By Emily Rosen

ERosen424@aol.com

www.emilyrosen424.com

Remember that nursery rhyme with the really dumb lyrics?

Mary, Mary, quite contrary,

How does your garden grow?

With silver bells and cockle shells,

And pretty maids all in a row

Well I propose a 21st Century change to :

People, People, quite acquisitive

How do your entitlements grow?

Give you a finger – you want a hand

You expect to reap more than you sow

—Mea culpa

It was Saturday morning and I handed the bank teller my deposit slip attached to my few measly checks.

As I did so, I noticed a flyer on the cage announcing a change in banking hours, alerting customers to the fact that the bank would no longer have Saturday hours.

Understand, dear readers, that I have clear memories of the days when banks closed at 3 p.m. – never to open at 3:01—and surely never on any part of a weekend. Nor did they open on a day when any human might dain to proclaim it a holiday.

But in true 21st Century “soft”-entitlement mode, “Hmmmph” went through my mind. “That’s not good.” I said to me, “I might just change banks. That’s easy enough to do.” And then, as she handed me my receipt, I tried to remember the last time I banked on a Saturday. “Not the point,” I rejoindered to my loquacious self, “It’s the principle. Other banks are open on Saturdays and I want it to be MY choice to come here or not — on a Saturday.” Such was my mindset, before I had a serious conversation with me, as in: “Really? You lived a pretty contented life when you had no choice regarding banking days. Available to you now, it has become a ‘soft’ entitlelement … ‘soft,’ as opposed to lifestyle enhancements such as Medicare and Disability entitlements … those for another column. I lingered with that thought until…

I received a call of desperation from a friend — “Emily! I need your help to print out my boarding pass for tomorrow’s flight.” Okay, okay — happy to help a friend, but the desperation in her voice made it sound dire. What if … think of it — what if, indeed, she were to arrive at the airport without her boarding pass – requiring another 5 minutes to acquire it at the terminal kiosk? How “dire” can that be? Another “soft entitlement!”

And then there’s the current most significant entitlement: the ability to learn the name of the guy who played opposite Joan Crawford in that picture — When was it? In the 1940s? What was its name? Nevermind, I’ll call Siri. I’m entitled to get that information – RIGHT NOW. But Siri doesn’t understand the question – ever! Well – hardly ever. Bummer.

All this while the world is galloping towards Armageddon.

By Emily Rosen

ERosen424@aol.com

www.emilyrosen424.com

Don’t you just want to throw a shoe at the cable news programs on TV these days? Regardless of your political preferences, the bulk of what we get is killing, savagery, partisan ravings, nit picking at insignificant nonsense, and how long can we prolong a “gaff” story. I know, I know, there’s still no law preventing us from clicking the power-off button, and I find myself doing that more and more often. But it’s the killing and savagery part that continues to haunt me – on screen, in print or dining discussions. And I’m thinking that so much of the casual killing that is in current trend began with the Big Bang of 1945, which is surely not to say that killing hasn’t existed since the dawn of time.

I just finished reading the intriguing, “The Wives of Los Alamos,” by Tarashea Nesbit. The title tells all and the ending was no surprise. The original small group of scientists and their wives, and families, were holed up for two years basically incognito, as the atom bomb was a-birthing. And then it was dropped — not once, but twice — causing incalculable horror, and producing a seismic change in the way foreign policy is conducted. Oh yes, it ended World War II and saved many lives, we were told. But hordes of people were haunted by the apocalyptic event and questioned the morality of this monstrous creation.

A Marine Corps officer wrote in Sunday’s New York Times about giving an order to kill a young boy who was seen at a distance in a battlefield to be digging into the ground, while holding an unknown object in his hand. Was he planting a grenade? Could he give the kid the benefit of a doubt? Did he have time to weigh the pros and cons? No. He gave the order to kill. But he was haunted by his action and questioned the morality of his deed.

And of course, The American Sniper had bouts of haunting misgivings despite the demands of survival, as he expertly plied his “trade.”

As I see it, the good people on this earth are living through a collective unconscious state regarding “killing.” Collective unconscious is a term of analytical psychology, coined by Carl Jung. It is proposed to be a part of the unconscious mind, expressed in humanity … and describes how the structure of the psyche autonomously organizes experience. Jung distinguished the collective unconscious from the personal unconscious, in that the personal unconscious is a personal reservoir of experience unique to each individual, while the collective unconscious collects and organizes those personal experiences in a similar way with each member of a particular species.

Slowly, and with each killing that we rationalize as being in self defense, the reluctance to take another life eases, becomes more acceptable, less immoral. We defer to Darwin, in the name of survival.

Is this as disturbing you as it is to me? We are fighting a true enemy of the mind and for a set of what we consider to be moral values — but when do WE feel forced, in essence, to become THEM?

I’m going back to Turner Classic Movies — the musicals!

By Emily Rosen

ERosen424@aol.com

www.emilyrosen424.com

Yep! It happens every year. Hallmark reigns! Candy, flowers, jewelry, Victoria’s Secret(s) – and for those who can actually stick it out for many a decade, like I did, a beautiful brand new shiny — juicer!

The men get cards, kisses and — if they’re lucky, they get to use their Viagra. And all of this is predicated on the existence of “love.”

OK. I’m talking about what is sometimes referred to as “romantic” love, not parental, or filial, love (that’s for another column) , not love for a pet or a football team, or a bauble, or ice cream.

These many years, I have been seeking a universal definition of that word. And in response to my many queries, no two have been identical. It seems there is no real consensus when it comes to a definition of the word. Some people experience love with longevity and manage to sustain “it” despite some of “its” most ruthless challenges. Others experience love as a temporary high, and do not look for sustainability, but satisfy themselves with one day at a time. And still others live out “its” fantasy and find themselves devastated by “its” mercurial nature. They accept the ups of “it” and “give up” at the first sign of “down.” And then there are those who slog along on the tail of disappointment and live in a constant state of hurt, anger and resentment. Woe be to them.

And so, in the interest of serious research, I went to the dictionary.com website for the “scholarly” ( not so ) definition of the word love. Here is the ho-hum result: “a profoundly tender, passionate affection for another person.” That’s it? No! It proceeds to give 27 repetitions of the same concept, neglecting, I note, to indicate anything about the waxing and waning complexities, and changing characteristics that exist within a very volatile timeline. In other words, it doesn’t tell you how the very nature of love mutates and grows and changes, or diminishes, with time. THAT is the discovery of “everyman” (generic for “humankind”).

In my further research into the commonalities of a sustainable “love,” I found this most illuminating book which I highly recommend to anyone about to embark on a new “love journey,” as well as to people who are already ensconced in one. It’s called, “Conscious Loving” by Gay Hendricks and Kathlyn Hendricks, married family therapists.

From the Amazon review: … Through their own marriage and through 20 years’ experience counseling more than 1,000 couples, therapists Gay and Kathlyn Hendricks have developed precise strategies to help you create a vital partnership and enhance the energy, creativity and happiness of each individual. You will learn how to: Let go of power struggles and need for control; balance needs for closeness and separateness; increase intimacy; communicate in a positive way that stops arguments; make agreements you can keep; allow more pleasure into your life. Addressed to individuals as well as to couples, Conscious Loving will heal old hurts and deepen your capacity for enjoyment, security and enduring love …

Go to the library or order it on Amazon (their used books are cheaper). Let me know how it works for you.

Meanwhile, have a Happy Valentine’s Day and give it all your “lovingness.”

By Emily Rosen

ERosen424@aol.com

www.emilyrosen424.com

Here’s how I know that “The Holidays” are imminent and that “the season” is upon us.

I am “this close” to having to hire a derrick to lift my newspapers up from my front door. Pregnant as they are with advertisements — the very same kind that bulk up my mailbox and almost cause my e-mail to crash, I can’t help but wonder how much longer we, who love to “hold” and “coddle” a newspaper, will be privy to that particular predilection.

And how much longer will we continue to fell trees to indulge the excessiveness of waste when there is a perfectly viable alternative.

For so long have I resisted reading newspapers online, but that resistance is merely a function of an age-long habit. Once I’m booted up, I realize how very much more civilized it is to read off the screen.

This is particularly true if you are, as I am, a lifelong reader of any standard-sized daily newspaper: New York Times, L.A. Times, Wall Street Journal et al. And I keep wondering if everyone reading them goes through the same ugly contortions that I do.

If I read it at a table, the table must be one that is the same (or close) circumference as the length of the paper, in which case I find myself stretching my neck, to see the top or having to stand up to read it, plus having to engage the assistance of a magnifying glass. Or, I find myself folding pages to a more accessible size, a most frustrating and time-consuming task often ending in a hodge podge of newsprint in non-sequential order, and hands that look like I just emerged from a coal mine.

While sitting down in my “comfy” chair, I often try to indulge in a newspaper read, but the process sucks the “comfy” out of the chair. Again comes the folding and stretching and fluttering and stubborn pages that require two hands to unmangle the aberrant folds. And oh, the “continued on page …. X. Isn’t that a precursor to road rage?

And when I see those folks on trains do the “commuter half-fold gig” on their newspapers, I watch with awe as they maneuver their readings and almost always seem surprised when they actually DO alight on the proper continuation of material in which they are so passionately invested.

And by the way, where were editors when the class was taught “less is more?”

And why is it that a convenient newspaper format often referred to as tabloid gets so little respect that all major national newspaper are reluctant to copy that format? As you are holding this paper in your hands, it is not necessary to indulge in acrobatics in order to comfortably turn its pages.

And so, in summation: Standard-sized newspapers represent a throwback to the dark ages, especially in this day of digital competency and awareness of the environmental consequences of bulk waste. And since the powers that be in daily newspaper circles have not succumbed to the tabloid, it is easy to see how online reading will be de rigueur within only a few years.

Meanwhile, in order to maintain our free society we NEED newspapers to survive even as they are tottering on the brink of seismic changes. So read the ads, be sure to recycle them, buy only what you can afford, and become accustomed to “logging on,” cause times, they are a-changing.

And have yourself a very Merry Christmas, Chanukah, Kwanzaa, Boxing Day, Winter Solstice – and whatever else you celebrate.

By Emily Rosen

ERosen424@aol.com

www.emilyrosen424.com

When you get to a certain age – you have two daily mantras – subliminal words that run through your head like watermarks on stationery: 1) Be Careful  2) Be Grateful.

Regarding the “Be Careful” echo – it repeats in my head with every step I take, every rotation of the four wheels on my car, and every recall of the crazy kinds of accidents having befallen many of my friends and acquaintances.

Always one to have rashly taken risks – be it rock climbing, white water rafting in turbulent waters, traversing rope bridges across deep canyons in the Himalaya Mountains, biking in challenging terrain or any number of other youth oriented adventures, I have happily accepted the “BTDT”* (Been There Done That) motto that has me taking pleasure now in “looking at the pictures.” And since I aspire to becoming the oldest healthy walking-onmy- own-steam with full cognition person — I know that I have to do my part in helping towards that goal, while counting on a major contribution coming from that mysterious source often referred to as God. Thus, “being careful” for starters – is a no-brainer.

Being thankful is even easier. I marvel with gratitude at the elegant stroke of fate that placed my parents in the U.S.A. at the time of my conception. And everything flows from there. My car accident? I wasn’t hurt nor was anyone else. I salvaged my car. My completely turned-around life since becoming a widow last year? I view it as a new challenge, a way to keep good memories alive, to adjust to being alone, to learning how to celebrate mindfulness and to reach into my own cognitive resources to find ways to live a fulfilling life. And what’s a fulfilling life? My friend Barbara once summed it up for me : “Every day, I try to do something for someone else and something for me.”

I’m grateful that every ache and pain I have is liveable. I have learned to view them as friends to greet and dismiss every morning as I distract myself from awareness that they exist and proceed with other thoughts and deeds.

I am grateful that I am not poor – and just as grateful that I am not rich. It is kind of a challenge to figure out how to juggle my spending to keep me afloat and I’ve seen too many rich people pursuing lives that they, themselves, feel to be meaningless – simply because their excess of money allows them to follow a path of ease.

I am grateful to have found my “bliss” – a balance of productivity and wanton nothingness and the tools to minimize stress.

I am grateful for oranges and beaches, and mountains and eggplant – good drinking water and showers, and lowered gas prices and national parks, TV clickers in the “off” position, healthy loving family and respectful political disagreements – for friends and solitude, and PBS and libraries — for the Wright brothers and Richard Branson – Bill Gates and Steve Jobs – the opportunity to vote and to nap in the middle of the day when I feel like it, to hate the movie that everyone raves about and OMG to be able to cook my own turkey for my family on Thanksgiving Day, and to be able to wish you all a way of seeing the glass half full. Happy Thanksgiving.

By Emily Rosen

ERosen424@aol.com

www.emilyrosen424.com

I’m a sucker for movies with high emotional tension that dig into the human condition.

(I cry at parades, too.) And freedom lover that am, I’d be happy to see the movie Lincoln as a prerequisite for breathing in the United States.

Oh, how we have been conditioned to hate politics, and all the machinations, corruptions, hypocrisies and hatreds it engenders. But amidst the muck of all those negatives, we often lose sight of the gleaming glories that finally emerge as highminded, moral achievements. It takes years, decades, a century even, to be able to stand back and look at how some of our legislation became landmark triumphs. We owe so much to the diligence of historians who are able to dig through what, to the layman, can be intensely boring archives to come up with the lost lessons of our past. And how we apply any of that to the present is always a conundrum.

The movie progresses from the background of wartime killing fields to the passionate idealism of a president determined to achieve the goal of human equality as he swims with that passion in a sea of politics that make our current impending fiscal cliff look more like a bump in the road. The pandering, finagling, pretending, arm-twisting, pleading and lying to obtain enough votes to pass the constitutional amendment that freed the slaves are a metaphor for the gross messiness of democracy. And in the end, it comes down to that old philosophical cliché “Does the end justify the means?” and its disturbingly ambivalent evasion, “It depends.”

In this case, only the hardened racist is likely to want to undo that amendment, despite the shenanigans that brought it to fruition. “Shenanigans,” I might add, that might have eluded the historically-challenged, who are unfamiliar with that drama. If ever one needs to apply a magnifying glass to the elements of that “compromise,” that it is now. And given the timing of the distribution of this film, viewing our current (and probably eternal) crisis within its context might be helpful for anyone trying to figure out an answer to Washington’s intransigence. Having read of the many ways that legislation has become law in the past, one can envision an antcolony of activity currently going on in Washington – with people of all stripes offering and withholding bags full of goodies to produce an acceptable (compromised?) balance between revenue and expenditures.

David Brooks, (New York Times, Nov. 23) argues that “politics is noble because it involves personal compromise for the public good.” It’s hard to imagine the personal and emotional toll on Lincoln, having chosen between prolonging the final peace, thereby costing many lives, and achieving the end of slavery. In a way, he was blessed by not having lived long enough beyond that victory to suffer perpetual remorse over those lost lives. If one hadn’t been connected to a fallen soldier, he or she would surely argue that the greater good prevailed.

Much as we citizens revere transparency, it is probably for the better that we are not privy to many of the behind-the scenes skullduggery that produce final legislation that basically makes no one totally happy, but everyone somewhat relieved.

And oh, by the way, see the movie for Daniel Day Lewis’ acting tour de force and for seamless directing from that reliable perfectionist, Steven Spielberg.

By Emily Rosen

ERosen424@aol.com

www.emilyrosen424.com

Obfuscate = confuse, bewilder, stupefy, obscure. Don’t let that happen to you!

Five more days to Election Day.

Hopefully, you have already mailed your absentee ballot, having had much time to study it carefully, and to have sought out clarification on all the amendments. It has long been traditional for Florida Constitutional amendments to be written in such language as to force voters into cognitive gymnastics, in an attempt to figure out if YES really means what they intend it to mean, and to even know what they intend it to mean.

No matter how much people are urged to study ballots before they go into the booth, there will be many who will have looked at their ballots for the first time in that booth, and, in an attempt to answer all the questions, will, only then, begin to read the amendments. In case you haven’t seen one yet, it’s very long and wordy.

Absentee ballots give you the leisure to fill them out on your terms in the privacy and convenience of your own home. But if you’re like several of my friends, you experience a kind of prideful thrill at direct contact with the voting booth, so take advantage of early voting, which has already begun, and will continue until the end of the day on Saturday Nov. 3. It’s a great time to talk to your neighbors.

For all the voting information you may need, including places for early voting, (Broward) 954-357-7050 or www.browardsoe.org, or (Palm Beach ) 561-276-1226 or www. pbcelections.org.

A source of information regarding the meaning of the amendments is the Florida League of Women Voters hotline, 1-855-358-6837, www.bereadytovote.org; (Spanish) www.VamosA Votar.org, which has already received over 1,500 calls, most from voters frustrated by all 11 of them.

Some of those calls have taken as long as an hour, as a League representative has patiently answered questions and provided the requested information. Many people have called the League, apologizing for what they perceive as their own “stupidity” because the true intent of the amendment is obfuscated within a barrage of legalese.

Folks! You are NOT stupid if the amendments make little sense to you. They were designed that way. And alas, it is your responsibility to check them out before voting – and to seek advice from people you respect.

In a recent memo, Florida League President Diedre Macnab urged, “If you don’t understand the amendments, don’t skip them, reject them. Defeating incomprehensible, misnamed, intentionally confusing proposals will send a message to the legislators.”

If you’ve got something to say to legislators – this is one significant way to do that. Also, don’t minimize the effect of letters and phone calls. Your legislators care deeply about what you think, and most often, act accordingly.

Dull as it often it, politics affects lives. Get your ballot counted!

By Emily Rosen

ERosen424@aol.com

www.emilyrosen424.com

When a long-time young friend called me recently to announce that her 24-year marriage is over, I started to think (again) about marriage. I often think about marriage in the abstract. It is perhaps the most enduring social institution we have, and seems to exist in all cultures and since as long ago as Adam and Eve, who incidentally, probably never had “the (commitment) papers.”

And yet, statistics are showing that marriage is waning. A Google search on marriage discloses some amazing statistics on who is more likely to be divorced and at what point in the marriage. It’s no secret that we are stretching over the 50-50 mark for such enduring liaisons.

I have just celebrated 58 years in a state of matrimony. And without divulging any of the personal details, suffice it to say, it’s been good and not-so, which is probably a metaphor for all that life offers. And we’re still hangin’ in!

People experiencing what they call “love” in its earliest stages “are the luckiest people in the world,” to usurp a wellknown lyric. All the juices are flowing; the heart, indeed, pitter-patters, there is a measurably high happiness scale and the pure physicality of the emotion produces endorphins that heighten one’s sense of well-being. The condition has often been described as akin to taking an opiate. Folks who are living in that state of euphoria – and it can happen at any age cannot conceive of its ever ending or changing.

The truth is that the feeling does not last forever and lucky that it doesn’t, because it affects even the brain and one’s ability to focus. And thus, the good Lord giveth and taketh. Eventually, those affected by “the love bug” marry, cohabit or move on, as reality closes in on them. Married reality is laundry, bills, kids, exhaustion, in-laws, disagreements about watching football, whose turn it is to cook or babysit, being too often too tired for sex, the acceptance that one of you loves mountains and the other loves a penthouse in the city. And finally, the chance that one of you is more needy than the other, a condition that can be cementing or entrapping. And despite all the print dedicated to “25 ways to spark up your marriage,” for many, it becomes the “same old, same old” and most anything looks better than that.

And so it is that many people are ready to bale at the first glitch in their dream-bubble. Their expectations, although often reasonable, are, in actuality, not realistic and they, therefore, become disappointed, hurt, angry, enraged and so on down the line of toxic emotions, instead of learning to readjust their expectations.

We all see people in many states of coupling and uncoupling: married, or merely living together, or being together only at intervals, or commuting to be together, or living alone and loving it, or living alone and hating it, or contemplating one or a combination of the above. It is obvious that one size does not fit all. The world is in seismic transition in all areas of human commerce and I do wonder what marriage will look like in 2054 – my 100th anniversary.

By Emily Rosen

ERosen424@aol.com

www.emilyrosen424.com

I’ve been to almost every state in this country … drove a car in most of them, stopped at red lights as required. But in the past almost 20 years, since living full-time in Florida, I have whiled away what seems like the equivalent of my entire adolescence waiting for lights to turn green.

What? You too?

You can’t win with Florida traffic lights. You just have to plan your day to include so much extra time, depending on how far you’re going, for waiting until the left lane, the right lane and all the turning lanes have had it. And then, when it finally turns green, have you noticed, that you can barely make the street crossover before – whoops – RED again. And of course, if you are the fifth car behind the front-runner, you’re stuck for another three minutes. (Yes, I’ve timed it – and go add up all those three “minuteses” over 20 years and counting.)

I’ve learned that when you can’t change a bad situation, you have two choices: get out of the situation or make it userfriendly. Okay, since I’m not about to stop driving, how to find the user-friendly approach?

First – what not to do: Definitely, no texting. Three minutes may seem like an eternity at a traffic stop, but it’s a snippet when you’re engaged in serious text-talk. (Actually, I don’t text, but I feel obligated to address those of you who do.) And that goes for voice talk too, unless you have bluetooth, which is like having a talking passenger in the car. And that often leads to real distraction and missed turns or exits and, in my experience, has taken me far, far out of my way. And then, I have to deal with the cost of gas.

You do, however, have time to redo your lipstick at long traffic lights, or, if you are a male, you could get in a quick shave of your left check with your portable shaver that you have placed handily in the arm rest compartment. And needless to say, you will save the right cheek for the next red light.

You could count the Lamborghinis parked next to you. Really? Or you might be an avid listener to books on tape. This is my solution, and I often pray for red lights so that I can hear more of my book. User-friendly, right? Talk radio, or music, are obvious options.

Think about just thinking. This is my latest favorite activity, and many of us do not even know all the possibilities that exist in that area. Forget that you’re late for your doctor appointment. He won’t take you on time anyway. Think positive thoughts – you’re at the beach, on a mountain top, strolling on the Champs Elysee, window shopping on the Ponte Vecchio, staring deep into the Grand Canyon or riding the donkey on the Angel trail, straddling the crevices in Cappadocia, undulating on a camel in the Sahara, eating a hot dog at Coney Island. That’s the kind of “tripping” that’ll get you to your destination without a frazzle and all finetuned and stress free.

Leave the road rage to the guy with the finger. Learn to treat heavy traffic and red lights as your friendly dispenser of peace and calm. And, let me know if this works for you. If it does, I’ll try it too.

By Emily Rosen

ERosen424@aol.com

www.emilyrosen424.com

People who really know me laugh when I say, and believe me, I say it often, “I have to clean my desk.” They’ve been hearing that for years – nay – decades. The thing of it is … I HAVE cleaned my desk. But, unless I do it on an hourly basis, it runs away from me.

In most respects, I am a person with a stable personality, very few hang-ups, fairly even-tempered and extremely good at multitasking. But – about my desk, I am, if you’ll pardon the redundancy, a dysfunctional basket case, with a serious condition, that admittedly seeps into other parts of my life, called “fear of throwing things away,” or in psychobabble talk, “Disposophobia.”

The surface of my built-in desk runs the length of my office room. It is about 20 ft. long by about 30 in. deep and faces a window. Nice, huh? If you close your eyes and picture it naked, that is, empty, clean, devoid of any surface paraphernalia, you can imagine yourself lying on it, head to toe with perhaps two other people, uncomfortably hard as that might be. Sometimes, I do that – imagine it naked, that is, and I yearn to take my arm, crook it at the elbow, and swish it clean.

But of course, I dare not. It is bulging with the usual office requisites, fax machine, in-box, (OMG – currently about 8 in. high) computer, telephone, two small calculators, copier printer- scanner-all-in-one, boom box with assorted CDs (and, I tell you ashamedly, a container holding myriad cassettes – remember them?), five filled-to-the-brim file holders, three pencil-pen holders (I collect [steal?] pens) and books, books, books. Underneath all of this are eight built-in huge drawers of files and 10 smaller drawers of “junk,” over which, attached to the walls on either side of the window, are six huge cabinets with more books and 2-and 3-in. loose leaf binders, one for every year since 1985 containing my writings. If they interviewed me for C-Span, it would take hours to explain. (you know, it’s cathartic to catalogue this. I never did it before – but, now I’m wondering, why would you care? Forget it, I’m on a roll!)

If you’re too young to remember the Collyer brothers of Manhattan, you might want to Google them just for the fun of it. I just did. They were discovered dead in their Harlem apartment, in 1947, asphyxiated, sort of, by the more than 100 TONS of assorted junk they had accumulated over many years. I felt good reading about them because, honestly, I don’t come anywhere near them in that department, although, at the rate I am going …

So, I was going to “clean it up” today. Yes, today was the day. And, instead, look what I am doing. And, soon, it will be time to prepare dinner, write a book review, return about eight telephone calls I’d been accruing – and … maybe tomorrow. Ya think?