The Curmudgeonly Professor

What is Your Favorite Flower? I Will Start to Count Them

I often get asked the question by people who know I am the neighborhood character who goes around taking pictures of everyones' flowers "What is your favorite flower?"  My answer typically is "The last one I photographed."  When I started this blog nearly four years ago, my intention was to opine on life's inane nonsense and preach about correct economics.  I still do some of that, but mostly my blog has turned, unintentionally, into a flower blog.  Once I started taking pictures of flowers and then editing and posting them and printing them and emailing them and giving them away and making photo cards of them, I realize that flowers had saved me during a rough patch in my life.  How can one be angry and sad and disappointed when looking into the heart of a rose?  And so I went on a journey in search of flowers: roses, tulips, hollyhocks, pansies, fenstemon, iris, apple blossoms, redbuds, wild roses, blossoms on weeds, purple thistle crowns, cactus blossoms, petunias, geeraniums, mums, snapdragons, marigolds, zinnias, daffodils, narcissus, crocus, dahlias, gladiolas, alfalfa and clover blossoms, rosemary blooms, the flowers on desert shrubs, poppies, and on and on and on.  So today I thought about my life's journey through a flower laden path, through gardens rimmed and crowded with blossoms of every color, formal and random, with palettes of brilliant colors in every direction, and wondered which flower I could identify as my favorite flower.

Oh, I thought day before yesterday when I saw oceans of brilliant white blossoms brightening the sky, these white blossoms must be my favorite flower.

But then a day went by and I saw the redbuds in bloom and I thought, what could be more beautiful than these pinkish-red blossoms?

Then I remembered the poppies from last year, glorious in red against the puffy white clouds and blue sky and I thought, "Poppies must be my favorite flower."

But could I forget the pink rose with drops of water when I feel sad?

And then, I remembered "the little flower that lasts an hour", my neighbors pristine white cactus blossoms that preen in beauty for a few hours and then disappear.

And so many, many, many others.  They are all my favorites.  How can one prefer one beautiful creation over another?  The tiny flowers that bloom on weeds. The nostalgia and affection engendered by wild roses.  We give flowers for expressions of love.  A surprise of a $2.99 bouquet from the grocery store works as well some times as a $50 bunch of gorgeous roses.  We give flowers to the sick, to help people heal.  We give flowers to the sad to help them find cheer.  We give flowers to celebrate birthdays, anniversaries, promotions, the birth of children to honor the milestones of life.  

We look at flowers, we study flowers, we ponder their intricate designs and perfect composition, and we thank God for such splendid creations that calm us, heal us, make us smile, and make us feel that life is worth living.  But we must never, never take a flower for granted.  Even a daisy that has lost nearly all of its petals has some redeeming virtues, in life as well as in a bed of flowers.  Perfect beauty is stunning in a perfect flower, but not all flowers are symmetrical, without blemish.  And, if we look carefully, we see beauty and redemption in every flower that blooms, every blemished blossom, and every troubled person.  So, what is my favorite flower?  I'll let you know if I ever find one.

 

A Geezer's Guide for Watching Matlock

To qualify as a geezer, one has to have sufficient time to waste to watch Matlock reruns.  Otherwise, one is not qualified.  Many of my geezer friends and acquaintances watch Matlock.  They are not disturbed by the fact they have watched each episode 389 times and know them all by heart.  Matlock is their comfort blanket, their chicken soup for geezers.  Watching Matlock is all the more comforting as a painkiller and time waster by knowing the characters, plot, and outcome of each episode in nauseous detail.  All I have to do is watch the opening of each episode and I can tell you the entire remaining story.  You may ask:  "Why are you so stupid that you keep watching it?"  A plethora of reasons for watching Matlock exist, as follows:

• No one is currently showing reruns of Three's Company, that cultural highbrow program.
• Watching Matlock is a great time to take an hour's nap, since you are not missing out on anything you don't already know.
• Watching Matlock is relaxing and stress free since you already know who dunnit.
• You want to be sure that you know what is going on if you meet another geezer and you get asked if you saw today's episode of Matlock.
• Matlock is cheaper than pay-per-view.
• You feel that the characters in Matlock are a part of your family since you have seen them so many thousands of time.
• You keep hoping that someone will discover five here-to-fore unseen episodes of Matlock retrieved from a hidden vault somewhere in Arkansas.

To help improve the efficiency of watching Matlock, here are some guidelines:

• If you can, TiVo it.  That way you can watch the parts you missed when you fell asleep.  Otherwise, you can watch the whole hour's program in about 15 minutes by skipping the ads and whizzing through the parts you have memorized.
• A corpse appears within the first five or ten minutes of the program.  Today was a slow day, the corpse not showing up until 15 after the hour.
• Prior to the murder, a big argument or fight has occurred between the corpse-to-be and someone who had problems with the potential corpse.
• Favorite methods of creating corpses are (1) stabbing, (2) poisoning, (3) shooting, (4) smacking their heads against a hard object, (5) clubbing them with figurines or bookends and such, (6) pushing them down the stairs, (7) throwing them over the balcony, preferably 10 stories up, (8) giving them a drug overdose, and possibly others.  No corpse has yet materialized just from boredom from the first ten minutes of the program.
• An innocent person, some times the person who had the big pre-corpse fight, comes upon the corpus delecti and is horrified.
• A policeman, janitor, or bystander observes the innocent person who often stupidly is found picking up the knife or other killing instrument and standing over the body.  Dumb, dumb, dumb.
• The innocent person is hauled off to jail.
• Matlock is called to the jail whereupon he ponders whether to take another murder case since he already is bogged down with defending non-killers of Atlanta's finest corpses.
• Matlock explains that his fee is $100,000, since he needs big bucks to support his lifestyle of crummy cheap suits, a plain old house, and the hotdogs he consumes after every trial is over.
• Miss Crump from Opie days shows up occasionally, apparently having gone to law school and become a judge who has the gall to admonish Ben Matlock (Andy Griffith) about his courtroom behavior.
• I forgot:  whoever gets to be the corpse can go home very quickly after the TV cameras roll to shoot the sequence, since they are dead and can make no further contribution to the episode.
• The prosecuting lawyer must stand and say "I object" every few minutes or so since that is the only line they have in the episode and they must do something to earn their income for a little bitty performance.
• A lot of other people get killed along the way in some episodes, but car bombs, bullets, kidnapping, drugging and whatever other potential or actual means of extermination can not extinguish our Ben.  Obviously.  Otherwise, who would be in the next episode?
• Matlock has a succession of stunningly beautiful daughters, whom he seems to enjoy hugging from time to time.
• Matlock has a continuing affectionate relationship with a lady prosecuting attorney, but it never seems to go any where.
• Oh, I forgot, cheapo Matlock shines his own shoes, sews on his own buttons, patches his own socks.  Why waste his $100,000?  And by the way, what does he do with his big fees?  He still drives an old wreck of a car, besides.
• It takes exactly 60 minutes minus 20 or 25 minutes of ads to discover who dunnit.  Meanwhile, tension builds as Matlock and his private investigators, his daughter of the hour, and others pursue villains over land and sea and through forests and alleys and dumpsters so Matlock can get them on the stand and browbeat the living daylights out of them until they plead for an orange jumpsuit so they don't have to listen to his blather any longer.
• Has the jury reached a verdict?  We have, your honor.  Will the jury please read the verdict? We find the defendant not guilty.  Imagine.  Now the defendant does one of several things.  The defendant, if a beautiful woman, gives Matlock a big hug.  If the defendant is someone Matlock detests, they part company quickly.  Some times the defendant informs Matlock it will take a lifetime for Matlock to collect his $100,000 fee.  Probably explains why Matlock lives like a miser.
• Matlock then goes to the only mobile hot dog stand in a major county courthouse in the United States of America and orders a dog with all the stuff on it to celebrate his great victory.

Now we wake up from our happy hour's nap, grateful for having had the opportunity through HDTV to watch another glorious episode of our most favorite soporific program, the immortal Matlock, along with a few resurrected old buddies in cameo appearances from Andy Griffith days like Don Knotts.  The Curmudgeonly Professor earnestly hopes this Geezer Guide to Matlock has been beneficial to his readers.  Have a nice day.  Did you watch Matlock today?

 

The Curmudgeonly Professor's Seven Things To Do Today

Here are 7 things you should do today:

1. Get off your rear end and move around every 15-20 minutes unless you want to keep getting more defunct, get phlebitis, weigh more, get Type 2 diabetes, atrial fib, etc. etc.
2. Skip Letterman and Leno. Same tired, weak, off-color stuff.
3. Drink lots of water, quit drinking soda, both diet and undiet.
4. Speak kindly to someone you were about ready to curse.
5. Be thankful for your blessings.
6. Quit texting, emailing, iPadding, etc., divorce yourself for 24 hours from internet dependency and then join a 12 step recovery program.
7. Say your prayers.  You may need them.

There.  You have saved $30 and hours of time and you will feel better tonight, tomorrow, and the next week and month.

 

 

We Also Heal Ourselves When We Lend a Smile and a Helping Hand to Others

The following is from an email I sent to my children and siblings on January 8 concerning the progress my wife is making in regaining her health.  I am reproducing it here after receiving numerous comments on it from those who read it.  Perhaps these comments may help someone else:

We've learned a lot from all of our time sitting in doctor's offices, the dialysis clinic, the cancer treatment center, waiting rooms, the ER, the hospital, and wherever else our adventures have taken us.  So many people are in so much pain and endure it the best they can with a straight face laced with grimaces and strain.  We have seen much kindness and consideration from health care professionals of all types.

We continue to feel blessed from the phone calls, cards, notes, and attention from family, friends, and our neighbors both here and in Salt Lake.  Lo and behold, one day a big jug of chicken soup appeared  miraculously on our doorstep, a gift from my siblings.  The soup and most of all the love and thoughts behind it were gratefully received and acknowledged.  My niece and her husband continue to be our backbone and our help here, rescuing us from the ER late one night and staying with us awhile after we arrived home for awhile and helping us with transportation and errands.  They have provided us with food and my niece gave us half of her delicious cherry chocolate birthday cake.  Neighbors check with us constantly, bringing food and little gifts.  One dear neighbor, a feisty Englishwoman in her 80s, came by the day after her husband's funeral to see Velna.  When I commented on this she said, simply, "Oh, I'm all right.  It's Velna I'm worried about."  People have volunteered to bring food, do our housecleaning, haul us around, run errands.   I know we need to accept help when needed but we've always been so independent since we got married and never felt we needed help to do anything and, by and large, we didn't.  But we are learning the meaning of gratitude.

Just a couple of other things.  Part of my ability to endure all of these hours in medical facilities, some times for 7-8 hours a day, has come from meeting and talking to people.  You can sort of sense when someone will talk and when you should just let them pass by.  But mostly if you see someone struggling to move, to walk, to lift, you know they will welcome a smile and a cheerful word.  I stopped to talk to an elderly lady struggling to get around her car the other day in the grocery store parking lot. She had just left her shopping cart crutch and was trying to get to the other side of her car.  After a word or two, she brightened up like a light and said, "You know, tomorrow is my 88th birthday!"  I wished her happy birthday, profusely, and watched her suffer with pain as she slowly got into her car.  I struck up conversations with several of the patients in the cancer infusion treatment clinic.  The elderly lady sitting next to me while waiting for my wife to finish her treatment was quiet as a mouse and was just a little wisp of a thing but she lit up with a smile and told me about her children, grandchildren, and grandchildren.  Another patient was an artist, a potter and teacher of art and pottery, who was busy drawing incredible pictures in an artist's sketch book.  I commented on his beautiful work as he leafed through his sketch book and thus we had a wonderful conversation to help him pass the time.  What struck me was, when I left, he told me "I can't tell you how much I appreciate visiting with you."  I helped a lady in a "wheelie" cart get into the dollar store the other day, and then kept my eye on her to help her get things from the shelves as she went through the store.  The lady at the grocery checkout counter looked so exhausted the other night that I commented to her, and she told me she was on the late shift and then would go home and take care of her five kids and get to bed some time in the middle of the night.

We never know what is troubling others, when others are weeping inwardly our outwardly, struggling with pain and fear and uncertainty about tomorrow, next week, next year.  A smile, a kind word, an offer to help, a pat on the arm when appropriate.  Some may even need to cry on your shoulder.  And some times you may need to cry on their shoulder. Like when we see a small child with a big smile who is too young to know he or she is not supposed to talk to older people, and the child smiles and waves at us and our spirits are brighter the rest of the day as our own smile spreads across our face.  Smiles and love are the most contagious of all human virtues. Love to all. The not-so-curmudgeonly professor.

 

 

 

Things to Do Now that the Midterm Election is Over

The Curmudgeonly Professor is a sore loser, he admits it.  He can't stand it when his anointed teams lose football and basketball games or when his candidates that were clearly superior to the losers who won got beat by voters with blinders on.  However, the Professor is now ready to move on, and he offers herewith advice and a list of constructive activities to help his readers reconnect with sanity.

Advice:

• Do not listen to bloviators.  A week's worth of bloviation usually sifts down to a paltry half a teacup of chaff.
• Turn the TV off, except for Matlock and NBA and NFL and NCAA sports.
• Do not read political columnists who also bloviate.
• Accept the fact that not a whole lot is going to happen anyway and, even if something does happen, it will get reversed some time in the next 50 years.
• Ignore people you think should never have gotten elected.  It's called government of the people, and there are no requirements that define "people."  Even you could have been elected, and then where would we be?

Alternative activites to take up your time and salve your emotions:

• Clean out the garage.  Garage cleaning is a purgative (is there such a word?) activity as you get rid of five years' worth of spider webs, dust boulders, junk, expired garden chemicals, broken toys, old computers, and all manner of other detritus.
• Pick up all the books you have left laying (lying? never can remember) around the house.
• Transfer your negative thoughts to the Miami Heat and the Los Angeles Lakers.  Even if you hate the Lakers, cheer for them when they play the Heat.  I'm opposed to teams that spent hundreds of gazillions of dollars to buy a championship.  Why should any other team even bother to play?
• Start a campaign to demolish the BCS.
• Start a blog.  Seriously.  Just remember, whatever you say or post will irritate someone, somewhere in the world.
• Go back to school and get a Ph.D.
• Work crossword puzzles.
• Take up photography.  Flowers don't argue, they are neither Republican or Democrat, and they think the Tea Party happened long ago in Boston Harbor.   
• Go to Costco, WalMart, KMart, Sam's Club, or any big box store where they serve lots of free samples.  You'll never have to fix lunch again.  But make sure you get there after the sample persons have their wares out.  And don't let a family with 10 kids barge in before you.
• Read a book.  What a great idea!  (I originally said, innocently, "novel" idea.)

Just remember, all members of the House and one-third of the Senate and the President are already running for reelection in 012.  Thus, everything that happens in the next two years is calibrated to beating the "ins" and making them look silly, after which the "outs" will become "ins", whereupon the current "ins" will try to reverse the whole thing as they labor as "outs".  ("They's in and we's out," from The Pastures of Heaven, in response to query as to the difference between the party in power and the one not in power.  Political science in a nutshell!

 

 

Two Choices When You Get Ticked: Hold a Grudge and Blow off Steam, or Just Let it Go and Relax

Daily life is full of irritations and stuff that ticks us off, so to speak.  We're talking here about the minor aggravations that get blown into mountains and not the really awful stuff that requires intervention and is beyond our own ability to resolve.  The things we're talking about here are things like rudeness from other drivers, people in grocery store lines, wives, children, husbands, inlaws, neighbors, television bloviators--anything and anyone who does, says, or is thinking about doing something that really, really ticks us off.  Unfortunately, the Curmudgeonly Professor has remained in the "bear a grudge forever" category.  One of my sons, an attorney, whose dress style during the 70s was totally egregious, is successful at ignoring stuff.  In fact, some times he ignores stuff he should probably pay attention to, like sending in the book refusal cards to book clubs.  Which reminds me, I'd better check mine so I don't get a couple more unwanted book shipments soon.

Practice and patience would be great virtues for me so I would stop calling every other driver an idiot, a moron, a moron and idiot combined, or a jerk.  Some people I have known are skilled at turning on the deep freeze and not speaking for interminable lengths of time when offended.  Family feuds have originated by taking offense at others' behavior over stuff that could have more efficiently been ignored.  People say they "hate" each other and don't want anything to do with them.  People disown family members for joining another church.  I thought my dad was going to disown me when I became a democrat, with a small "d."  My dad also thought I should stay home and work in the bank where I had a job after my freshman year of college rather than return to school.  One feud I knew about didn't get settled until my dad's funeral when both brothers, in their 90s, finally shook hands.

I know my own life would be easier if I would just let stuff blow by and pretend it didn't happen.  Unfortunately, I have taught all my grandchildren to call other drivers morons and idiots, and I don't know how to correct that egregious mistake on my part.  The act of forgiveness is something many of us are not very good at.  I may or may not forgive my high school sweetie who ditched me for the senior prom and went with a real loser instead.  I reminded her of her terrible mistake a couple of years ago, a mere 60 years later, and I don't think she felt a bit guilty.  What are we to do?  I think I need to make a better and more sustained effort at turning the TV off, ignoring other drivers and idiots, forgiving others for stuff I don't need to remember, and, in general, learn some patience and better manners.  We'll see how it goes.  You can practice also, if you wish.  Or not.

What Would You do if You Lost Everything You Had? Part I: Avoiding Disaster in the First Place

I used to tell my classes and my kids that the real test of their ability to cope with life would come if they lost everything they had.  This potential disaster very nearly happened to me about 30 years ago when I had made a stupid mistake in opening a second book store and the energy bust in Wyoming led to declining rentals in our student apartments at the University of Wyoming.  My oldest son is an attorney and he nervously awaited our decision to declare bankruptcy so he would have something to do filling out some papers.  Just kidding.  We survived thanks to some careful planning and resource allocation, plus my wife's incredible endurance in managing our household finances.

Every day we learn of someone who has lost everything, or nearly so, and is approaching or in the midst of financial and personal collapse for reasons of health, family, finances, and unforseeable disasters.  Some of these problems come under the heading of what I called "avoidable grief" in an earlier post on this blog.  And avoidable grief is what we're talking about now.  Hindsight is always sharper and clearer than foresight, of course, but sharper and more intelligent foresight could have saved much of the misery that confronts us when the roof caves in.

Some of the most frequent causes of personal loss come from mismanagement of household finances.  Trust in unqualified financial advisers has led to wiping out 401(k)s, IRAs, pension benefits, and personal savings.  The recent recession created many such losses, but many, if not most, complete disasters could have been avoided if funds were invested with a financial manager who switched quickly from stocks to bonds and some money funds.  Fortunately, we had such a financial adviser since our son, who did cause grief as a teenager, mostly with long hair and ridiculous clothes, redeemed himself and saved our necks, so to speak.  A good deal of grief comes from failure to save in the first place, to waiting too long to begin putting a nest egg together.  The complaint most frequently heard is that "we don't have enough to live on anyway, so we don't have an extra $10 to save."  Some early financial advice and budget planning is critical.  I was talking to a young woman the other day who told me that her husband liked to spend all his money and that he turned a deaf ear whenever she mentioned to him that they needed to set up a household budget.  Decades ago, I taught two sections of consumer economics to home economics students at Colorado State University.  When I cautioned them that they needed to begin financial planning early and be prepared for the possibility of financial collapses from divorce, illness, loss of jobs, and other reasons, the sweet young women became much less sweet and actually became quite hostile, knowing with certainty that their marriages would be perfect and their lives without problems or blemishes.  A degree in home economics was all that they needed to go forth and live a dream life and a dream marriage.  So much for cautionary home economics.  I hope they all had a happy life without problems and financial issues.

Having some kind of financial plan is absolutely critical.  Knowing how much is spent on what and how much discretionary income is left, if any, is only the beginning.  Too much of the recent financial collapse came from unrealistic expectations in thinking that megamansions were available to any and all just by signing some papers, that jobs would never be lost, that a new boat or a new car or a granite counter top would make one happy and the money would come like manna from heaven. 

To be continued . . . . .Feel free to contribute!

Update on the Curmudgeonly Professor's Self Improvement Program

Blog readers may have gained the totally false impression that the Curmudgeonly Professor just sits around all day twiddling his thumbs and casting hexes and spells on those who desperately need hexed and spelled.  Not so.  Much of his efforts go into remaining up to date.  For instance, my wife just replaced the calendar hanging on my wall with a brand new 2010 calendar.  Since June, I have been looking at the page for August 2009 and have remained puzzled as to why the days didn't look like they should for the months since May 2010.  Now that problem is solved.

Next thing, I just replaced the battery in my wall clock in my den.  When my son takes a nap in the recliner in my den, he always takes the battery out becasuse the tick-tick-tocking drives him nuts.  The last nap he took in this recliner was about 3 years ago, so you can see I have remained puzzled about the time for many moons.

My first Seiko watch I bought over 30 years ago, used for 25 years ago, and gave to my youngest son, on whose wrist it is currently functioning.  My new Seiko watch, which I intended to use in a working condition for the remainder of my mortal probation, quit working after about 5 years.  Maybe it just needs a new battery.  My old one never needed a battery, never was cleaned or repaired, and just kept going forever.  I am extremely hacked.  I have been learning to get along without a watch for several weeks now as I contemplate possibly going and asking someone about a battery.  What concerns me is that the battery may cost half as much as the watch originally cost, and that will really tick me off.  Meanwhile, as explained above, I have a new battery in my den wall clock and I yell at my wife periodically to ask her what time it is, which she enjoys because it gives us another topic of togetherness. Thus, I have learned to make do without a watch for the first time in 200 years and may never replace the battery.  Or maybe I should spend the same amount on a new Timex.  Or a sundial.  Whatever.

Meanwhile, I have an agenda for updating other stuff.  I am trying to find my book club return forms so I don't get another couple of book shipments I don't want.  I don't know why these book clubs just keep my membership current as I typically return most of the book shipments.  I have, in good moral conscience, occasionally resigned them after years of egregious behavior as an irresponsible member.  But then I get deluged with passionate entreaties about how much they miss me as a member and how much they want me back and they will be happy to send me umpteen free books if I will just sign up and join again.  Don't they ever learn?

Moreover, I am late paying magazine subscriptions.  I used to take a ton of magazines.  Now I just take Newsweek, Time, Atlantic, BusinessWeek/Bloomberg, and the New Yorker.  I take the New Yorker mostly to read the cartoons but do read some stuff now and then.  I really do need to sort out the late bills and pay them.  I do have some concerns about the future of magazines.  Newsweek, especially, seems to have drastically altered its format, and Howard Feinman announced last night that he is moving to Huffington Post, having long been a pillar on the Newsweek staff. 

Other than that, I am pretty much up-to-date. I just need to start sorting some thousands of books as my wife keeps reminding me that my kids will have a tough time getting rid of all of them.  I am not particularly worried about that, as I figure I will be getting even with them anyway and they need to become more literate, besides.

Are the Print Media a Dying Relic of the Past?

News comes today, not intending a partial pun, that Salt Lake City's Deseret News is paring its staff in big chunks, changing its leadership, moving its office, and going in new directions to try and salvage whatever can be salvaged in today's spreading print media demise.  My grandfather, who had a 3d grade education, became self educated and subscribed to a wide variety of magazines and newspapers.  His favorites were National Geographic and the Deseret News, which he received by mail at his farm in northwestern Wyoming.  Our grandparents faithfully saved the "funny papers" from the DNews, so I was a DNews reader beginning in the 1930s.

A number of major city dailies have already "bit the dust."  Want ad revenue has diminished because of the internet.  Amazon announced that ebooks sold 180 copies for every 100 print copies, and that Amazon expected that ebook paperback books would outsell print paperback books in a few short months.  The character of magazines has been sharply altered, typically without much fanfare, but with obvious intent to appeal to more readers.  The tidbit-multiple news section-format of the weekly news magazines of a half century ago has given way to portfolios of photos and articles on timely issues.  Network local news proograms are similarly sufffering.  I have weaned myself away from the 10:00 clock news for some time now as I have tired of the focus on drive-by shootings, traffic accidents, home fires, and about 10 minutes of ads out of a total of 30 minutes of "news."  I got tired of waiting for 27 1/2 minutes to get, maybe, 120 seconds of sports news at the end of the program.  The nature of major network news programs, following in the honored footsteps of television news giants, is obviously also shifting.  There just isn't much incentive to follow regular local and national network news, or newspapers, when we have already seen the latest details on the internet hours before.

Kodak almost died a complete death when it failed to anticipate the digital revolution and hung on to film far too long.  Textbook publishers are clinging to their monopoly positions in marketing $150-300 textbooks in the face of the ebook revolution.  And why would you want to cart a dozen books around with you, let alone 3,500 books, when you can load them all on your ebook reader and have access to technical information about medicine, engineering, economic forecasting, or any other subject, when you are away from home and libraries and need to know something?

The print media are in about the same phase of their storied existence as were the harness industry, the film and film camera industries, and numerous other industries that shot themselves in the foot by stubbornly clinging to tradition and failing to ride new waves.  Think : auto industry.  Libraries full of shelves of print journals.  Law libraries full of tomes.  Research is now done with one question to a major search engine like Google instead of sending research assistants off to the library and, beginning with the card catalogue, search for the volumes in the stacks, copy information by hand before the Xerox machine, and, hours later, showing up at the office with an often incomplete set of references.

We are just now trying to catch the vision of what a comprehensive digitized society we are now in, and the incredible level of digitizing we will soon see as the transcript of the world will be reduced to thumbnail size storage cards.  No more concerns about the vast library of Alexandria.  We may not like to give up our daily print papers, our weekly magazines, our 10:00 p.m. news, our written letters to our children and parents, our privacy.  But we will be whittled away into shavings of the past unless we ride this wave and see what our incredible future is going to be.  The other day I took back a two-year old phone system to Costco, with no receipt.  Costco looked me up on their computer.  It didn't matter which of many Costco stores I may have purchased it from.  Costco has a record of every roll of toilet paper you ever bought from them.  And five minutes later I had my money back and went and bought a new phone.  We cannot even imagine what we have in store.  But those with vision, inventiveness, and a genius for asking simple questions of vital importance to all of us and figuring out simple ways to answer them for the benefit of all society, are about to take us on an exhilarating ride.  You may as well prepare yourself for it.

Dear Curmudgeonly Professor: It's July 1, and I have Made Zero Progress on my 2010 NYears' Resolutions. What Went Wrong? Sincerely, Heber in Chugwater

Dear Heber in Chugwater:

I'm delighted to hear from my fans in Chugwater WY.  As you know, for 30 years or more I used a mythical company called the Chugwater Tool and Die Co. to illustrate all of the fine principles of economics that so excited students, like marginal cost, average cost, total cost, profit and loss maximization, and the rest.  One student told me when he came back to school in Provo from Chicago IL that he actually drove north of Cheyenne WY to find Chugwater to see what the big deal was all about even though he claimed he already knew the company was a big fat myth.  Goes to show you the power of superior teaching.

First of all, Heber, relax.  You are no worse off than 99% of other makers of New Year's Resolutions, none of whom paid any attention to them after the third day of January or, in some cases, the second of January.  New Year's Resolutions are like death bed repentance:  On New Year's Day we realize what a big fat worthless slob we are.  We feel guilty for hogging it in since Thanksgiving 20 or 30 years ago.  We know that our mortality is threatened by our profligate way of indulgence.  So weighed down with all of these traumatic worries and concerns, we vow that this year, this time, this day, is the first day of the rest of our lives and we are now embarking, once and for all, for the final and most successful time, to overcome all of our bad habits, stop using four letter words when the TV commercials come on, throw our dirty clothes in the hamper, clean out the garage, and cut down on the time we spend watching TV sports.  Etc.   Similarly, if we think we are going to die, we read the Bible from cover to cover, beg our spouse to forgive us for being such a jerk, make a list of our sins and imperfections we are now, immediately, overcoming.  Then, check in a week later.  We either did or did not die.  If we died, then there's nothing more to worry about.  We've aready checked in at the Pearly Gates.  But if we're feeling well and up and at it, like the bed-ridden old man who hopped out of bed and ran down the street in the John Wayne movie "The Quiet Man," then we think "Maybe it doesn't matter so much whether I repent right now of all of my shortcomings.  Maybe I can take a little while longer."

So, Heber, to start with you can start by repeating the same mantra I recite each day: "Every day in every way I am getting better and better."  My wife, of course, pays no attention to this recitation having realized it is just so much hot air.  Or you can follow the maxim my son states to his wife daily: "Plan your work and then work your plan."  My daughter in law loves to hear this admonition and faithfully follows it to the letter.

Meanwhile, plan ahead six months until next January 1.  Make a list of one thing you actually, truly, really, no fooling around about, intend to do that will make your life better.  Then do it.  If you can accomplish this, you will have done more than you have accomplished in making New Year's Resolutions the past 30 years.

If I can be of further assistance, do not hesitate to write me.  I have an infinite supply of both wisdom and of unkept New Year's Resolutions of my own.

The Curmudgeonly Professor

Words We Love to Hear (and Often Don't)

Here are a few words we always love to hear, but which often go unspoken:

1. I love you.
2. You look really nice.
3. Can I help you?
4. What would you like me to do?
5. You look tired.  Why don't you let me finish?
6. Excuse me, I didn't mean to do or say that.
7. I'm sorry.
8. Tell me what's troubling you.
9. How do you feel about such and such?
10. Where would you like to go?
11. What TV program would you like to watch?
12. Don't worry about (it).  We'll find a way to work it out.

And I'm sure there are others.  But a few of these used liberally can smooth over many a troubled moment and bring far more smiles than moments of resentment for being ignored, unappreciated, and feeling unloved.  Best of all, none of them cost a penny.  Just a moment of consideration and love.

Pop Quiz From the Curmudgeonly Professor on January 18 2010

As you have been warned, you are subject to pop quizzes at any time.  We have now gone through 17 days this new January and we are now in the middle of the 18th.  Thus, today is an appropriate time to take inventory and assess our progress in the year 2010.  Please answer the following questions completely and truthfully.

1. Did you make out a set of New Year's resolutions on January 1?
2. How many pounds of weight have you lost since January 1?
3. How many times have you walked each day for at least 20 minutes since January 1?
4. Did you make out a to-do list on January 1?
5. Name three items on your to-do list that you have completed since January 1.
6. How much time do you waste watching brain-dead TV programs each day?
7. How many serious books of some merit have you read since January 1?
8. How much effort have you put into learning more about your job so that you can make a greater contribution and enjoy your work more?
9. Have you repented of calling each and every other driver on the road a stupid moron?
10. Have you made out a new list on January 18 of the things you intend to accomplish between now and the end of January?  You might try to focus on one thing so you don't overtax your brain and your self control, like losing one pound of weight.  Then everything else will be easier.  Good luck.

Why We Should Believe in Santa Clause by Alexander McCall Smith| Parade.com

by Alexander McCall Smith, from Parade Magazine

Some of us were born in places that no longer are. In my case, it was a country called Southern Rhodesia. You will not find it on a map today, but you will find Zimbabwe, which is what it became. There it is, in the middle of Africa, a part of the world that, for all its trials, is still one of the most beautiful. Christmas there was at the hottest time of the year. As a child, I remember being puzzled by many of the images of Christmas that we saw in books and magazines. Christmas was all about winter: fields of snow, holly wreaths, carolers gathered around warming fires. This all seemed very exotic and exciting and added to the magic of what happened on the great day itself. We went to church and sang those carols with all their wintry imagery, “In the Bleak Midwinter,” and so on, more snow and ice. But before we went to the Christmas service, we’d undergo the ritual of waiting outside the closed door of the living room, all of us children bursting with excitement. At exactly six o’clock, the door would be opened and we would go in to see if Santa—or Father Christmas, as we knew him, a name I still marginally prefer—had stopped by. He always had, and he signified his presence by eating the cookie and drinking the glass of milk that we had left for him by the fireplace. Proof! There it was—crumbs on the floor and an empty glass. How could anyone doubt his existence? And I was not a doubter. Additional evidence was before my eyes in the shape of a pillowcase full of presents. Quite remarkably, they were often the things I had expressed a desire to have. What a mind reader he was! Take Bill O'Reilly's Holiday Quiz!I stopped believing in Santa when I was 7, and I vividly recall the precise circumstances those many years ago when my belief came to an end. All of us remember where we were when important things happened. Such memories are curious nuggets amongst the dark furniture of our minds, amongst the vague images and associations that make up our memory of things that happened to us a long time ago. We were preparing for a holiday party a few days before Christmas itself. I knew that my father was due to appear as Santa, a role that he played well, in spite of being too tall and thin to be entirely convincing. But he sportingly donned the classic red outfit, so hot and inappropriate to African conditions, and stuck the cotton-wool beard to his chin. It was evening, and we were standing under a great night sky almost white with stars, limitless constellations soaring and dipping against a background of dark velvet. Suddenly my father turned to me and said, “You don’t believe in Father Christmas anymore, do you?” I froze. I stood quite still, looking up at the evening sky. A shooting star flashed across the heavens. It did. I remember it to this day, because it seemed like a portent. I was in an agony of indecision. If I said, “No, I do not believe,” then what would happen to all the presents I was hoping to get? It might be, you see, that Santa was listening to us and would mark my card accordingly: “No longer believes in me—no presents this year.” Reason, the rational part of me, won out, and I said, “No, I no longer believe.” The heavens did not fall. No sleigh pulled by wounded reindeer slewed out of control in the sky above. Nothing happened. The world went on, as it always does, after all those small moments when something magical or mysterious is denied or lost. There is a moment in J.M. Barrie’s Peter Pan when the audience is invited to revive the dying fairy Tinkerbell and told, “If you believe in fairies, clap your hands.” And every time, the theater breaks into sustained applause. That is not to suggest there are theaters full of seriously deluded people. What it does tell us is that there are times when we need to pretend to believe in things we know not to be true. We know that the world is a place of suffering and hardship, and we know, too, that justice and kindness and love and such things will not always prevail against these hard realities. Myths help us to get by. The day they all die and we tell our children exactly how things are, the world will be a poorer, less enchanted place. So don’t be ashamed to clap your hands at Peter Pan or act as if Santa exists. He stands for kindness and generosity, and those things are alive and will continue to be alive—as long as we believe in them. Alexander McCall Smith is the best-selling author of the “No. 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency” series. His newest novel is “La’s Orchestra Saves the World.”

via www.parade.com

Why we should all believe in Santa Claus. Read Alexander McCall's heartwarming story and cheer up. Then write a letter to Santa.

Update from the Curmudgeonly Professor

As my regular followers have discovered, I have not been able to post regularly.   After months of intense pain, my wife had her hip replaced at St. George Regional Medical Center and is now in Coral Desert Rehab.  This experience has taught us many things about the medical and health care professions, and the incredible support we have had from friends, neighbors, and family, both here, in Riverton (south SLC) and around the country.  With all of the nastiness going on in the world, we are truly humbled and blessed to have such an outpouring of care, concern, flowers, messages, prayers, and help.  My driving has gone south due to the peripheral neuropathy in my feet, so I have had countless volunteers to take me across town to the hospital and rehab facilities.  Many of the people who have shown so much care and concern are, themselves, hurting and undergoing various kinds of pain and medical procedures.  But what is wonderful is how we all come together as family to support and love one another.  And what a change that is from the blather and hatred and nastiness spilling over around the world.  If only . . .

Thoughts on a Dreary, Rainy, Cold Sunday

We who live in the desert are impatient when rain lasts more than a few hours, and we even become irritable when showers continue on and off for days.  Sunshine is the norm in the arid and unforgiving dry climate of the Rocky Mountains and the Southwest.  Thus, we must do something to counter the gloom and doom by considering how well off we are to begin with and then to realize the rain will soon be over.  Most of us who live in the desert would find it hard to adjust to the constant rain and clouds of the northwest.  I remember when living in Ann Arbor that the sun didn't show itself for weeks on end, but I was too busy trying to study and pass exams to notice, much.  Snow in late spring is an even bigger nuisance, and I remember the last summer we lived in Laramie WY when we got two feet of snow on June 10.  Water is the lifeblood of the arid west, of course, and every year the snowpack measurers and the river flow experts scratch their heads, count up their data, and worry about how many more thousands of toilets are flushing in Las Vegas every week.  Too much water spells disaster, like the flood in St. George a few years ago near the place where we live there.  Too little water means vulnerability to fires, denuding the hills, and making the soil ready for mud slides. 

Those whose lifeblood and livelihoods are linked to the depth of water stored in reservoirs guage their planting by the expectation of irrigation flows.  I remember the first time I was in Iowa and the midwest in high school where no one was hauling canvas irrigation dams and shovels around on their shoulders, there were no irrigation ditches, and water flowed down from the skies to make the corn fields green and tall.  To a boy from arid Wyoming, I was amazed at realizing how much work these corn farmers were saved.

Those of us whose lives are linked to areas with only a few inches of annual rainfall are all too aware of the precarious balance between river and runoff flows and the always present danger of reverting to a landscape of cactus and jackrabbits instead of fields of sugar beets and green alfalfa.  Those responsible for keeping the water flowing to crops and cities are continually balancing actual and potential shortages with the politics and verbal wars over water rights and water flows.

So, while we wait out the cloudy and dreary and rainy days, we acknowledge that we would not still be living in this part of the earth without whatever water we can get from whatever source.  Mother Nature often does not behave in her allotment, sending too much if we pray too hard for rain, causing us to change our prayers for the welfare of the flood victims.  Too little, and the dust swirls and the tractors sit quietly in the sheds and the farmers go to town to pass the time in their favorite haunts and bars and the trips to the bank begin to try and salvage the year's unpaid bills.  Perhaps we should pray for just the right amount of moisture and not for more moisture in general.  Meanwhile, the tulips are all closed, afraid to face the cold and dreary days, and I saw a horse in a pasture yesterday all hunched up, head hanging low, a perfect still life of utter horse misery, waiting for the rain to stop.  Just look at the following post of the red, red, rose, cheer up, and be grateful "for the moisture."