Carol Goodman Kaufman

a.k.a. Carolinda Goodman

Musings

Misery Loves Company

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I am writing this post for two reasons: to get the word out about a rapidly spreading problem, and to solicit support for it. Or, more accurately, for myself.  I have been diagnosed with a syndrome called BTK, or Bad Technological Karma. It is not, the experts believe, a serious condition, but it does make navigating everyday tasks quite difficult, and the more advanced our society becomes, the worse the affliction.

You may have had a hint here and there that you yourself suffer from this malady, but have been in denial. BTK starts slowly, and then seeps into every aspect of life. Let me describe the symptoms for you, so that you can see if you fit the profile, and I can find some company in my misery.

But first, some history. The genesis of BTK can be found back in the mists of time, with the VCR and its incomprehensible requirements for programming. VCR brain freeze hit epidemic proportions in this country, but that somewhat minor ailment has mutated, as do many viruses, into something resembling catatonia. This state is induced when one is trying to figure out how to use operate the multiple entertainment objects in the home. Some researchers have attempted to address the ailment by designing a one-size-fits-all remote control, but that device is doubly sinister in its opacity and only serves to exacerbate the condition.

Since time immemorial, or at least since the advent of the personal computer, there have always been computer hardware issues and software concerns: regarding the former, unpredictable freezing and crashing; on the software side, word processing that won’t search, random fonts appearing uncalled for in documents, and …

The disorder continues to spread, however, and it has now affected every aspect of our electronic life. I’m talking about the watch battery that runs out every six months. The microwave oven that sparks and dies. The cordless phone that only works when it feels like it. The car’s keyless entry fob that separates from the ring and disappears, rendering the automobile useless.

If you find that your electronic devices begin to display obstreperous behavior, it may be that you are the cause. You may be suffering from Bad Technological Karma. I would suggest an online support group, but knowing our affliction, it probably wouldn’t work.

The Girl in the Blue Coupe

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Ten cents. That’s how much I paid for my very first purchase at the Berkshire Athenaeum book sale. The book? Nancy Drew’s The Secret of the Old Clock. I am thinking of this as I read in the paper that typewriters, a desk, and other keepsakes from the home of the late Mildred Wirt Benson were brought up for auction in Toledo, Ohio.

Ms. Benson was a longtime newspaper reporter and columnist, but we knew her by the name Carolyn Keene. Under that pseudonym, and under contract not to reveal her real identity, she wrote 23 of the 30 original Nancy Drew stories. She also wrote more than 100 other books, including the 1940s Penny Parker mystery series.

I loved imagining myself as a sleuth, solving crimes in the beautiful town of River Heights. I could see myself riding in the blue coupe along with her two best friends and co-solvers of crime, Bess Marvin and George Fayne, and commiserating with a boyfriend as smart and handsome as Ned Nickerson. (I can remember all these names, but still can’t remember where I left my car keys.)

I could really lose myself in Nancy Drew’s world. How many times did my mother say to me, “Carol, get up and rest your eyes. You’re going to get a headache.”

Boy, would I love to see Mildred Benson’s writing room. I have visited many authors’ homes, including those of Edith Wharton, Herman Melville, and Ernest Hemingway. At each one I roam, touch what is allowed to be touched, sit in the garden, and breathe in the air — all in the hope of channeling their talent and inspiration.

But, “Carolyn Keene” was the one who ignited my passion for reading. Educational authorities may scoff at my choice of literature, but I am of the opinion that any material that gets kids to read and that fires the imagination is good.

Now that I know her real name, I wish I could thank Ms. Benson in person. This blog post will have to do.

Thank you, Mildred.

Thanksgiving in September

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The late summer evenings have been warm this past week, with only a hint of autumn chilling the morning air. The fragrance of freshly cut corn stalks and pine boughs tickles the nose. Orange pumpkins and multi-colored gourds add a festive brightness. And, the full moon is a shimmering white disk against a deep blue night sky absolutely clear except for a spray of glittering, glinting stars.

This year’s Sukkot has seen the most fabulous weather ever here in New England, so we have really been able to enjoy the week-long festival to the max. We have eaten almost every meal in the little booths — either our own or others’. Nothing can beat relaxing over pot luck lunches and sumptuous dinners with convivial company, or simply sipping afternoon tea while reading a good book. And it’s hard to beat seeing Joel in relaxation mode for a change, reading his newspaper and working the Sudoku at the table in our cozy little shack in the back.

Sukkot is absolutely my favorite Jewish holiday. Aside from the beauty of the harvest fruits decorating booths that pop up all over town, there is something special in taking the time to appreciate all that we have harvested in the past year – both material and spiritual. Sukkot is, after all, the original Thanksgiving holiday. And, true to the harvest theme, our garden has produced scrumptious herbs and vegetables this year (I think I have tried at least a dozen new zucchini and eggplant recipes). Even more important, our family cornucopia is overflowing with happy milestones.  Learning to walk and talk, getting new jobs, finding new loves,  traveling to exciting places. Sure, there have been some bumps along the road, but those only make the good stuff feel even better.

Thanksgiving. What could be better?

Snowed

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Regardless of where you stand on the Edward Snowden issue – was he a traitor or a patriot? – I think he is running the risk of being labeled a major coward. Snowden was willing to divulge highly sensitive national security information to which he had access, in the belief that we Americans have the right to know everything that our government is doing.  But, now he’s running from country to country so that he doesn’t have to face the consequences of his actions. If Snowden were truly the hero that some are making him out to be, then he should man up and defend himself in a court of law instead of hiding behind the Mommy-skirts of China, Russia, and Ecuador.

Talking heads have claimed that Snowden was too low level to see many of the things he claims to have seen, although we all know just how much young geeks are capable of hacking. But, it doesn’t really matter whether he saw secret nuclear codes or his boss’s lunch order. The guy broke a contract with his employer. He broke the law by broadcasting to the world information that could put real flesh-and-blood people at real risk.

He should stop hiding and have his day in court.

“They flash upon that inward eye”

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One glorious spring morning a few years ago, I went out for my morning walk through the neighborhood. On the particular route that day I passed the little brook that feeds into Indian Lake. I glanced down to see a cheerful group of bright yellow daffodils growing on the steep banks of the stream. And, lo and behold, growing between the rocks in the streambed itself were bright red tulips! The water, swelled by spring run-off, was swirling all around the bobbing crimson heads.

How did the tulip bulbs get into the brook in the first place? Did they self-propagate, or did somebody throw them away? More important, how could they possibly grow in the water like that?

I must take a picture of this, I thought, since nobody will believe it’s  possible for flowers to grow in the water like that. I completed my walk, but as soon as I reached home I told my family, “I have to go back and take a picture. You’re not going to believe what I saw. Do you want to come with me? We’ll be back in 20 minutes.” I was babbling as much as that brook.

I bent over to grab the camera from its shelf below the television, and a terrific pain shot up my spine.   I lay down on the floor and didn’t move.

Six weeks later, I had recovered to the point at which I could walk. Of course, by that time the tulips were long gone and I was distraught to have missed the chance to record that once-in-a-lifetime picture. And it was indeed a one-time-only event. I have gone past that brook umpteen times every spring over the past dozen years, never to see the phenomenon again.

With apologies to William Wordsworth I think I was meant not to photograph the phenomenon, just to keep it in my mind’s eye forever. Perhaps it was God’s way of telling me to live in the moment.

 

Shopping at the Shuk

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One of the highlights of traveling in the Middle East is shopping in the open-air markets known as shuks or souks. Along ancient cobbled walkways dozens, if not hundreds, of stalls sit tucked into arched stone niches, selling spices, colorful scarves, ceramic ware, metalwork, clothing, shoes, and chickens, along with touristy tchotchkes. And the best part of the shopping experience is the bargaining that takes place once a customer decides that he or she wants to make a purchase.

We here in the United States are used to buying things at the listed price, or on sale. We as a general rule don’t negotiate; we don’t feel comfortable doing it.

But in the Middle East, bargaining is part of the culture. It is expected.

“How much does this shawl cost?”

“This is genuine cashmere, 100 shekels, dinars, dirhams.”

“Too much. I’ll give you 30.”

“I can let you have it for 80, and that’s my gift to you since you are my first customer of the day.

“I’ll give you 50. ”

“I can’t make a profit at that price. Give me 75.”

You get the drift. Eventually the customer and the merchant reach an agreement. They compromise on a price. Nobody gets everything, but nobody feels cheated either.

Yes, it’s part of the culture. So, what happens when parties from this mercantile culture sit at the peace negotiating table?  Suddenly, this one wants preconditions and that one doesn’t. Parties get up and walk away. Then one party finally does come to the table, mere weeks before the other’s prior agreement is set to expire.

Crazy, completely unproductive, and ultimately harmful to the real people who have to live with the non-decisions.

Perhaps negotiation has degenerated because the diplomats assigned to them are too far removed from the shuk. They have “people” to do everything for them and don’t remember the idea of compromise.

So, my idea, for what it’s worth: Before every scheduled negotiating session, every diplomat involved in negotiations should be required to go shopping. And bargain.