Square Peg, Round Hole
Gene Koltvet
July 2007 mj’s blog writing assignment

In the rear of an ancient building made of concrete, with a clay tile roof and heavy plank barn-like doors with huge wrought iron hinges and lift-latches for opening, I contemplate my future. I stare out the window over the top of my microscope, and watch Monsieur with a cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth, going back and forth in his field with horses pulling a walking harrow. Work is slow in the tiny, cramped Army medical laboratory in rural France. My military obligation will be finished in a few months. Then I will be mustered out of the Army and will no longer enjoy the life support systems that have protected and directed my life for nearly twenty-four years.

My life has been rich with valuable and fulfilling experiences. I acquired a college education that exposed me to technical studies, social studies and the arts. Finally, the military is providing me with a technical education in the medical field that can be parlayed into a civilian profession should I choose. Yet, I am undecided and unsure who I am or what I want my future to be.

My desire to work with my hands and a pragmatic analysis of careers with good monetary potential and a high personal satisfaction quotient, lead me to consider a trade in heating and air-conditioning. Using my GI Bill, I apply at a trade school to study air-conditioning after which I will apply that knowledge changing out swamp-coolers for air-conditioners in Phoenix, Arizona.

Between the time of my application and matriculation I drift into a job at an airline, operating IBM machines. This challenges me and I excel at it. I am happy that I have found my calling or at least one that gives me some satisfaction. I notify the trade school that I will not attend as planned. As life goes, things change. IBM equipment changes too. Complex hand wired machine control panels give way to computer programs. Working with my hands is now taking a back seat to complex mental exercises – computer programming. I take little satisfaction from it.

Years slip away and I grow less and less interested. Midway in my career I feel I have to face the decision to find a new career or settle for the one I have. The thought of change and the impact on my family numbs my desire to change. The pace of computer technology is changing at warp speed; my heart is not in it. It is getting harder to go to work each week. If I change careers now, what will the new one be? I am not a mental gymnast, my interests are tactile, I need to see and touch. My occupation is moving in a direction that doesn’t interest me. I feel like I don’t fit anymore. At the age of fifty there isn’t much time to retrain and start over and how will this impact my family?

Opportunity knocks. I am called into my boss’ office; heart pounding and mind spinning, I enter the den. I smile nervously to cover my hyper-ventilation and take a seat in front of his desk. He informs me that the company has made the decision to build a new computer center. He asks me to represent the department and be a technical liaison to the facilities department in designing and building the new computer center. Silence. I ask a couple questions to stall for thinking time. Then tell him I will think about it as it will move me out of management and into a staff position; not desirable. In my heart of hearts there is no doubt. My heart is screaming, “Take it! take it!”

I can’t sleep. I am thinking about what I will do in this position and as I think about it, I realize that what is fueling my excitement is that I will be working with my hands again; blueprints, steel rules, transits, levels and hardhats. I will be working with people who want to cooperate and build, not compete and scheme. I abhor competitive office politics.

In one year the new center is finished. My assignment to help design and build is finished. I turn to the company maintenance director and ask who he is going to assign to maintain the power and mechanical systems in the new building. His answer is short and curt. He says, “You built it, you run it.”

I have gone from dreaming about home air-conditioners in Phoenix, to helping design and operate industrial air-conditioning and power systems. I discovered by another person’s hand, I think he knew all along, that my real calling was designing and building, not mental gymnastics.

STUPID THINGS
By Cecile Betts

Everyone, I suspect, at one time or another does something embarrassing, gauche, or in plain words, stupid. After becoming legally blind in the year 2000, I began compiling material for a future book, which I titled STUPID THINGS I HAVE DONE SINCE I’VE BEEN BLIND. A portion of this book may be found on the internet in the 2007 Summer Edition of Blind Californian, a quarterly journal published by the California Council of the Blind in several formats including a Braille edition. However, two recent happenings are not in that issue, which includes incidents provided by some of my friends as well as the stupid things I did myself. They are usually not funny at the time but seem more humorous in retrospect.
For instance. Not long ago, I sat at my breakfast bar and ate a cookie and enjoyed some fruit juice. As I stood up, I saw something dark move on the kitchen floor. Although I can not read even large type, or recognize people, I do see motion. I immediately dropped a napkin on top of it and repeatedly stamped the “critter” to be sure I killed it. When I finally swept up the carcass I found I’d thoroughly killed a piece of the chocolate chip cookie, which fell to the floor when I stood up.
More recently, I shampooed my hair and wanted to use an Ultra White rinse, which keeps my white hair a sparkling white. I reached for the plastic bottle with the little pouring spout which folds flat on the bottle cap. I lifted the spout and sprinkled the contents liberally on my still damp hair.
I reached in the vanity drawer and found my hair brush and brushed my hair. I felt bewildered when a white powder cascaded in front of my face. I looked at the container with a magnifying glass and found I’d sprinkled a powder used to treat Athlete’s Foot on my hair.. Well, I can certify that my head does not suffer from Athlete’s Foot.

Dave Blodgett
The main auditorium of the Anaheim Convention Center is packed with delegates to the national convention of choral directors. All seats are taken. Standees fill every space around three walls. The applause is pervasive, reverberating, sustained. Like nothing I have ever experienced in twenty years of choral singing.
Our conductor, a diminutive little black man who demanded more of us than we could possibly deliver but did, takes bow after bow. He is Jester Hairston, leading exponent and performer of Negro spirituals. We have rocked the premises with “Wade in the Water,” as we trudge across the Ohio River to freedom with slave children on our backs. Many of us drown, but the bloodhounds lose our scent in deep waters.
“Wade in the water.
“Wade in the water children.
“Wade in the water.
“God’s gonna trouble the water.
“Jordan’s water is chilly and cold.
“It chills the body but not the soul.
“If you get there before I do.
“Tell all my friends I’m coming too.
“God’s gonna trouble the water.”
The singing is a capella and superb. Maestro Hairston is a magician. We are torn up inside as we drown in the waters of the Ohio. Powerful dynamics. Wailing sopranos and altos. Booming basses. Crashing crescendos. Singing with one voice.
We are wading in the water with Jester. The last note. A moment of total reverential silence. Then thunderous applause from hundreds of choir directors. A truly Maslowian high. A wave of euphoria overwhelms us. The mystery and magic of joining our voices as one in tribute to those brave men, women and children fleeing slavery. We are with them and would not want to be any other place on Earth.

July Writing assignment: This is what I am, what I was meant to be
By Pat Hecht/Patricia

Pat Hecht: Flagstaff Woman of the Year. The January 1, 2003 Flagstaff Daily Sun headlines announced to the city what I had known, and found hard to believe, for two weeks. For 8 years I had been the volunteer Director of the Flagstaff Family Food Center
because at one of our board meetings the former Director had told us she had to have a hip replacement and was tendering her resignation. “You could do that.” My husband said. Sure I was a good organizer, I’d worked with the Salvation Army helping less fortunate people in Phoenix and I was good at fund raising. But I didn’t know much about hiring or firing people, meal planning, especially when the meals had to be made with donated over ripe produce that needed to be used today, maintaining a stead supply of volunteer help, or arbitrating the needs of overly stressed under paid members of this community. My husband always encouraged me to “Do something, even if it’s wrong.”
I believe it’s never too late to learn so I accepted the challenge.

Now I stood before the selection committee to accept their congratulations and tell them a little about what I did to gain this honor. I felt like Rudolf the Red Nose reindeer. I was the one out front getting all the glory, but the ones who really pulled the load and made the project a success were the board members, the staff, the community volunteers, the everyman who donated money and the less fortunate members of the community who came to eat at our place every day and provided the other side of the equation, the receiving which is just as important as the giving. I have been truly blessed.