HAPPY BIRTHDAY MOMMY! THIS ONE IS FOR YOU.

WE DON’T KNOW JACKS

You don’t know jacks unless you played with my mother, Emma.  With her unrivaled dexterity and grace, she was the champion of the ball and stars.

Wherever we lived, the kitchen served three purposes; a place to cook and eat, a gathering room for friends and family and a stadium for playing jacks.  The floors were always linoleum; a perfect platform for the game.  The hazards were the undersides of the refrigerator and stove, where the ball would often travel if you were not on your game.

Red, blue and green, we played jacks until the colors wore off the metal stars and the little red ball had lost its bounce.  Whoosh! was the sound of my mother’s long fingers and fingernails as they effortlessly scraped the floor to pick up the jacks and catch the ball in one seamless motion.

Onesees, twosees, sixees.  Single, double, triple bounce.  She rarely missed.  When our turn came, we tried to emulate her technique, but we were never quite as good.  She could place them in a pile and pick them up one by one or three by three without touching the others.  She would laugh and softly chastise us if we threw the jacks in too wide a pattern; a trick to make sure we did not touch the jacks as we tried to even the score or (in our dreams) win the game.

I recently bought myself a set of jacks.  It came with a green ball (an abomination) and eight silver metal jacks.  Sadly, the package also included instructions on how to play, but only with one bounce of the ball.  No double or triple bounce.  No twosees or thresees.

Proof again that we don’t know jacks.

Sheryl J. Bize Boutte

August 2010

A TEAR OR A SMILE

A TEAR OR A SMILE

While you walk in life

And make your choices

On how you treat the ones you love

Be gracious, loving and kind

For you never know

How you may affect

Thoughts of you in their mind

When you awake

In the middle of the night

From a dream in which they reside

If you have treated them well

You can hold them close

Not with a tear

But with a smile

It is never too late

To change the feelings

You have for them or they for you

You have the power

To forgive and forget

And to start with love anew

When they are far away

And you miss them so

Love will traverse the miles

And they will think of you

For all of their days

Not with a tear

But with a smile

Copyright@2010 Sheryl J. Bize Boutte

AN APPLE A DAY

AN APPLE A DAY

Sheryl J. Bize Boutte

July 20, 2011

In May 2010, I posted a blog entry entitled “The Real Cost of Living As a Federal Retiree.” In that post I expressed my disappointment with the fact that there would be no 2010 Cost Of Living Adjustment (COLA) for annuitants. Little did I know at the time that we would not get a 2011 adjustment either, or that our health premiums would increase by as much as 7%. But my central concern in that post was how the COLA’s are currently calculated by using the Consumer Price Index (CPI):

“The CPI uses prices from urban and clerical populations that make up 87% of the U. S. The CPI includes price information from the cost of food and beverages, housing, education and communication, medical care (but apparently not medical insurance premium cost), and recreation. According to the Bureau of Labor Statistics, each month their workers call representatives from these areas who are located in doctor’s offices, retail stores and various service establishments.”

The voices of those who are against the use of the CPI for determining COLA increases have grown much louder since I wrote that post. But what I was not prepared for was the proposed CPI replacement, which would make things even worse for retirees.

The proposed process for changing the way COLA’s are set for retirees would include a new method for determining the CPI. Currently the CPI is based on the costs outlined above and according to the “experts” does not take into account “upper level substitution bias.” This term refers to the belief that if consumers cannot afford something when the price goes up, they simply change their buying habits. While this may indeed be the case, the more troubling aspect of this principle is captured in the example provided by the Federal Times, “…if the price of apples goes up, people are likely to buy fewer apples or switch to a cheaper fruit.” And so, when you include this “upper level substitution bias” it means that the CPI has been overstating the amount of inflation and the COLAS should be smaller!

But it’s the underlying dogma that provides the foundation for this way of thinking that is so troublesome. It says if retirees could buy apples before the change and can’t buy apples under the new process, so what? It appears that those who are floating this proposal, have little or no concern that retirees may have to buy a cheaper fruit or no apples at all. This way of thinking about and treating retirees in this country is unconscionable. It says that debt reduction can be solved in part, by a doctrine of denial. In other words, if you are a retiree, you can’t have that….you can only have this. Under this doctrine, retirees will see their annuities buy less and less while trying to make decisions about whether or not to splurge on that red delicious.

This new philosophy, if allowed to take hold, will continue the step-by-step default on the promise of retirement made to those who served this country. The apples are not just fruit; they are a metaphor for our entire hierarchy of needs. The uncontrolled rise in costs combined with the continued erosion of annuities is not sustainable.

And, as unbelievable as it is that I feel I must say this, say this I will: We have earned the right to an apple a day.

A MOTHER'S LOVE

A MOTHER’S LOVE

Sheryl J. Bize Boutte

January 22, 2011

I have been here for thousands of years, and I am still an average 33 years young. Although some say she was just a fantasy, my mother was the ancient African Queen, Califia, ruler of the Island of California. From my flat belly to the gradual rise of my rolling hills, I remain beautiful and nurturing.

From 1200 B.C., my inherited landscape was home to the Ohlone Indians who for 30 centuries lived nearest my lakes and streams and had no word for war.

When the Spaniards came, they named me Rancho San Antonio. My fertile flatlands supported the agriculture looked over by the groves of oak and redwood lining my slopes.

I became the western center for the Transcontinental Railroad. I am the home of the first telephone booth, the first airmail delivery, and the oldest wildlife sanctuary in the United States.

When the earth fractured under my sister across our shared bay waters, 150,000 of her children sought refuge with me; 65,000 of them never left.

I was once known as the “Detroit of the West”; producing 100 Chevy’s a day. Some believe my Fairyland was the inspiration for Disneyland.

I am the origin of the “West Coast Blues”, the Mai Tai cocktail and Rocky Road Ice Cream. One of my sons invented the Popsicle and one of my daughters was lost to me when she took her famous solo flight from my airport. A man who usually prefers purple once bought another of my daughters a turquoise Mercedes.

Whether they were born to me, or came to live in my house, I am proud of my children. They have made me one of the most ethnically diverse places in the country. They have persevered and continue to excel. They have become leaders, architects, musicians, healers, athletes, artists, actors, inventors, and collectively speak more than 150 languages. Among them: Julia Morgan, Bernard Maybeck, Tom Hanks, Mark Curry, Bruce Lee, Dennis Eckersley, Rickey Henderson, Tony Lema, Andre Ward, MC Hammer, Digital Underground, Goapole, En Vogue, Pete Esovedo, Jerry Brown, Marcus Foster, Kamala Harris, Barbara Lee, and Mother Wright.

My wish for my children is that they know me in full. That they respect and revere me. That they defend me to those who filter my name through an unkind mouth. That they take care of each other. That they embrace all I have to share. That they know that no matter what path they take, I will always be here for them and will welcome them home,

To Oakland.

To a Mother’s love.

ALLSTARS

Ran into these two at the bank the other day. They were having a conversation about, what else, basketball. He was telling her how he had hurt his fingers during a basketball game. She was telling him stories about her playing time in school as a point guard.

terre et la lune embrassent

CONGRESSIONAL CRYBABY

CONGRESSIONAL CRYBABY

Since when is it ok to cry at work? It seems that one of the mainstays of workplace behavior has been turned on its head with the election of crybaby John Boehner as the new speaker of the House of Representatives.

As a woman who worked her way up the ladder in the federal sector, the cardinal rules I was given for each step were to be professional, knowledgeable, and no matter what happens, don’t ever let them see you cry at work. So why is it that all of a sudden, a man can turn on the water works at the drop of a dime and it is considered acceptable? John Boehner’s unpredictable crying jags make pre menstrual syndrome look like a walk in the park.

As I watched this man boo hoo his way through his recent 60 Minutes interview, I did not think he looked like the portrait of a sensitive man; I thought he looked unstable. I mean after all, he started wailing at the mention of “little kids.” It could be that the thought of children evoked melancholy memories for him, and I could accept that, if it weren’t for the fact that it is now being revealed that he cries all the time and has been doing so for many years. And it has been ok. His career has not suffered from it.

Can you see it? There is a debate in Congress about water conservation and in the middle of a speech John starts crying uncontrollably. Asked why he is crying he says,” I was just thinking about all of the water I drank when I was little and it just makes me…makes me…ooooooohhhhh… I should have gone swimming more…I just get all choked up about it….waaaaaaaaa!” Comedians, YouTube and bloggers are going to have a field day with this guy. Think about it. God forbid…this man is third in line for the presidency!

I know if I had cried like that during my career, I would have been labeled at the very least an overly sensitive female or at the worst a hysterical woman not suitable for management.

Several years ago I attended a coworker’s funeral. If there was ever a time to cry, this was one and I did. The person who had died was young with a young family, and had been taken suddenly. He was well liked and at the funeral emotions ran high. My boss was sitting next to me at the service with tears running down his face. When I offered him a Kleenex, I was sternly rebuffed with a look that said, I am not crying. Do I look like I’m crying? Why are you crying? We are management! So strong was the taboo against male tears or tears of any kind in the workplace, he could not even let loose at a funeral or let me off the hook for doing so.

I think crying is natural. I think some of us do not cry enough and hold in too much. Crying can be cleansing. Crying is the ultimate expression of grief as well as joy. The problem with John Boehner is you can’t tell which emotion he is feeling when he starts to sob. He just looks like he has lost it.

There is something very unnatural about John Boehner’s seemingly unprovoked auto-crying. I am worried about how those tears will manifest themselves in the future and what it will mean for all of us.

I hope he does not read this. I don’t want to make him cry.

Sheryl J. Bize Boutte