A reflection on the American work force

I had dinner with some friends from England and Ireland on Sunday night. Having known and worked with them for many years, I felt comfortable asking them a question. Do you think Americans feel entitled in ways workers in other countries do not? By that, I meant do American workers

  • Consider routine tasks “beneath” them?
  • Expect special treatment?
  • React adversely to honest feedback on the quality of their work?
  • Think they deserve to make more money than the value they give their employer?

My friends, without hesitation, answered YES!

Why did I ask the question in the first place? Well, I work in an industry known for outsourcing good paying American jobs to other countries. The executives give an ear-numbing list of reasons why, but it really comes down to those workers are cheaper. Way, way cheaper. I know this because I’ve had some candid conversations with those people, and they talked pretty freely about their salaries. They make a lot less even in countries that have a higher cost of living than the US.

I am an editor, and I work primarily with writers. Currently, about half those writers work in the US; all of them would be considered in the top 35% of income NATIONALLY, which means they make upwards of $60k (way upwards in many cases).  Our benefits are also pretty good as benefits go these days.  The remainder of the writers work in India, China, Singapore, and Australia; some of them do not write English as a native language.

The US writers complain day in and day out about work being sent to abroad. They look over their shoulders expecting the ax to fall on their jobs. They DEMAND sympathy. They complain about how little they make and how HARD they work. They complain bitterly that upper management does not care about the quality of work, because if they did jobs would not be sent abroad.

Do the US writers write better than their non-native speaking counterparts? Well, yes, but not by an order of magnitude. Two years ago, I might have said non-native writers were much, much worse, but their writing is steadily improving. The most common mistakes I now see among the non-native writers are dropped articles (a, an, the) and missing prepositions. Their technical expertise  and attention to detail is roughly equal to the writers in the US. What I do see as disproportionate does not favor the US workforce. It is related to work ethic.

An example is in order. We have a tool for preliminary edits; it spell checks, performs a  basic grammar check, and flags words that are forbidden by our company and blatant flaunting of the corporate style. It’s much better than that tool inside Word. I’ve used it  several times: for things I still write or to help out writers who are on extended sick leave. It’s relatively easy to use. I see it as the kind of computer game I can win. In general, if I find 50 really bad pages (like an error in every sentence), I can fix those problems in 15 to 30 minutes. The rule is that the writers are supposed to run the tool on new or updated sections of their books or help systems before they submit it to me for a technical edit. By the way, I really don’t need to run the tool to know if someone else has. The errors that it flags are pretty blatant.

The non-native writers generally run it, fix things, and ask me about flags they don’t understand.  If someone doesn’t do that, I send the document back with a note, and they fix it.  Then I proceed with a technical (not a copy) edit. I could extrapolate that   following this process is the reason their writing has improved.

The US writers complain endlessly about HOW HARD THE TOOL IS. One writer actually told me that it was a useless tool because it flagged all the typos and spelling errors. Really? You call yourself a writer, and you don’t think typos and spelling errors are something you should fix? Even if I thought that, I’d be embarrassed to say it out loud.

Let me be clear, it’s not just the writers who have this attitude. Developers often complain it’s beneath them to test their code to see if it works (or even starts). And, it’s not just at work that I see this attitude. I go to a store or a restaurant, and more times than not I get the same “I can’t be bothered” attitude. The cable installation crew needed my son’s input to set up basic internet connections, and they shrugged off their lack of knowledge, almost seemed proud of it. Yes, I realize some of these people don’t make much money, but they have a job; millions of people don’t.

Another example: The father of one of my son’s friends, a basketball coach, once said, “I don’t want any middle-class kids on my team. They just don’t care. They don’t try. They want cool uniforms and the cheerleaders, but they can’t be bothered to show up to practice on time. They think they should receive awards for slowly dribbling the ball down the court. If I don’t kiss their rear-ends, they tell their mommies, who chew me out for ruining their self-esteem.”

I have never prided myself on having a Puritan work ethic. (In fact, I’m pretty sure of exactly the opposite.) I work to live, never live to work. Nonetheless, this entitled attitude offends me. I think when you show up to work, you should give back something (anything) for your salary. If executives are looking for more excuses to offshore jobs, they’ve got an easy one.

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The morning of magical swimming

with almost no apologies to Joan Didion.

The bridge over the Mississippi at Quincy, ILI grew up swimming, because we lived on the Mississippi River (almost literally). After I married, we lived 1 block from a park overlooking the river. (In the picture, the trees that look like the far bank of the river are are really on one of the small mid-river islands.) I think it’s why I love the Nile; rivers form the secret, best part of my soul. And BTW,  “Everything’s NOT bigger in Texas.” Honestly, y’all got some pretty big creeks, but no real rivers.

I spent most of the summers of childhood on the river with my mother and father, my brothers, and various aunts and uncles. Everybody I knew had a boat. We hit the river around 8 a.m. on Saturday and were not through until 9 or 10 p.m. on Sunday. In my teen years, I eschewed the family boats in favor of outings with friends. We did not have boats, but we biked and later drove over the levees to swim, picnic, and do other things best left unmentioned.

Swimming in the Mississippi was sometimes a matter of life and death. I remember helping bundle my nephews in life jackets, discussing who would be responsible for which child, and calculating how far we were from either bank when the motor on our boat died and a barge was bearing down us. Barges cannot turn. At the last minute, my brother managed to make the motor catch fire. The barge passed by with a couple feet to spare. Any number of times, summer storms came up, and the river swells began to resemble something out of that movie The Perfect Storm, and you would nearly be thrown overboard.

The English Building at UI-UrbanaI started swimming in pools during college. First, because it was an easy way to get my PE credit. (We DO NOT SPEAK of Modern Dance 101!) Then, because I liked to swim, and there were numerous pools on campus. There was even a pool in the bowels of the English Building that I never found. I located the locker room. I smelled chlorine. Occasionally I heard the unmistakable  sound of swimming, but like so many rooms in the English building, its exact location remained a mystery. It was like a Stephen King novel, and there was a ghost story associated with it.

Now, I mostly swim indoors. I am more diligent some times than others. When I was in my 20′s and 30′s, I swam every day for an hour. Then it became 3 to 4 times a week for 30 minutes. Right before and after my operation, I was banned from swimming altogether. In mid-July, the doctor gave me permission to swim on my back IF I didn’t stroke with my arms. (Oh, that was fun.) On August 1, I finally received permission to return to regular swimming.

For me, swimming is sometimes meditation, always exercise, and occasionally a general cure for what ails me. Sunday morning, it was all three.

I woke up around 4a.m. sneezing. The mold count is up, although how that can be true in the middle of a drought eludes me. I took an antihistamine and waited for the sneezing and nose-blowing to subside, which took about two hours. By then, I had a headache, body aches, and a general desire to just pull the covers over my head and die. I persuaded Morgan to feed the animals so I could do the next best thing….sleep.

I woke again at 9:30, feeling slightly better, but not great. I thought about the things I needed to do, and the covers came back up to my chin. Finally, I forced myself into my swimming suit and headed off to the gym.

I don’t swim as fast as I did pre-Op, but I am back up to 30 minutes. I set the timer on my watch and began stroking. Almost instantly, the aches and pains disappeared. My chaotic thoughts settled into a stream of prose for a section of my novel that I’ve been working on. (Some of my best scenes  are written in the pool.) When my watch beeped, I was a new woman.

When I returned to the car, it was blazing hot inside. If I closed my eyes and made it dark, for a moment, just a moment, I was transported back to the Sunday nights of my childhood where the heat from a sunburn and the faint smell of fish and river mud signaled the end of a perfect day.

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Sometimes I just want. . . .

Tonight, I am imagining/wanting my future homestead.

In preparation, I signed up for hand goat milking classes. I’m good with the Henry Milker, but not so good with the whole hand thing. Like a good, former girl scout leader, I want to be prepared.

But goats aside, tonight, I long for a donkey and a peacock.

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How do you pick the ten most hated people?

Reading the latest The Downward Spiral post this morning set me off.

When I decide to hate people, I generally prefer not to waste my righteous indignation. I go after some biggies. If I made a historical list of people I loathe, my photo essay might look like this:

My current list, although incomplete,  might look something like the following one.  The last image of Palin & Perry, I admit, is a two-fer. Of course, now that the Supreme Court and Mitt Romney agree that corporations are people, too, my choices are a bit harder.

The point is, when you choose the ten most hated people, they really ought to be truly despicable. They should be guilty of off-shoring American jobs, poisoning the environment, promoting hatred, or threatening to ruin the country.

An article in the International Business Times listed the ten most hated people in America. Really? This is the best we can come up with? I get hating OJ and Casey Antony, because murder is truly heinous. But Jon Gosselin is guilty of being a jerk, a category that typically includes at least 50% of the population. Do we hate Paris Hilton because she looks better than us? Or because she’s richer than us? And does it matter? They’re twits. What they do makes no difference to anyone except reality tv show watchers and People magazine readers.

Seriously, people, can you put Paris, Jon, Howard Stern, and company in the same category as Hitler when the country is falling apart? Did you forget about unemployment? The money your pension plan just lost due to the recent credit downgrade? The oil spill that still pollutes the water in the Gulf of Mexico? Franken-corn? Copyrighted plants? The staggering increase in the number of people now receiving food stamps? The frightening cost of health care, even when you’re “well-insured” like I am? The collapsed housing market?

Martin Luther King said

History will have to record that the greatest tragedy of this period of social transition was not the strident clamor of the bad people, but the appalling silence of the good people.

If he rephrased that for today, he might say


History will have to record that the greatest tragedy of this period of social transition was not the strident clamor of the bad people, but the appalling ignorance of most people.

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Where does charity begin?

If we believe the platitudes, at home. Yet I wonder. I am roundly criticized, sometimes justly, for giving money to people who stand at the corners and highway intersections with their cardboard signs asking for a handout.

As a rule, I don’t give to people who look like they’re pulling a grift. DUH! Well, I confess if they have a particularly witty sign, I will toss them 50 cents, because wit should be rewarded. :-) However, when I see an obviously elderly person standing in the sun when it’s 107 degrees (and feels like 115), I’m pretty sure that doesn’t fall under anybody’s definition of easy money. I’m equally sympathetic on cold, rainy days of which, admittedly, there are few in Texas.

I usually give between $1 and $2. Let’s be honest, I lose more money than that every week because I’m pretty careless with change. (I did buy a piggy bank and am making a concerted effort to put my change in it, but still. .. ) I waste more money than that on stupid stuff.

With that dollar or two, they could buy a bottle of water or hit up any of the $1 menu fast food places. (In the “for what it’s worthy category,” Emma hands out bottles of water that she keeps in her car.) Will they? I don’t know. They might use it to buy booze.  Or drugs.  To be perfectly honest, I also don’t care. If their life is that miserable, they might need a few moments of oblivion.

“The bread in your cupboard belongs to the hungry man; the coat hanging unused in your closet belongs to the man who needs it; the shoes rotting in your closet belong to the man who has none; the money which you hoard in the bank belongs to the poor. You do wrong to everyone you could help, but fail to help.” St. Basil the Great

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One more cup of coffee before I go

One more cup of coffee for the road
One more cup of coffee ’fore I go
To the valley below

Bob Dylan

Every morning, my son and I have coffee together. We are the earliest risers in the house, so it’s generally just him and me. Sometimes Emma joins us.

We often look at things on the internet together, discuss the latest news, or just play with the corgis.

This week we have a new activity. We are learning how to publish books in the kindle format. So far, it’s been a smashing success. We have successfully

  • Made a cover for a book.
  • Created a Table of Contents.
  • Converted all of this plus the text of my first chapter of Queen of Heka to the kindle format.
  • Downloaded and tested the results on my kindle.
  • Given copies to other people to test.

I am particularly pleased about the book cover because it 1) forced me to learn Photoshop and 2) can be used as a template for the cover of other Egyptian books.

If you want a copy for your kindle, email me.

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aspiration (noun) \ˌas-pə-ˈrā-shən\: a strong desire to achieve something

So many when we’re young, and then the great winnowing.

I am in the process of reclaiming my aspirations after a lengthy sojourn in the land of the invalid. Actually, I sometimes enjoyed my stay there. I had time to think, and the only thing to disturb my thoughts was physical pain. Drugs eventually took care of that.

Now, I’m back at work. Things I don’t really care about buzz in my head like those really nasty flies that hang around my goats. Every morning, I lecture myself  not to get all bent about things like writers not running spell check, waste-of-time meetings, and the evils of corporate America. I sometimes make it til noon before I start sawing my wrists with a plastic spoon. (Those are the good days.) Maybe yoga or meditation would help. Or mental discipline. Or drugs?

But back to those aspirations. I do have them. It’s important to record them so I have something to check myself against. In no particular order of importance:

  • Retire (or be retired) at the end of the year.
  • Finish the rewrite of Queen of Heka, and then move on to other books.
  • Learn to market my writing via social media. (Yes, that sound you hear is me retching.)
  • Find a little farmette in an agreeable climate. (By agreeable, I mean four seasons; rain; and no temperatures over 90 degrees on a prolonged basis.)
  • Become mostly self-sufficient: off-grid, producing my own food, no compensatory reckless shopping.
  • Swim every day and regain my strength.
  • Read and write more.
  • Experience life more joyfully instead of glumly.
  • Worry less about TEOTWAWKI because it won’t matter to me.
  • Enjoy my really, really  amazing children.
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Founding Father

However [political parties] may now and then answer popular ends, they are likely in the course of time and things, to become potent engines, by which cunning, ambitious, and unprincipled men will be enabled to subvert the power of the people and to usurp for themselves the reins of government, destroying afterwards the very engines which have lifted them to unjust dominion.

GEORGE WASHINGTON, Farewell Address, Sep. 17, 1796

My friend Cynthia and I have long discussed a book club devoted to reading biographies of the US presidents. We talk about it a lot, but so far no book club. I decided to start reading on my own  and began with the 500 page Washington: A Life, mercifully downloaded to my kindle. Many presidents won’t rate a 500 page biography. In fact, there’s one that I’m almost certain will only sustain my interest for the length of a children’s book.

But, back to Washington. The book is a slow read. I’m constantly looking things up and trying to place things in time. I average a chapter or two a night. I’m up to chapter 18, and GW has just been appointed General and Commander-in-Chief of the Colonial Army.

I have been struck by the fact that GW spent his whole life preparing to be the man we know as George Washington, Father of his Country.

Washington (and other founding fathers) abhorred ignorance, something our current crop of politicos should heed. He had a genuine and often stated embarrassment about his lack of formal education. While Washington’s brothers were educated in England, the money had run out by the time George’s turn came. He was educated in the colonies, which was considered substandard for a gentleman of that time. He put together an advanced course of studies for himself, which included some serious to-do’s, to be’s, and to-reads.

While Washington clearly wanted to make a fortune (and did), he kept that desire quite separate from his civic duties. In both the French and Indian war and the Revolution, he turned down a  salary. He served as a Burgher at his own expense.

Although apparently a deeply religious man, he felt religion was a private matter and that all religious paths were valid (including Islam).
We have abundant reason to rejoice that in this Land the light of truth and reason has triumphed over the power of bigotry and superstition, and that every person may here worship God according to the dictates of his own heart. In this enlightened Age and in this Land of equal liberty it is our boast, that a man’s religious tenets will not forfeit the protection of the Laws, nor deprive him of the right of attaining and holding the highest Offices that are known in the United States. George Washington, letter to the Members of the New Church in Baltimore, January 27, 1793

John Adams famously said of Washington that he was modest about his great accomplishments and great abilities. He further reflected that Washington did not grasp for power, rather power flowed to him.

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Why there’s been no blogging for the last 10 months

After I returned from Australia/Tasmania last fall, we began building a new chicken coop. Things went swimmingly, although we used more stain that anticipated. When we picked up the third gallon, the clerk informed us that it was the last one in stock, and they wouldn’t receive more for several weeks. Wanting to finish the coop before winter, we were very careful. While I was on the ladder, the bucket tipped. I grabbed for it and fell on my butt. Stain saved; fall cushioned.

About a week later, I started having pain in my shoulder. Attributing it to the fall, I went to the chiropractor for an adjustment. The adjustments gave a day or two of relief, but soon I was going in twice a week. Over the Christmas holidays, the adjustments ceased to help. A HUGE muscle knot formed in my shoulder; I was in constant pain.

After New Years, I went to my regular doctor, who prescribed pain pills, muscle relaxers, acupuncture, and physical therapy. The pain became so severe I couldn’t work. I spent most of every day flat on my back with a heating pad. Thank goodness for my kindle, because I couldn’t even hold up a book.

The knot eventually went away, but a new problem emerged. Anytime I sat up, my arm started to tingle and began to burn. Kind of like your arm going to sleep, if a lit match is like the surface of the sun. As long as I wasn’t sitting, no problem. I could walk, garden, dance, you name it, but sitting in front of the computer or driving my car started the tingling burn in about five minutes. Not good for someone whose job is sitting in front of the computer.

Enter the orthopedic surgeon, who prescribed different pills, different PT, and eventually ordered an MRI. The MRI showed a build up of cartilage between two discs in my neck, which pinched the nerve in my arm and hand. She sent me to the neurosurgeon who said the problem had gotten to the point where the only real option was surgery to remove the cartilage and insert a strip of bone to support the two discs.

The surgery itself was actually a breeze…hats off to Dr. Stovall. I woke up completely pain and burn free for the first time in months. The downside to the surgery: I wore a neck brace for six weeks. The brace was so rigid I could not tilt my head enough to read, work on the computer, or sleep in bed. (I slept in a recliner for the entire six weeks and caught up on the last ten years of television programming.)

I went back to work on July 15, but I’m still going to Physical Therapy five times a week. My strength is slowly returning. I have another month (if not two) of physical therapy.

Oh, falling off the ladder didn’t cause the problem. Apparently the real culprits were two back-end collisions that occurred about twenty years ago exacerbated by the fact that I work all day at a computer. The problem was always going to occur, according to the doctor, but either the 14 hour plane trip to and from Australia or the fall (maybe both) just pushed up the schedule. Good thing, because apparently the surgery is a lot harder at 70 than 50-ish.

In case anyone thinks health care in America is still affordable with insurance, medicare, or independent wealth, the operation and one day (exactly 24 hours) in the hospital is now at $165,000. That total does not include the chiropractic care, the acupuncture, the MRI, most of the prescription drugs, or any of the early doctor visits.

A special callout to Morgan and Emma who were amazing. I would not have made it without them.

While I am certainly VERY happy to be on the road to recovery, I really did lose 10 months of my life. and had a lot of time to think about my life. I am pondering some significant changes, most of which I will record here.

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An early August morning in Texas

It’s 9:30, and it’s 81 degrees, but feels like 89 according to the weather widget. We are expecting a cool front today as the high will only be 105. These days, I do my outside chores VERY early in the morning to avoid sweating to death. This morning, I started at 6:30 and finished at 8. Then, I spent some quality time with the goats in an on-going attempt to civilize the billie-boys.

When outside becomes the true pit of hell, I plan to go swimming at the health club and then settle down in a dark theater with Aliens and Cowboys.

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