a sleek, modern high-tech classroom
surrounded by friendly tanned faces above crisp white robes. The strange men babbled
loudly in a language I could never begin to fathom, never mind speak. The
Saudis were very curious about me because many of them had ever seen an
unveiled female adult outside of their homes. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Their curiosity daunted me and posed a
problem to my stiff Anglo-Saxon expectations regarding personal space and
allowable distance between two people. (For more info, look up <i>proxemics</i>.) In terms of body language,
the Saudis seemed invasive and brash, even to the extent of making sexual
come-ons. <span> </span>I felt constantly on the
defensive, wary of every word, smile or move, both theirs and mine.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">As they approached, I took several steps
back. As I stepped back, they approached even more closely. As their voices got
louder, my answers squeaked out, expressing my startled emotions as being half intimidated
and half angry. Soon I was face-to-face—even nose-to-nose—with strange men I had
barely made acquaintance with. Though I was grateful they were very friendly
and vocal and therefore easier to teach language to, <span> </span>I was beginning to think they were being too
friendly for the wrong reasons.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Word went round the company that while I was
an excellent instructor, I seemed not to like my students enough to really
engage them. Not like them? I liked them fine. It was they who were the
problem, not taking me seriously because I was a woman. Right?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Wrong. I had so much to learn about myself
and others! Someone took the time, I believe it was Art C. our institute
director, to instruct me in intercultural differences.<span> </span>The cultural gaps between Americans
(especially American women) and Saudis were immense: For example, Saudis position
themselves at a very close physical distance from their interlocutor, almost
nose-to-nose or from 3 to 9 inches; this translates as either intimate or belligerent
space to us Americans, who are used to about 4 or more feet between our physical
public space bubbles. But my Saudi students were only trying to be polite, not “pushy,”
when they came up in my face and spoke loudly to me. And I, I was showing them
with my backwards tango steps that I didn’t like them and didn’t want to listen
to them.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">There were many other “little”
misunderstandings built on miscues of body language that enlightened me over
the months and years. One such gem to know is that when Saudis are agreeing
with you or indicating “yes,” they will move their head from side to side as we
do when we mean “no” or we disagree. Another had to do with the etiquette of
eye contact. Most Arab peoples prefer to maintain fairly intense eye contact
while talking at such range. My being on the shy side and often gazing into
space or at the floor did not help my cause. Learning to maintain nearly
constant eye contact was very exhausting to me. Yet for the love of learning
and teaching, I did my best.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Then a miracle occurred. I learned a cultural
“secret” that changed my life: Most Arab people are adept at interpreting other
people’s degree of eye dilation so they can tell what’s going on with your
emotions, specifically the emotions of like/dislike, love/hate.<span> </span>If you don’t like them, they know without
your ever having to say a thing.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">This is one reason that you will always see
photographs of Gadhafi and the late Yasser Arafat wearing sunglasses at all
their meetings and negotiations, even indoors. <span> </span>They do not want to be read like open books. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">So maybe my eyes were not lying—the students made
me feel uncomfortable, which surely translated in my eyes, or my pupils, to
make a pun. Over a long weekend, I contemplated what to do with this stunning
new information. Sunglasses were out, since the <u>average</u> person wearing
sunglasses indoors is an insult to most Arabs, for now obvious reasons. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">By the next Tuesday I was a changed person. My
students immediately sensed it. Before encountering a student, I made myself
think that the love of my life had just surprised me with a visit and plane
tickets to Paris, or that Pavarotti was serenading me personally with <i>Che</i> <i>Gelida</i>
<i>Manina</i>, or some similar fantasy-imbued
thought I could sustain for a while. As I did this, I could feel eyes and my
face relax into twinkles and smiles, and soon my whole being glow with joyous
feelings. Then I looked the person in the eye and greeted them warmly. Magic!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Now I held the keys to <i>two</i> great mysteries. Not only did this joyful thinking re-train my
neural-synaptic responses—and my eye dilation—to express genuine liking for
another (for I did not confine this to only my Saudis, but used it with
everyone), it <u>created</u> a genuine liking and affection for self and other
in my psyche! It wasn’t a trick—it was a major life transformation. <span> </span>I truly did genuinely like and care about each
of my students now. This “secret” <span> </span><span> </span>brought me a cache of fabulous gifts, among
them a new patience, curiosity and openness in my daily interactions with all. This
secret made me quarry out a genuine Maria-self from the deeper character strata
hidden within me. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Frustration had given way to elation.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">From this time forward, I never doubted that as
a teacher and instructor, I gave to my students some important content information
about language. But, conversely, the real beneficiary of an education is and
was always me, with all my students being the greatest teachers I ever had or
hoped for.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">So what was it like teaching Saudis? A great
honor and beyond my best expectations. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">What were they like? My Saudis were as
diverse and multi-faceted as any group of people can be. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Most were warm, friendly, fun-loving,
respectful, intelligent, and personable. Relationships come first for them, so
they were very forgiving and could never stay angry or upset for very long. Some
were stand-offish, some foolhardy, some hard to get to know, some lazy, some
hyper…just like any other group. But I don’t recall one who was a fake. These
Arabs led me to demand such genuineness of myself. Though such genuineness leads
to vulnerability and therefore many more opportunities to get hurt, a two-dimensional
life is much more tragic than instructive pain. And so my learning evolved.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">The Saudi students’ <span> </span>religious views on women were difficult for me
to accept, but I remember one thing: with a few exceptions—and I know this
sounds like a sterotype of the Controller but—I never heard one of my students
talk about women with disrespect. In fact, their conversation regarding their
wives or woman in their culture was amazingly elevated and glowed with complete
respect. Their control over women was, in their minds, all about protection
from “harm” (which, granted, included normal living, but we have many centuries
to make up here), not about oppression.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span> </span>And
most curiously, though I remember them having celebrations at the birth of a
son, they spoke of their daughters more frequently and adoringly, expressing
their desire for them to find the highest happiness in life, even if that meant
she took the rare course of never marrying but becoming a doctor or
professional instead. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">You go Saudi women! And may Allah bless you,
King Abdullah Al Saud. </span></div>
Maria V. Eyleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13304424281178049817noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-626555626440349588.post-76546159404792951682011-09-01T17:22:00.000-07:002011-09-05T16:08:26.432-07:00Shearwaters: September’s Promise<div align="center" class="MsoSubtitle" style="text-align: center;"><b><br />
</b><br />
<b>by</b><br />
<b>Maria V. Eyles</b></div><div align="center" class="MsoSubtitle" style="text-align: center;"><b><br />
</b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-family: "Candara","sans-serif";"> A mirage-swept sea brings soul gifts as I contemplate it, Raphael at my feet, from our bench on the boardwalk. The shearwaters have returned! </span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-family: "Candara","sans-serif";"><br />
</span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp7e2uf3InDWeS__EQAj1HLpSzxNm00YLhuCb3Iz2JUsf1GotkgV8oSNsq9UR7i3DTnbSCo8LdHe38n6Fyzf783oXtR8uV7ndPNEyl6jTrVycDaQ3hGLgJCbB7A3XutZBrXzmw55ZpU6s/s1600/shearwaters.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp7e2uf3InDWeS__EQAj1HLpSzxNm00YLhuCb3Iz2JUsf1GotkgV8oSNsq9UR7i3DTnbSCo8LdHe38n6Fyzf783oXtR8uV7ndPNEyl6jTrVycDaQ3hGLgJCbB7A3XutZBrXzmw55ZpU6s/s320/shearwaters.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: "Candara","sans-serif";">Shearwaters are migratory seabirds that start their 10,000 mile pilgrimages in Tasmania or New Zealand. Never still, they fly low above the surface of the water. From New Zealand, their flight arcs over to the tip of Chile. Then they head north along the South American littoral, up toward California. Their northernmost stop I do not know. Yet, I believe, it may be Monterey, California, where they visit for a bit, then turn back to make the return trip to Tasmania or New Zealand, their breeding grounds.</span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><b><br />
</b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><b><span style="font-family: "Candara","sans-serif";">Today is August 29, 2011, so according to my emotional memory, they are a few days early. Few people on the Pismo Beach boardwalk even notice the shearwaters; if they do, they may mistake them for an oil spill. With Labor Day late this year, Pismo Beach is sparsely populated this Monday, as if Hoover Vacuum Buses sucked back the waves of tourists, only to spew out a tsunami-load of them next weekend.</span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><b><br />
</b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><b><span style="font-family: "Candara","sans-serif";">So from my bench’s vista, great swerves of sand frame the Pacific, the few surfers, joggers, dog-walkers and beach-goers like colorful actors on a tiny movie set. Most ignore the avian phenomenon at sea.</span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><b><br />
</b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><b><span style="font-family: "Candara","sans-serif";">My late husband Geoffrey would never have ignored them. Early every September, he would comb the boardwalk and the pier, lean over the Sea Venture balcony, or sit with book and binoculars on a bench, and scan for shearwaters. Some years they didn’t come to Pismo. But on the right day, suddenly Geoffrey would be standing, and sweeping his arm at the elbow he’d exclaim in delight, “Shearwaters!”</span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><b><br />
</b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><b><span style="font-family: "Candara","sans-serif";">Today’s sighting heightens those memories: A trembling sunlight infiltrates the fog about a half mile up from the surf. The sea swells gently in seafoam green skeined with blue-gray. (Blue-gray was the color of Geoffrey’s eyes, the irises rimmed in gold.) Sprinkled atop the ocean, as if some clumsy angel overturned a peppermill, are thousands of black specks forming rolling ribbons of shearwaters. They look to be floating on the water, but they’re in fact hovering above in perpetual motion, feeding on sardines and anchovies.</span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><b><br />
</b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><b><span style="font-family: "Candara","sans-serif";">Shearwaters come, they give us inexpressible delight, and they vanish as mysteriously as they appear. In a day, maybe two, they will head north to Monterey, then not long after, around and back toward Chile. Sometimes they venture close to shore; other times they are too far out to observe.</span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><b><span style="font-family: "Candara","sans-serif";">Joy crests within me like a standing wave. Memory flashes of Geoffrey and me hugging each other around the waist, mesmerized by the shearwaters. These birds appear like animate spirit, an ephemeral depiction of divine purpose in nature’s theater. After all, the shearwaters did fly thousands of miles to share the wonders of life with us.</span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><b><br />
</b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><b><span style="font-family: "Candara","sans-serif";"> </span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><b><span style="font-family: "Candara","sans-serif";">Thus, the shearwaters’ surprise arrival in September, Geoffrey’s birthday month, so moved my husband that before he died, he made a promise: Whenever I saw the shearwaters, I should understand that Geoffrey’s spirit was surrounding me in special closeness. Their fleeting beauty, he said, reflected perfectly our signature song, <u>September Song</u> by Kurt Weil:</span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><b><span style="font-family: "Candara","sans-serif";"> “…and the days dwindle down to a precious few…<br />
September! November!<br />
And these few precious days<br />
I’ll spend with you,<br />
These precious days…I’ll spend with you.”</span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><b><br />
</b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-family: "Candara","sans-serif";"> So here I mark it: August 29, 2011. One precious day indeed.</span></b></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-family: "Candara","sans-serif";">***********</span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><b><span style="font-family: "Candara","sans-serif";">Note: the photo, if I can upload it, does not show California shearwaters (rather they are shearwaters from the Azores, it says)…but you get the idea.</span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><b><span style="font-family: "Candara","sans-serif";"> </span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><b><br />
</b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><b><br />
</b></div>Maria V. Eyleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13304424281178049817noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-626555626440349588.post-19090904371759058212011-08-01T17:25:00.000-07:002011-09-05T16:08:57.638-07:00Message to Michael<b><br />
</b><br />
<div class="WordSection1"><div align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;"><b><span style="font-family: "Estrangelo Edessa";">July 22, 2011, The Feast Day of Mary Magdalene</span></b></div><div align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;"><b><span style="font-family: "Estrangelo Edessa"; font-size: 9pt; line-height: 115%;">(revised August 1, 2011)</span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><sub><span style="font-family: "Estrangelo Edessa"; line-height: 115%;"><br />
</span></sub></span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-size: small;"><sub><span style="font-family: "Estrangelo Edessa"; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-size: large;">Dear Michael</span>,</span></sub></span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><br />
</b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0.5in;"><b><sub><span style="font-family: "Estrangelo Edessa"; font-size: 18pt;"><span style="font-size: small;">What shocking news it was to hear last night about the return of the cancer and the decline of your health. Oh, Michael!</span> </span></sub><span style="font-family: "Estrangelo Edessa"; font-size: 12pt;">The shock hit me like a torpedo to the heart. How saddened and sorry I feel! </span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0.5in;"><b><br />
</b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0.5in;"><b><span style="font-family: "Estrangelo Edessa"; font-size: 12pt;">Before Cousin Joan called, Raphael and I were sitting at a picnic table on a bluff overlooking the ocean. Raphael, curled on the grass, was supervising the seagulls and the ants, while I puzzled out the cloud formations. A textbook 75<sup>0</sup> F. fanned us with its perfect melding of cool-warmth.</span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0.5in;"><b><br />
</b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0.5in;"><b><span style="font-family: "Estrangelo Edessa"; font-size: 12pt;"> </span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0.5in;"><b><span style="font-family: "Estrangelo Edessa"; font-size: 12pt;">Swaying serenely, the Pacific reminded me of a giant well of brilliant blue Parker (or Pelikan?) fountain pen ink, the kind Carol had to use in black-and-white composition books at St. Mary’s High School. Occasionally she would send me down to the stationery store on Park Avenue (in Rutherford) to pick up a new ink bottle, the colors dazzling my imagination: Turquoise, Red, Blue-Black, Peacock Blue.</span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0.5in;"><b><span style="font-family: "Estrangelo Edessa"; font-size: 12pt;">Earlier I had left Joan a message in answer to her message. Maybe she’d still be awake, now about 9:00 p.m. on the East Coast. Several times I lifted my cell phone in mid-air, then dropped it as I reconsidered breaking this enchantment. I mentally “tried on” going to Adoration at St. Paul’s, but decided instead to remain under “this most excellent canopy”—Nature’s cathedral.</span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0.5in;"><b><br />
</b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0.5in;"><b><span style="font-family: "Estrangelo Edessa"; font-size: 12pt;">The muted little ring broke my reveries. Joan’s unmistakable voice made her self-identification unnecessary, and so made me smile. The rest of me, however, was braced for…for something ominous, I suppose. Lord—I’ve been so worried about you <u>both</u>! </span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0.5in;"><b><br />
</b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0.5in;"><b><span style="font-family: "Estrangelo Edessa"; font-size: 12pt;">And then I heard what I did not want to hear.</span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0.5in;"><b><span style="font-family: "Estrangelo Edessa"; font-size: 12pt;">How astonishing that those invisible psycho-spiritual lines that connect families and spiritual friends still beacon to us at a cellular level, no matter the history, the distance, the problems or the shape/essence of that bond’s current externals. Michael, you are family to me, as surely as are Carol, Angel, Joey, and their spouses and children, et.al. And not only are you a major player in the family, you are the best thing that ever happened to it, as Angel was (is still, I’m sure) fond of repeating.</span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0.5in;"><b><br />
</b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0.5in;"><b><span style="font-family: "Estrangelo Edessa"; font-size: 12pt;">Though uninvolved in each other’s everyday life, we were born involved with each other. That will never change, and I don’t want it to, whether with you, Carol or all the others. Despite the distances, geographical and psychological, I love you very much. You have made a big, positive impact on my life. By just being you, Michael, you honor me, and all those around you.</span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0.5in;"><b><br />
</b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0.5in;"><b><span style="font-family: "Estrangelo Edessa"; font-size: 12pt;">A slight chill rose from the cement bench as the fog bank crept closer to shore at the tiny Shell Beach park. I watched that fog a long time. It is an emissary of gloom for some, but I have grown fond of summer fog here, its soft silence like snowfall—without the snow or the cold. That’s the perfect blend for me, now an average Californian to whom harsher climates are mostly mercifully distant memories. The fog can offer a welcome, cool curtain that softens the brittle-sharpness of blinding reality; or it can muffle, confuse and sadden. At that moment, it was doing a little of both.</span><sub><span style="font-family: "Estrangelo Edessa"; font-size: 18pt;"> <br clear="all" /> </span></sub></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0.5in;"><b><span style="font-family: "Estrangelo Edessa"; font-size: 12pt;">Raffy shook himself slowly up from the grass. Like most animals, he knows the time for things. I stood up. “Come on, Pumpkin. Time for church-y church.” (Raphael is an immaculate Catholic boy who knows the Mass ritual inside-out, as well as the difference between Mass and Adoration. We’re working on teaching him how to bow in front of the altar to complete his Catholic Formation.)</span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0.5in;"><b><br />
</b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0.5in;"><b><span style="font-family: "Estrangelo Edessa"; font-size: 12pt;">The interior of St. Paul’s is hushed, but outside the evening birds are warbling to the sunset. We bow before the Blessed Sacrament which easily outshines its showy monstrance. I sit as Raphael stretches full out sideways on the floor at my feet, then curls in a fetal position and conks out. A tear wells up as I see his service dog vest flop over: He has definitely lost too much weight during this last crisis. My plush angel with the poorly fitting robe and the unfairly short time span on earth.</span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0.5in;"><b><span style="font-family: "Estrangelo Edessa"; font-size: 12pt;">Alone before the Holy One, I think about how there are prayers, prayers and prayers. In my personal liturgy, the first prayers always ask for an all-out miracle. The next prayer begs for healing in part or in full. The third is “Thy Will be done.” Yet unable to let go of the supplications, I add, “…in the gentlest, happiest, and most graced way.”</span></b></div></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0.5in;"><b><span style="font-family: "Estrangelo Edessa"; font-size: 12pt;"> Michael, my thoughts and prayers are with you every day, just like this.</span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0.5in;"><b><span style="font-family: "Estrangelo Edessa"; font-size: 12pt;"> This cross, made of local driftwood, is a physical manifestation of my seaside Thursday and its attendant prayers. I hope you like it.</span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0.5in;"><b><span style="font-family: "Estrangelo Edessa"; font-size: 12pt;">Carol, I have enclosed a card for you. Please teach me how to help you! Meantime, I pray the love of God strengthens and reassures you. </span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0.5in;"><b><span style="height: 236px; left: 0px; margin-left: 360px; margin-top: 29px; position: absolute; width: 156px; z-index: -2;"><img height="236" src="file:///C:/Users/Marie/AppData/Local/Temp/msohtmlclip1/01/clip_image008.jpg" width="156" /></span><span style="font-family: "Estrangelo Edessa"; font-size: 12pt;">You are both in my thoughts and heart always. The tide may ebb or flow, but it is eternally alive, like the flame of love.</span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0.5in;"><b><br />
</b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0.5in;"><b><span style="font-family: "Estrangelo Edessa"; font-size: 12pt;">Love, </span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: 0.5in;"><b><span style="font-family: "Estrangelo Edessa"; font-size: 12pt;">Maria Christina</span></b></div>Maria V. Eyleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13304424281178049817noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-626555626440349588.post-32039220161900500902011-05-21T16:00:00.000-07:002011-09-05T16:09:44.341-07:00Your Next Hello Could Get You Arrested<div class="MsoNormal"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh0LDySzgsEZuo8wrZeh4CtXcyZyf_PcVNloz-BzYylz12upeq_wlZ0pEY_h9s6eR9tcAzCeQud2qByn2xh-Ek2i_6cgBGs2pS43nqEI4rw2FJyH0WlP3wh5ZXeAF1rBGRLtW9sljZewA/s1600/Me+%2526+Service+Dog+Raffy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh0LDySzgsEZuo8wrZeh4CtXcyZyf_PcVNloz-BzYylz12upeq_wlZ0pEY_h9s6eR9tcAzCeQud2qByn2xh-Ek2i_6cgBGs2pS43nqEI4rw2FJyH0WlP3wh5ZXeAF1rBGRLtW9sljZewA/s320/Me+%2526+Service+Dog+Raffy.JPG" width="320" /></a></b></div><b><br />
</b></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><b><i><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";">The Rules of Service Dog Etiquette</span></i></b></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><b><br />
</b></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";">(Part 1 of the <u>Service Dog Savvy</u> Series)</span></i></span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";"><span style="font-size: x-small;"> </span></span></b></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><b><br />
</b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><b><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;">I’m in my favorite big box store shopping for…big boxes, or plastic storage bins. The ‘clearance sale’ ones teeter high above my head, shoehorned together like Russian dolls that a Russian tank could not pry apart. As usual, no clerks are to be found; no customers either in my radar screen. So, I sigh, say a prayer, brace one hand on the back of my patient service dog Raphael, get on tippy-toes and attempt to drag the bins closer to the edge. </span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><b><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;">That little shove inevitably opens some invisible, automatic door in my magnetic field, and suddenly we are swarmed by customers flying at us from every direction. Some yelp, some moan, some whistle, some coo: </span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><b><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;">Oh, what a beautiful dog! Can I pet it?</span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><b><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;"> What kind of dog is that? [pronounced <i>thee-aaaaaat</i>]</span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><b><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;"> What’s the breed, lady? My cousin breeds them what-d’ya-call-its. </span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><b><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;"> What’s her name? Can I pet her?</span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><b><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;"> How old is he? Can I pet him?</span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><b><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;"> Is she a show dog? How much does it cost to groom her?</span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><b><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;">Are you a trainer for guide dogs? You don’t <u>look</u> blind!</span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><b><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;"> What did you pay for a dog like that? Can I pet it?</span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><b><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;"> Can I pet him? </span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><b><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;"> What’s he for? You don’t <u>look</u> disabled! </span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><b><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;">Can I pet your dog?</span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><b><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;"> Here, doggie, doggie!</span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><b><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;"> I know I’m not supposed to, but can I pet him?</span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><b><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;"> Neglected children, unnoticed in the shadow of Raphael’s blazing spotlight, clamber down from shopping carts and race toward the dog—oh, and what’s-her-name holding his leash. </span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><b><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;">Poor Raphael is now hopelessly distracted. And I’m in danger of losing my balance, not to mention my temper, as the Ignorant Cavalry bombards us with its fusillade of questions. </span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><b><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;">Finally, one fellow in a baseball cap notices Raphael’s vest and “Working Dog, DO NOT PET” badge. He screws up his face in wonder, “He’s a <u>service</u> dog?! OH! Guess I’m not supposed to pet him, huh?” A little girl politely keeping her distance declares, “Mom! You’re not supposed to pet a working dog.” A little boy chimes in, “What’s a service dog?” [End of Scenario One]</span></b><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEingEqhLowj7EvD8uJ7LVUcO3cGTwdlMcMcbxex0FwaQSfvlNei_1QOL-d5Hd0ZS9wD9ZZlcQ2U_chphti_2w22Y9Nch3a8rSGqBPFx0h05QyrTbG9Ft637OM5vV9ZSdrxhTZkLUao9hdk/s1600/Raffy+Service+Dog.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEingEqhLowj7EvD8uJ7LVUcO3cGTwdlMcMcbxex0FwaQSfvlNei_1QOL-d5Hd0ZS9wD9ZZlcQ2U_chphti_2w22Y9Nch3a8rSGqBPFx0h05QyrTbG9Ft637OM5vV9ZSdrxhTZkLUao9hdk/s320/Raffy+Service+Dog.JPG" width="320" /></a></b></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><b><br />
</b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><b><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;">Scenario Two </span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><b><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;">Another day, another store, I’m walking out of Costco in San Luis Obispo, California (aka SLO). A guide dog is positioned to enter through the big doors, but the dog’s teammate is hidden by a middle-aged woman. Said woman is vigorously petting the service dog on the head as she yaks a mile a minute to the man about how much she loves dogs and “needs” to touch them. The man with the visual impairment is obstructed from moving forward by the friendly curiosity of this woman. [End of Scenario Two] </span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><b><u><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;">Service dog etiquette</span></u><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;"> seems to be a fuzzy or even nonexistent notion to the general public, if you ask me. (And boy, do you ask and ask and ask me!) How much do you think you know? Can you answer these questions about the two scenarios above?</span></b></div><ol start="1" style="margin-top: 0in;" type="1"><li class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><b><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;">Which scenario(s) depict(s) people breaking the rules of service dog etiquette? </span></b></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><b><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;">Which one(s) depict(s) people breaking the law? </span></b></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><b><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;">Which scenario(s) depict(s) people <i>potentially</i> breaking the law?</span></b></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><b><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;">Which laws, if any, would these be—state or federal?</span></b></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><b><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;">Which scenario(s) depict(s) people reacting appropriately to a service dog team?</span></b></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><b><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;">How many questions can we, the general public, ask a service dog team?</span></b></li>
<li class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><b><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;">Can we at least ask to pet a service dog?</span></b></li>
</ol><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 0.25in;"><b><br />
</b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.25in;"><b><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;"> Yeah—I thought so. These are tough questions. Most people cannot answer all of them. Many do not know what is or is not appropriate behavior when confronted with a service dog team. Truthfully, I myself did not know many of them until I talked to trainers and/or researched them, or got annoyed enough after long days out with Raphael.</span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><b><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;"> First, let us answer the question posed by the boy in Scenario One. (He and the little girl in Scenario One answer Question #5. Their behavior is appropriate.) </span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><b><br />
</b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><b><u><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;">What is a service animal? </span></u></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><b><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;">A service animal is a dog which has been trained to perform tasks for its disabled handler so that he or she can function or navigate the world more easily. The ADA, or Americans with Disabilities Act was enacted in 1990. This federal law guarantees equal rights to the disabled in matters of housing, employment, transportation and public building access. The ADA defines a service animal as, “a dog that has been individually trained to do work or perform tasks for an individual with a disability.” These are the newest guidelines, revised in March 2011. Now <i>only dogs</i> can be service animals (or in rare instances miniature horses). So, “service dog” is now interchangeable with “service animal.”</span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><b><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;"> Legally, a service dog is <u>not</u> a “pet”—it is not even a dog! A service dog is classified as a necessary medical equipment in service to the disabled handler. </span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><b><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;"> In reality, a service dog is still a dog, though a highly specialized and well-trained one. He or she is not a fancy robot, not a toy. Service dogs get tired and cranky too, and have “off” days. Sometimes they flub up or forget aspects of their training. A service dog must concentrate very hard to get tasks done for its handler in the midst of chaos, like in crowded stores. Breaking that concentration by distracting the service dog is not only unkind but also potentially dangerous to the handler.</span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><b><br />
</b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><b><u><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;">The Service Dog Team </span></u></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><b><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;">The person with the disability, called the handler, and the dog together make up the <i>service dog team</i>, but it is the handler who is in charge—or top dog, if you will. It is not the service dog’s right but the <u>handler’s</u> right to go anywhere people are allowed <i>with</i> the service dog.</span></b><br />
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</b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;"> </span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><b><br />
</b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><b><u><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;">Types of Service Dogs </span></u></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><b><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;">Whereas in the past only guide dogs for the blind/visually impaired were recognized, now there are as many types of service dogs as disabilities served: hearing or signal dogs, medical alert dogs (including diabetic and seizure alert dogs), mobility dogs (including walker or balance dogs like Raphael), peanut-sniffing dogs for people with severe allergies. </span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><b><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;">There are service dogs trained to help people with arthritis in their hands, and others who remind people to take their medication. Psychiatric service dogs help many cope with their illness. Service dogs for autistic children have been much in the news lately, and there are many documented cases of near-miraculous turn-arounds with these children. For other persons, however, a revision to the ADA in March 2011 removed “emotional support” dogs (dogs that are not trained but serve to make the person feel better about being in public) from the official service dog list, so they are no longer protected by law or allowed access.</span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><b><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;">The list is very long and here is just a sampling. But you can see from this list that many, many disabilities are what’s referred to as “invisible” disabilities. </span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><b><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;"> These invisible disabilities come into play with our lessons in etiquette, which start here. Question 1 was, Which scenario(s) depict people breaking the laws of service dog etiquette? Both. In fact, both portray egregious lapses of service dog etiquette. (Question 1)</span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><b><br />
</b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><b><u><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;">Recognizing and Reacting to a Service Dog Team</span></u></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><b><br />
</b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><b><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;"> First, how will I recognize a service dog team? The obvious tip-off is that a dog in a food store, restaurant, church, theater or any public place which normally doesn’t allow dogs or “pets” <u>is</u> a service dog. This is not quantum physics. The dog may or may not be vested or harnessed. It doesn’t matter. That dog is a service dog. As for people sneaking a pet in, it happens occasionally. There are ways to deal with this, which we’ll see later. But 99% of the time you <u>must</u> assume it’s a service dog.</span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><b><br />
</b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><b><u><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;">Rule-of-Three (No ‘Puttin On the Dog’)</span></u></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><b><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;">The first and greatest service dog etiquette lesson is simple, short and sweet: When you encounter any service dog team, do one-two-three: smile, keep quiet and be on your way. </span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><b><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;">Now there are exceptions to this, but the above rule-of-three should apply 95% of the time. For one, you may have noticed that no one in Scenario 1 asked me, “May I help you with those bins?” “You seem to be struggling with those; do you need some assistance?” “Let me find a clerk for you.” Comments like these would have been welcome!</span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><b><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;">Instead, that crowd turned me into a human kiosk in service <u>to them</u> and their idle curiosity by forcing me to answer questions about <u>my</u> service dog while he was <u>working</u> for <u>me</u>. This is not appropriate interaction. </span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><b><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;">Suppose I were a deaf person accompanied by a sign language interpreter, and I was having a conversation with a clerk or taxi driver or priest or whomever. Would you barge up, ignore me, grab my interpreter and ask that interpreter dozens of questions about where she was born, trained, where she gets her hair done and how much she charges per hour? Above all, would you get huffy and upset when I begged you to please not bother her while she is working?</span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><b><br />
</b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><b><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;"> <u>The Handler is Not an Automated Information Booth </u></span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><b><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;">This has actually happened to me regarding Raphael, whom I guess I should have named Elvis, considering what an attention-magnet he is. It is not uncommon that individuals become incensed when I dare to interrupt their barrage of 157 dog questions with, “Just a second. Let me finish paying for my groceries on the credit card machine.” (You know how confusing those machines get!) But <i>no</i>. No time outs for me, the human kiosk. They glare at me sanctimoniously as if <i>I’m</i> the rude one.</span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><b><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;">One time I was literally choking in a restaurant. A tall, muscular man walks up and <i>demands</i> to know all about the dog (Elvis. Shucks. Name opportunity missed.) All I could sputter were gasping gagging noises. He persisted, as if I was merely an animated cartoon character turning from beige to red to blue. When I finally could spit out, “I’m choking!”—seemed like a reasonable and obvious excuse to me—his face reddened and I thought he was going to punch me. But luckily he turned on his heel and stormed off.</span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><b><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;">I can’t wait for the day when I hear, “Do you mind if I keep my mouth shut and move right along, quietly minding my own business?” I will blow kisses at that person. </span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><b><br />
</b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><b><u><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;">Interfering with a Service Dog is a Crime</span></u></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><b><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;">If I am snarling here, forgive me but I am looking out for my dog, for me <i>and</i> for <i>you</i>. Because those people in the above scenarios did not know it, but in most states, <i>interfering with the duties of a service dog is a crime</i>. </span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><b><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;"> Truthfully, the likelihood of your ever being arrested or fined for “friendly interference” with a service dog is almost nil. Most state laws specify that the interference has to be deliberate or malicious. However, even “friendly interference” is an extremely rude and disrespectful breach of service dog etiquette. (Questions 3 & 4)<span style="color: olive;"> </span></span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><b><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;">The exceptions, in almost all states, are that criminal interference takes place (1) if that service dog is a seeing eye or guide dog for the blind; or (2) if the dog or handler is injured or killed during your interference. In either case, you are in deep doo-doo. The woman in Scenario Two is breaking the letter, if not the spirit, of California State law. (Question 2)</span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;"><b><br />
</b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;"><b><u><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 10pt;">California Penal Code Section 365.6</span></u><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 10pt;"> [January 1, 1994]: (a) any person who, with no legal justification, intentionally interferes with the use of a guide dog by obstructing or intimidating the guide dog user or his or her guide dog, is guilty of a misdemeanor punishable by imprisonment in the county jail not exceeding six months, or by a fine of not less than $1,500 not more than $2500, or both. </span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><b><br />
</b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><b><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;">However, if either Raphael or I or the guide dog team had sustained any injuries due to the interference, someone could have conceivably been charged with a very serious crime:</span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><b><br />
</b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;"><b><u><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 10pt;">California Penal Code Section 600.5</span></u><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 10pt;"> (a) Any person who intentionally causes injury to or the death of any guide, signal or service dog […] while the dog is in discharge of its duties, is guilty of a misdemeanor, punishable by imprisonment in the county jail not exceeding one year, or by a fine not exceeding $5,000 or both a fine and imprisonment. (b) In any case in which the defendant is convicted of a violation of this section, the defendant shall be ordered to make restitution to the disabled person who has custody or ownership of the dog for any veterinary bills and replacement costs of the dog if it is disabled or killed.</span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><b><br />
</b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><b><u><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;">How Not to React When You See a Service Dog Team</span></u></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><b><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;">So, now let’s get back to your being so thrilled to see the service dog team that you feel compelled to talk to the handler and ask to touch the dog.</span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><b><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;">This simple list of “don’ts” will help you if you forget the rule-of-three (Question 8, your pop quiz: What is that rule-of-three again?).</span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><b><br />
</b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 87pt; text-indent: -51pt;"><b><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;">1.<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;">Please don’t engage us in any conversation or interrogation. Shocking as this may sound, we did not come to the grocery store to have a conversation with you! We came to buy our bread and milk bones. We want to get in and out safely and quickly. Just smile or nod if you care to, or ignore if you please to, then go about your business.</span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 87pt; text-indent: -51pt;"><b><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;">2.<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;">Please do NOT approach us unless we give you a wide-open invitation. Or unless you see something really wrong like the leash entangled around the dog’s paws or broken glass on the ground. Even then, please introduce yourself and your intentions so we know you are up to and give you our permission.</span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 87pt; text-indent: -51pt;"><b><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;">3.<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;">Do not touch, pet, call, or whistle at the service dog, or even try to. BIG no-no. This applies no matter how cute, gorgeous, fluffy or adorable the dog is. This applies even if the service dog looks at you. That may be part of her job, to scan the space for her person. The dog is not there for <u>your</u> entertainment. The dog is there to assist <u>the handler</u>.</span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 87pt; text-indent: -51pt;"><b><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;">4.<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;">Never, ever tease or give commands to a service dog. It is not your place to tell my working dog to “come” to you! Conversely, please don’t interrupt when the handler is giving her dog a command. These are abusive acts which totally confuse the dog and upset the handler. Please educate your children on these points too, for many children do not understand that this is misbehaving. Most of us teams are very compassionate with small children, but pushy or impolite adults have no excuses.</span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 87pt; text-indent: -51pt;"><b><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;">5.<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;">If we are waiting on a line together or otherwise caught in the same space more than a few seconds, please do not give into your urge to <u>stare</u> at my service dog. In dog-language, staring is often a threat, not a compliment. A dog could eventually start a low growl to warn a handler of this threat, and the dog would be justified.</span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 87pt; text-indent: -51pt;"><b><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;">6.<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;">How many questions should I ask a handler? Now you know that, with a few exceptions, there are <u>four</u> answers to this: None, zero, zip, and nada. No questions please! ADA law guarantees my right never to discuss my disability(ies) with you. So don’t ask, “Is this a guide dog?” or “What <u>kind</u> of service dog is he?” Remember, many, many disabilities are <u>invisible</u>. And don’t ask about the dog, her breed, where she was trained, and so on. If you are truly passionate about knowing something about my dog, the best was is to say “excuse me” and hand me a note with your questions and contact information on it. Several people who knew their etiquette have approached us like this; as a consequence, I have been delighted to spend time talking on the phone or emailing them info about my dog and service dogs in general.</span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 87pt; text-indent: -51pt;"><b><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;">7.<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;">Okay, YES. There are some exceptions. Two of them we discussed already, an offer to help or an instance of imminent danger. Also, if the handler is not in a hurry, or if the team is sitting, waiting or at rest—such that the dog is not actively guiding or aiding the handler, <u>the handler may</u> invite interaction. Somehow, the handler will indicate he or she is approachable and is inviting you to conversation. Socializing via the service dog actually has a salutary effect on many disabled people who can be or feel very isolated by their disability. </span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-left: 0.5in;"><b><br />
</b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><b><u><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;">Attention Overload</span></u></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><b><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;">Also, in a similar “at rest” situation, if the handler seems open to it, you can certainly ask to pet a service dog. However, you should not raise your hand in expectation, and you should graciously accept no as an answer. You may be the fifteenth person who has asked in the last hour, and we are overwhelmed by all the attention.</span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><b><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;">Really, how would you like it if I asked you to hand over your cane or crutch so I could see how it “feels”? Or, how about if I asked you <u>why</u> you need your custom wheelchair, and could I take it around the store for a spin because I love moving objects?</span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><b><br />
</b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><b><u><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;">Fake Service Dog Teams</span></u></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><b><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;">Earlier I mentioned those cases where a person with or without a documented disability tries to pass off a pet as a service dog. This happens, and apparently, this abuse is on the rise. ADA law is very broad to protect the rights of the disabled. And, unfortunately, anyone can buy a vest or “certification” on the Internet or elsewhere, or even connive to get a county license. This issue will be dealt more thoroughly in Service Dog Savvy Part 2 since service dog team impersonators can only be dealt with by the business or organization’s owner/leader/manager, not by shoppers or clients. But frankly, this potential problem is most volatile, and must be dealt with delicately.</span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><b><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;">However, there is one thing we the public can do, and <i><u>only</u></i> one thing, if we think we are encountering an illegitimate service dog: If you are an eye witness to the dog’s misbehavior—such as the dog urinates, poops, growls menacingly, destroys merchandise, snaps at someone, or bites you or someone else; or you <i>see</i> any behavior you think may be out of control—you may report it to the manager. Then the manager will have to take over. But please do not report your suspicions. Only report what you have actually witnessed. Team impersonation is a crime, but being wrong about it is a worse crime.</span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><b><br />
</b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><b><u><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;">Making Your Intentions and Behavior Match Up</span></u></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><b><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;">Above all, please don’t take our failure to acknowledge you personally. If we do ignore you, it is because we are working and concentrating, not socializing. This is hard for Raphael and me because we are both very friendly creatures, as are our neighbors. I am very proud to live in San Luis Obispo County, California, the place Oprah Winfrey described as the “happiest city in America.” Oprah was actually referring to the city of San Luis Obispo. Yet what goes for the city, pretty much goes for the county. The happy people here are both dog and people friendly—to a wonderful degree. So I know that the majority of these daily infractions of etiquette are well-intentioned, and done in a kindly spirit. </span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><b><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;">However, there is a fine line between “friendly” and over-bearing. Those of us who are blessed enough to have service dogs are terribly proud of them. At one level, we appreciate your attentions and intentions. </span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><b><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;">On another level, though, we may have had a long, tiring, frustrating day. Just like you on those days, physically and mentally we begin to decline in our ability to withstand extra stress. We may be teetering on a meltdown. Perhaps you are making us late for our anger management class! (Heh, heh. Once or twice I <u>almost</u> said this, half-jokingly. But like most SLO County citizens, I’m too polite).</span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><b><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;"> Don’t let any of your new education scare or discourage you. Let common courtesy, circumstance and timing be your guides. We really would love you to keep smiling at us!</span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><b><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;">But as to your idle curiosity, please wait till Elvis and I have left the building. </span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><b><br />
</b></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;">The End</span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><b><br />
</b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><b><u><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;">References</span></u></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><b><br />
</b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><b><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;">1. <u><a href="http://www.ada.gov/">www.ada.gov</a></u> Every aspect of the federal law covered. Look under “Articles” on the Home Page for “Common Questions Regarding Service Dogs.”</span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><b><br />
</b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><b><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 150%;">2. <u><a href="http://www.thedeltasociety.org/">www.thedeltasociety.org</a> </u> Probably the most comprehensive site on service dogs that exists.</span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><b><br />
</b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><b>3. <a href="http://www.petjoyonline.com/Articles.asp?ID=134">www.petjoyonline.com/Articles.asp?ID=134</a> “Individual State Laws Regarding Service Dogs” For those residing in the other 49 states, you will want to see how your state’s laws stack up.</b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><b><br />
</b></div>Maria V. Eyleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13304424281178049817noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-626555626440349588.post-75629795552048271912011-05-13T11:19:00.000-07:002011-05-13T11:19:42.152-07:00Retirement Employment Application<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if !mso]><img src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/video_object.png" style="background-color: #b2b2b2; " class="BLOGGER-object-element tr_noresize tr_placeholder" id="ieooui" data-original-id="ieooui" /> <style>
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">Name__________________ <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Date ______________ </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-outline-level: 1;">Address___________________________________ </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Email_______ <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Twitter_______ Fritter ______ Facebook______ </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Facelift_____ <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Website______ <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Eyesight __________ </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-outline-level: 1;">What job title(s) are you seeking to avoid?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Talk a little about your career goals. Specifically tell us <u>how</u> you plan to drive your spouse insane.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Tell us a little about your <u>education</u>, e.g., in what century did you graduate from high school? List the colleges and universities you have been kicked out of without earning anything except opprobrium.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-outline-level: 1;">What kinds of <u>skills</u> can you bring to this job?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-outline-level: 1;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Are you proficient with pruners? How about prunes?</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">Can you type and rock in your chair at the same time? </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">(How many words per beat?)</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">Are you up with the times concerning grandchildren’s rights? Spoiling is the <u>only</u> action allowed for the holy terrors. Discipline is now banned.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">If necessary, can you fill us in on Judge Judy’s latest verdicts?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><u>Employment History.</u> On the back of this sheet, please list your former employers and the institutions they now reside in. If they have phone privileges, please include those. We would like to ask them questions such as, did you ever show up to work on time, even once? Were there any witnesses who could attest to the fact that you actually did any work there?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><u>Flexibility</u>. If we hire you, we want to know about your on-the-job flexibility:</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; mso-outline-level: 1;">Would you be willing to be on this job weekends and holidays?</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">Will you be willing to share the remote control once a month for half an hour?</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">Are 360 unpaid holidays sufficient for to fuel your inertia?</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">(Five flex days are reserved for the mother-in-law’s plans)</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">Would you be willing to relocate? </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;">If so, list the RV and trailer parks that have not yet banned you.</div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;"><u>Background Check</u>. Anyone who qualifies for this job must undergo a background check. Answer these questions and your willingness to participate in our program.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">Have you ever been convicted of actually working on any job? If so, what were the circumstances (e.g., my boss was standing over my shoulder with dismissal papers and a dismal dirty look at me, etc.).</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; mso-outline-level: 1;">If we fingerprint you, will the results come up under “species unknown”?</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">Again, can we contact your former employers and discreetly ask them what kinds of psychiatric evaluations they had to go through after your tenure as their employee? About their meds?</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">Drug and Alcohol Testing is mandatory for this position. If hired, we will take you to Harry’s Bar in downtown Pismo Beach. There you will be asked to evaluate the air for signs of marijuana and other types of smoke. In addition, we will test your ability to hold your alcohol over 8 hours with a minimum of 2 drinks per hour with wild dancing in between. Your final test will be to remain standing while calling a taxi, and making up three good excuses for your disgusting behavior to your spouse.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; mso-outline-level: 1;">Finally, we want to know if YOU CAN PASS OUR <span style="font-size: 8.0pt;">vision</span> TEST.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">If there are any other reasons you feel you qualify for our position as a retiree, which is mainly a supine position, add anything you would like below.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;"><br />
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</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Pussycat;">In honor of Ralph Sutter</span></div>Maria V. Eyleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13304424281178049817noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-626555626440349588.post-61008856887571733422011-05-04T11:28:00.000-07:002011-05-04T11:28:06.621-07:00Healing by Maria V. Eyles<!--[if !mso]> <style>
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<div class="MsoNormal">I have bronchitis.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Went up to the Med Stop in San Luis, my urgent care place of choice since my PCP, Dr. B., doesn’t want to see sick people. Heh, heh! Yeah, that’s a fact!</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Well, he has good reason I guess; as an internist and gerontologist*, Dr. B. wants to deal only with the Big Stuff, and not infect his oldsters with my childish germs. [*Okay. No snide remarks. I’m (or <u>was</u>) one of his few younger patients, taken in as a favor to a dying Geoffrey. But he does see some younger folk like his musician friends.]</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Anyway, at Med Stop I was lucky enough to get Dr. Scheid. She’s around my age and adores Raphael. I like her a lot. In fact, I got FIVE visitors before she walked in. I said, “Hi Doctor!” to each one, and they all sheepishly countered, “Oh, I’m not a doctor. I just heard Raphael was here! Can I pet him?” </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Kid you not.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Anyway, Dr. Scheid treated me on condition she could take Raffy home with her. She did a good job but I had hide in the bathroom to get a clean getaway. LOL, now just kidding.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I'm doing better after the antibiotics and codeine formula--the stabbing knife pains in my chest are much diminished and the fiery throat is less red. This has been a bad one on the throat/voice, sinus and chest. Truly I believe it is the exact same thing that I "had" in December and again all through February, thus my capitulation to get the meds so it will GO AWAY. <img height="18" src="file:///C:/DOCUME%7E1/Maria/LOCALS%7E1/Temp/msohtml1/01/clip_image001.gif" width="18" /></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Does anyone know if bronchitis is contagious?<br />
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Anyway, I'm good, just tired and drained. Working on my articles. So far TWO agencies and a dozen individuals have asked me for my service dog article, so I’m working hard on getting it out. It's pretty complex so I have divided it into two parts, one for the general public (Joe/Joanne Public)and one for business and agency operators. <br />
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Raffy is curled up under my feet under computer desk. He still seems to be doing okay. Time will tell with him. I am just grateful for everyday he's well. <br />
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Neither he nor I feel like going out much today because the Santa Ana winds (or some hot winds) are blowing. But last evening, Raffy and I had a wonderful walk on the beach. Though I was as if steamrolled, somehow I conjured up some energy from thin air. We walked long and watched the sunset together sitting on a boardwalk bench. <br />
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Last night's sunset was bridal in character: A bright organdy mist veiled itself over the Avila promontory. The sun, still silvery-yellow, dropped slowly and voluptuously onto the sea bed, while the moon behind us appeared as the best man watching the couple leave the cathedral for a mysterious honeymoon beyond the horizon.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Stay wonderful! </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>Maria V. Eyleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13304424281178049817noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-626555626440349588.post-37462295955325692522011-04-28T16:59:00.000-07:002013-04-27T22:03:55.638-07:00Dogma in Distress<div class="MsoNormal">
Mind Combings 4/28/11</div>
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Dogma in Distress</div>
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Nothing like turning on your computer to make your problems and dilemmas shrink down to lint pickings. Today’s headlines show the collision of staggering grief and fairytale wonderment: the killer tornadoes rampaging through the plains and southern states versus the Royal Wedding of Prince William and Kate Middleton. </div>
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I wonder if the obsession with the wedding serves as an emotional safety valve for us media-weary people who have to process the Mass Tragedy du Jour all too many <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">jours</i> in a row. No, I personally am not obsessed with the wedding—I may forget to even watch it—but I will make the attempt, as history <u>will</u> be in the making. </div>
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So turning the giant spotlight into a hearth candle, our personal joys and worries are still here to greet us as we detach ourselves from screens. Mine’s name today again is Raphael. </div>
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Maybe I should have named this dog “Enigma.” Yesterday his new veterinary internist (in Atascasdero) listened with her head leaning over her shoulder gazing down at Raphael. I recounted how Raphael had just not snapped out of his trough for the past ten-twelve days, how no therapy seemed to be doing much except in the symptomatic short term.</div>
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“So, shall we do it?” She verbally threw up her hands. “Shall we pull him off <u>all</u> of his meds and see what happens? Because I agree with you, Maria. With nine or ten different meds going into him every day, probably <u>none</u> of them is working. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAnNxUvHe2buyqP4IURqocSbOcsoHTbWujqtZlnwew446DOoahOwf5MMR71FCkcfTlHGAPqSeuVv4sVyPHTPOs8OywGt0xGbQES9eGaLSR6feAZ2aEz86fCwGTGJwuJ1YdWahFuqH5QZE/s1600/Raphael+at+Florist1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAnNxUvHe2buyqP4IURqocSbOcsoHTbWujqtZlnwew446DOoahOwf5MMR71FCkcfTlHGAPqSeuVv4sVyPHTPOs8OywGt0xGbQES9eGaLSR6feAZ2aEz86fCwGTGJwuJ1YdWahFuqH5QZE/s320/Raphael+at+Florist1.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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“That is my working theory, unfortunately,” I nodded. </div>
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“You could leave him here (at their 24-hour hospital). It’d be better. We can observe him closely, and then I will be able to determine which drugs he <u>really</u> needs.”</div>
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“Agreed. But not today. How about Monday, when you are in four days straight?”</div>
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“Bring him here Sunday night. You can have him back Thursday afternoon.”</div>
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Since then, I have felt an emptiness, like a huge vacuum sucked out my innards, leaving only my battered heart. But I am determined to do this. The price is excellent and the results will tell me a lot more than using that poor dog as a hazardous drug-dumping receptacle. It may give him a better shot at a higher quality of life. Good enough for me.</div>
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So after many self-inflicted maternal guilt trips, I have also decided to spend Monday through Thursday morning in the Bay Area. I vow to enjoy myself with my beloved Bay Area friends. But as national and world news unfurls, I will be nursing my own little private bubble world, alternately cheering it on and praying it doesn’t burst. </div>
Maria V. Eyleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13304424281178049817noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-626555626440349588.post-70535984722403005522011-04-25T11:39:00.000-07:002011-05-15T21:40:21.241-07:00The Wizard of OPS<u><b> from the virtual pen of Maria V. Eyles</b></u><br />
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</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"> “When I first started working for OPTIONS,” recalls job developer Yvonne Barabas, “I felt like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz. I was trying to place my first client in a company in San Luis Obispo, and the CEO and a whole roster of VIPs had gathered to hear me out. Tiptoeing down the long hallway toward the CEO’s office, I felt lost and apprehensive. Then it dawned on me: <i>The CEO is just a little man behind a curtain!</i> He’s human too—just like me, the tin man and the cowardly lion. He has his own flaws, his own strengths.” </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"> Inner strengths are what Barabas endeavors to draw out of job-seekers despite seeming obstacles such as physical or cognitive disabilities. Her employer, OPTIONS Family of Services, headquartered in Morro Bay, California, is a non-profit organization which provides positive choices for people with disabilities. Disabilities are often seen as significant barriers to employment, Barabas says. So as Job Developer for OPTIONS, Barabas’ role is to not only advocate for her clients as desirable employees, but also to educate both them and potential employers that these disabilities only present <i>initial</i> barriers, not closed doors. </span></span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1rT8Z5hUeJiiyZ1MaysbnSXtGxot7dk8v9kQDBciO15GxM_LmJbp2M9VuAlEEcDGQFUa09RvbfPjby7bjrIKqySL7SImcPPVby24T3nOVthJrH-KrgKZqBHMxbX3_o0nVvsj2pSHqwvo/s1600/Yvonne+Barabas.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1rT8Z5hUeJiiyZ1MaysbnSXtGxot7dk8v9kQDBciO15GxM_LmJbp2M9VuAlEEcDGQFUa09RvbfPjby7bjrIKqySL7SImcPPVby24T3nOVthJrH-KrgKZqBHMxbX3_o0nVvsj2pSHqwvo/s320/Yvonne+Barabas.JPG" width="320" /></a><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"> Barabas sweeps back her long brown hair and smiles warmly, speaking professionally but from the heart. “At OPTIONS we serve people from a wide range of diversity, from those with cognitive and neurological disabilities to visually and hearing impaired persons.” </span></span></div><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: small;"> </span><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"> Her face becomes animated. “Oh, are you surprised I used the word ‘diversity’? Usually when people hear ‘diversity’ they think of ethnic diversity—and we have that too. Yet it is interesting to see how many employers don’t view those with different disabilities as part of the diverse population. My job is to educate them.” </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"> Some of Barabas’ clients at OPTIONS were disabled from birth or youth, but often clients enjoyed many years of normal, active living until some accident or trauma left them physically or cognitively impaired. People of all kinds, including CEOs with master’s degrees. “Suddenly their lives are unrecognizable. <i>And</i> they find themselves unemployed, completely unable to do what they did yesterday.” Yvonne Barabas’ gaze drops to her hands. “This job certainly puts things in perspective. Everyone is fighting a hard battle.”</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"> Almost instantly the passionate fire rekindles her smile. “What I love about my work is that it forces me to be constantly creative. There is no set program. I work personally with each client on a case-by-case basis. OPTIONS goes far beyond organizational bureaucracy: We believe that compassion and vocational success cannot be ‘canned’.” </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"> “Earning my clients’ trust takes enormous creativity. I need to figure out where the client is now and use that key information for understanding them now. Often, for example, they are in deep grief over their physical loss, so the first thing I must do is walk through the grieving process with them, at their pace. Then I need to get very creative. First I find out everything I can about their background including their medical history. What is her passion? What motivates him? Why does this client decide to get up each morning? Communication is the key to all this.”</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%;"><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"> Barabas admits that even being able to communicate with people with certain disabilities can be a daunting project of its own. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"> A number of years ago she served a young man whom a car accident left paralyzed from the neck down. Unable to speak, he could only touch his head to a pad on the side of his wheelchair’s headrest, which would activate a computer screen. Painstakingly he would then visually choose letters from the alphabet, and by tapping his head, he could spell words—one letter at a time. Eventually Barabas learned that this young man’s passions were motorcycles, music and computers.</span></span></div><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: small;"> </span><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"> “Something clicked with me and I contacted an employer in north county. We spoke about my person served and the employer invited him to an interview. The employer was astounded by my clients’ extensive knowledge. At the end of the hour, the office staff was hanging on every word coming from that computer screen.”</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"> Then Barabas had another client with a different set of problems, a female in her late forties who bounced in and out of jail. Discouragement had her down. But Barabas saw something in this client which provided a ray of hope. “She really needed a life make-over—so I worked with her and helped her achieve one.” Patience and optimism won out again for Barabas. The client has been responsibly employed for some months. But there is more. “This person served recently called us at OPTIONS bubbling over, ‘This is the first time my kids have actually called me Mom!’”</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"> Barabas’ talents have allowed OPTIONS to place clients in all kinds of jobs around San Luis Obispo (SLO) and Santa Barbara Counties—in retail, hospitality, business offices, nurseries, farms, medical establishments, warehouses, and in transportation. OPTIONS was responsible for an impressive 5.3% of all placements for the developmentally disabled population in the State of California between July 2006 and June 2008.<span style="color: blue;"> </span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"> “If I could speak to every employer in SLO County, I would first tell them that hiring through us is virtually the same as the usual ways of hiring people. I send them well-qualified individuals with all the supports they could need. And we already know their backgrounds in depth, unlike people who walk in off the street.”</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"> “Then I would pick up my megaphone and tell them how our clients can be huge assets to their workplace or company. Our clients possess uncanny diligence, patience and a strong desire to succeed. In fact, they change the whole workplace dynamics in a positive way. For example, just by quietly showing up every day and on time and working diligently, they grab the attention of the other employees. They see that our workers have many more challenges to just get up out of bed in the morning—but, on the other hand, they do not complain. They may have to ride on a bus for hours to get there, but they walk in with a smile. Our clients are so happy and grateful to work and be productive.”</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"> Barabas sits very straight, speaking clearly and charmingly yet confidently. Surely she could convince anyone of almost anything without megaphones, curtains, or tricks. “Furthermore, there are other benefits and incentives for our local employers. In many cases, we provide on–the-job-training (OJT) for our placed clients. Not only does this save the employer time and money, but while on OJT, a percentage of the client’s wages will be supplemented.”</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"> In addition, employers of OPTIONS clients receive tax incentives, the 8850 tax credit which is in place for those who hire the disabled, veterans and other special populations. <span style="color: blue;"> </span>Yet the best part is that OPTIONS will provide a job coach for the new employee if he or she needs help adapting to the work environment and vice versa. This covers cultural as well as physical issues. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"> For example, perhaps the boss is frustrated with a hearing impaired employee because the employee does not seem to comprehend or hear him. Yet maybe the solution is that the employer is not making sure she is facing the worker so that the employee can read her lips. “Since the hearing impaired world is a culture unto itself, we consider this a cultural difference. But no matter—all the supports are in place for both our clients and their employers to the degree needed, if any. How many other job seekers have that? Everything is geared to have this worker succeed.”</span></span></div><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: small;"> </span><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"> Yvonne Barabas’ own success is not something she takes for granted. To be an effective job developer in today’s economy, between the high unemployment rate and the State of California’s shortfall, is that much more difficult. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"> “I consider myself very fortunate to be employed, especially at such an amazing organization as OPTIONS. And here I am trying to get people off subsidized incomes, yet the job market is so tight. The truth be told, no person served at OPTIONS wants to remain on government assistance. Their motivation to work is great. They want to contribute their talents, to be productive—to have purpose. They want the same things I want. The same things you want.”<span style="color: blue;"> </span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: blue; line-height: 150%;"> </span><span style="line-height: 150%;">In order to do her job well, Yvonne Barabas practically lives in her car. “But we live in such a beautiful area that I don’t mind. Certainly there are times when the stress and pressure get to me. But I rely on my faith, the invaluable things my clients teach me, and the wonderful people I work with.” </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"> Barabas allows herself a giggle. “No, certainly I am not the Wizard of OPS! Together we all make a fabulous team—no one of us sticks out.”</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"> Then Barabas is handed a description of Dorothy Gale found on the Answers.com website: “[Dorothy] is brave, smart, compassionate, selfless, and encouraging to other members of the traveling party.”</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"> Yvonne Barabas hands it back, laughing. “Oh, I don’t even own a pair of red shoes!”</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 150%;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"> <span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: small;"> </span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: small;">Maybe Ms. Barabas needs to go home and re-check her wardrobe closet.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">________________________________________________________</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">OPTIONS Family of Services is celebrating its 25<sup>th</sup> anniversary this month. To learn more about what they are doing right, please contact Erin<span style="color: blue;"> </span>at 805-772-6066, ext. 100 or visit their website at <u>www.optionsfs.org</u></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">Maria V. Eyles aka Maria C. Vidale, The Wizard of OPS, Copyright 2009<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><br />
The Polished Page, Writing and Editing Services <span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">The Virtual Pen, Blog: http://mariaveyles.blogspot.com/</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div>Maria V. Eyleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13304424281178049817noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-626555626440349588.post-36414002872012188542011-04-23T09:31:00.000-07:002011-05-15T21:30:48.422-07:00A Reverse Account<b><u><span style="font-family: Arial;">From The Virtual Pen of Maria V. Eyles</span></u></b><br />
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Financial tools are helpful in not only aiding us to understand our relationship to money, but also our relationship to ourselves in the world. You’ve heard of the “reverse mortgage,” a financial tool that allows many seniors to stay in their homes mortgage-free. Undoubtedly this lessens their fear of being old and helpless in a volatile world economy. Well, I’ve perfected a tool called the Reverse Savings Account. A reverse savings account can bring you lowered anxiety and increased confidence in your understanding of exactly how the world economy works in a way very personal to you.<br />
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A reverse savings is free and readily available to almost everyone!<br />
But first you will need a few preliminaries: a limited income; a dwindling savings account; and some dire or impending emergency expense such as major car repairs, expensive medical treatments or dental work, or perhaps an explosion of broken appliances. <br />
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In addition to these, there are two other important elements needed to achieve a true reverse savings. The first is a source of chronic economic drainage. Though I am sure many examples have already flooded your mind, I will throw out a brief list: a child anywhere from ages 1 day to 45 years old; a jalopy; several pets from the rescue center; a freeloading relative; a friend who constantly borrows. <br />
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<div style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Besides these siphons of savings, the element of surprise is mandatory. Surprise elements such as unexpected lay-offs; notice to vacate; a 300% jump in tuition, rent or HOA dues; or one of my favorites—a lapsed insurance policy, or its equivalent, The Fine Print,—all these guide you quickly to your goal of a reverse savings account. </div><br />
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<div style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Now let me explain exactly how the reverse savings works using a true example from my own past two weeks. First, I learn that I need a crown on my molar. If I wait much longer, there will be the added bonus of a root canal. The crown requires a down payment of $600. So I decide, over the course of three sleepless nights in which I dream of my teeth falling out in a homeless shelter, to bilk $300 from my IRA and to extract the other $300 from my checking account. </div><div style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Note carefully that this act of pulling out and setting aside money for a Special Purpose will inevitably trigger a deluge of unexpected expenses and bills—the drainage and surprise elements we talked about—often within hours. This sets the reverse savings laws of physics in motion. For I blundered upon this little known law that parallels the adage, “Nature abhors a vacuum.” It is “The World abhors an excess.” Lo, now you are armed with the scientific theory behind the reverse savings. </div><div style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div style="text-indent: 0.5in;">So we collected the $600 on the Friday before the Monday dental appointment. Second step: On Sunday night my big toe swells up, turns red and throbs angrily. Therefore, we do-si-do our dentist with our podiatrist, even though it hurts to dance, and on Monday morning, the podiatrist numbs then cuts out my ingrown toenail. Yes, you may have noticed that a side feature of the reverse savings account is a psychic portent that somebody or other is going to stick one or the other end of your body with lidocaine on a Monday morning, no matter what. </div><div style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Notice that the accidental switcheroo means that the $600 is sitting idly around my checkbook <i>doing nothing</i>. Although it is earmarked for the dentist, it is not actually inside his safe with the daily revenue. No, it is sitting nonchalantly in my account as an excess, the perfect situation for the reverse savings to kick in!</div><div style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div> Because I am lucky enough to have good health insurance, the podiatrist’s visit did not count as a legal reverse account transaction (or R.A.T.). Yet in only hours, the specter of another huge expense arose when my beloved dog, a blue shepadoodle named Raphael, went into a crisis with his chronic immune system ailment. The four-year-old Raphael had been doing fine for almost two months, but this afternoon my skies turned gray-blue, as I rushed my boy up to the veterinary hospital in Atascadero. I had no time to think about the reverse account until it was checkout time.<br />
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</div><div style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Imagine my disappointment when the vet’s office visit was compassionately reduced to a mere follow-up, a piffling $29. Hardly enough for the reverse savings to set off. But aha! The treatments and take-home meds came to just under $270! Do you, too, see the pattern here? Hallelujah, three hundred dollars! Halfway home. (Or homeless.)</div><div style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div style="text-indent: 0.5in;">The next day brought better health to Raphael, and hassles with the plumber and under-sink leak ($55) and the new dishwasher installation guy (prepaid, sigh!). These latter are still fighting each other, and the boxed dishwasher is still sitting in my office under the office window leak, which adds the thrill of my homeowner’s association involvement to the mix. This ensures me a daily parade of workmen in my condo to keep things entertaining for Raphael. No wonder the guy is sick to his stomach. </div><div style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div style="text-indent: 0.5in;">“Mmm,” I mused over my doggie blanket laundry, “I still have $245 left in my checking from the $600 for the dental work. To achieve a true reverse savings, I need another person or source to pillage $250 more from me since technically, you want to go at least five dollars over the original amount. I wonder what…? Oh! That’s it!”</div><div style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div style="text-indent: 0.5in;">“It” was some kind of sticky liquid seeping over my newly unbandaged ingrown toenail. My excitement grew as I saw “it” was originating from under the clothes washer. Could it be? Could it be…?</div><div style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Reader, it <u>was</u> motor oil! Gobs of it. Can you believe my luck? A dying washing machine! Whew, right on time, too, and you betcha, it could cost <u>well</u> over $300 to replace.” <i>Wow! I'd better run out and buy a lotto ticket</i>! I speculated cunningly.</div><div style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Not believing my good fortune, I ran to check out my Home Warranty protection program. Ha! There it was in The Fine Print: <span style="font-size: 8pt;">“Neither the washer nor dryer are covered in your premium policy.” </span>Silly me, getting paranoid like that for no reason.</div><div style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div> From this moment, the oiled gears of the reverse savings account zoomed off. Look at how simple the accounting is on a reverse savings! A brand new GE washer from Best Buy ($289), plus sales tax ($50), plus installation and haul-away fees ($69). The only reason I did not jump on the Best Buy extended warranty was that two of Raphael’s four pharmacists called on the cell phone while I was speaking to the Best Buy stereo guy (eh--stereos, washers, vacuums, what’s the difference…) announcing the completion of two of his medications: one at $50, and one at $65. Add this to the $300 vet bill, and my total reverse savings account total was minus $799. All this for very little time or work invested on my part.<br />
<div style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </div><div style="text-indent: 0.5in;">My goal completed, I finally staggered into my bathroom. Such relief! Only, when I get up, the toilet seat slides right off the bowl and clanks onto the floor. Dumbly, I pick it up and stash it in the back seat of my car. </div><div style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div style="text-indent: 0.5in;">On my way to Home Depot, Lester at the gas station is eyeing me strangely. “Hey, lady!" He points the gas nozzle at my face. "Uh, I don’t think that porta-potty is going to work very well there in your back seat. You gotta put something under it, connect it to something.” </div><div style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div style="text-indent: 0.5in;">I smile smugly. “Little do <u>you</u> know, Lester!” </div><div style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Lester doesn’t know what you now know, which are the advantages of a reverse savings account: Your confidence in evaluating any financial move or non-move is bolstered by the Excess Law, and you can accurately predict the red side of your ledger from now on. Your anxiety is replaced by the peace of knowing that a Reverse Savings Account stems not from lack of planning, but from A Reverse Savings Economy (ARSE), and toilet seat or no toilet seat, you will always have your ARSE to fall back on.<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style";"></span></div><div align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;"><br />
</div><div align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">A Reverse Account by Maria V. Eyles</div><div align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;"><div align="right" style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">Copyright March 2011</span></div><div align="right" style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt;">All Rights Reserved</span></div></div><div align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;"><br />
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</div>Maria V. Eyleshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13304424281178049817noreply@blogger.com2