WORK OUT

WHAT I'M DOING WHILE MY ROBOT CLEANS AND COOKS

A day will come when robots will have taken over all or most of our jobs. Robots will build new robots, and in the unlikely event they need supervision, robots will supervise other robots.

What will people do?

In my last blog I talked about writing novels,. painting landscapes, or playing golf. I even suggested leisure. What’s wrong with lying in the sun and getting a tan. of course, the possibilities are endless. This morning I thought about some of everyone’s favorite Americans, the cowboys. A song about a rodeo came up in my music mix as I was exercising. Cowboys made a great discovery. Thye could make big money showing off what they did everyday.

Cowboy chores like roping cattle and breaking wild horses became a sport when the occupation was no longer needed. Sports stars make more money than day laborers. Cowboys who once rode the range with pennies in their pockets became wealthy men.

Loggers also knew how to turn their skills into fun. They had holidays. Instead of taking the day off, they had competitions and worked harder than ever.

Recently our home had a make over. We put on a metal roof and new siding. Watching the men work was like watching a ballet. Every movement was choreographed. One man cut metal strips or siding to precise measurements; another man nailed the pieces in place. They walked on platforms, as sure footed as Michelangelo must have been when he painted the Cistern chapel.

There is something beautiful about work.Even grunt work can be beautiful I like washing dishes and folding clean clothing. These are daydream times for me when I work out sticky points in a novel or memorize a new list.

So work can be introspective as well as entertaining and beautiful.

When robots take all our jobs, we will create new chores. We might do it for the entertainment of ourselves and others or we might do it for private introspection and pleasure.

I named this blog “Work out.” I find the term interesting.People go to the gym to imitate movements their ancestors did every day and called work.

People used to walk or bike to the store or to work. Today we get in a car and drive around the block to shop. Then we go to the gym and walk on a treadmill. So many chores used to be more difficult.

I remember my mother getting down on her hands and knees to scrub floors. Today I walk behind a mop that is so sophisticatedI barely have to push it.

My mother had to apply real muscle to pound bread dough into place. I buy my bread at Whole Foods. Then I come home and work out with bar bells. When we don’t have work, we ralize that we need it to stay in shape and to satisfy a certain longing. Perhaps that longing is just for time to daydream

The future of work might be competitions where humans, not robots pound in nails and roof or side a house. No robots allowed. We might wash dishes make pretty loaves of bread. other humans will watch us and marvel at our skills at such wonderful old fashioned tasks.

Perhaps real human workers will work in a museum showing visitors how 20th and early 21st century humans performed their chores.

For those of us who don’t want to imitate cowboys and loggers by turning old skills into entertainment and competition, there will always be poetry to write, philosophies to learn, and dances to perform.

And sometimes we might just want to lay in the shade while a robot serves us fresh squeezed lemonade. This is the life. I can’t wait.

PRESIDENTS, PRESIDENTIAL CANDIDATES AND THE FUTURE OF EDUCATION AND WORK

Margaret Truman and Elliot Roosevelt both wrote best selling mystery fiction. Both authors are children of U.S. presidents and both are talented writers. They were double blessed. Of course not all authors are born to famous, or wealthy parents. But the wealthy clearly have more opportunities to obtain good educations and they have the more leisure to write novels.

Life classifies them as winners before they take their first steps.

I wonder how many talented authors, inventors and scientists, we lose because life circumstances rob them of opportunities and doom them to work in factories, garbage trucks or grocery stores.

What if everyone had the opportunity to learn as much as they wanted and the freedom to indulge in leisure? Would we see more great novels, works of art and inventions? We would. We would also see healthier people across all of America.

Work can be a joy; it can also be a drudge. Historically poor people did the grudge work even if their IQ was 190.

Rich people reaped the benefits. Is that fair? Of course, not.

Will it change? The answer lies in how we solve or attempt to solve two of America’s most serious problems. The cost of higher education and the shrinking job market.

Not surprising, all of the presidential candidates have ideas on education.

Jeb Bush who grew up in a wealthy family and who most likely did not have to work his way through college says there is no such thing as a free lunch. Work and work some more and get ahead by work, work, work.

This advice is from a man who never had to dig ditches, collect garbage or clean sewers. If he has never done those things, he can’t imagine how tired a person is at the end of eight hours.

Mr. Bush may not realize that many Americans now work two and even three jobs just to pay for necessities.

When I shop for groceries or pet supplies, I am interacting with people who have part-time jobs. Retail jobs are usually, part-time and minimum wage with no benefits.

Full time jobs are hard to find for many of us even those of us with advanced degrees. College professors, for instance, are now more likely to be part-time adjuncts than full professors. They are forced to work longer hours at more than one job. And they make a fraction of what professors once made.

So if education is too expensive and if the jobs aren’t there, what are we to do? We in working America already work as hard as we can; stop telling us to work harder, Mr. Bush.

What about other candidates? Aren’t Democrats the party that teachers turn to? Aren’t they the education party?

Hillary Clinton says students need to work at least ten hours a week. That sounds like the work study programs already in place. Hillary is not suggesting any changes.

Okay, Mrs. Clinton, let’s make the students work ten hours a week for their tuition. They have to find another job for room and board and textbooks and for cable television. When do they study?

Students need that study time. Jeb Bush had study time. HIs classes and necessities were paid for by his wealthy parents.

Mrs. Clinton says she worked her way through college. So did I. I had a factory job where I worked at least forty hours a week. Overtime was sometimes mandatory. I graduated Magna Cum Laude, so my grades were very good. I spent all my spare time studying and, in fact, had no social life. It took me over ten years because I took one or two classes at a time.

Not many people will sacrifice the way I did, nor should they be expected to do so. So what can we do for students?

Bernie Sanders wants to give all Americans a free college education at public schools. Is this an outlandish idea? Sanders says no and I agree with him. While students are taking these free classes, they will still need to work part time for their rent, groceries and their textbooks.

I would love to have government provide these for them. That way they could concentrate on their educations. If they have free time maybe they can write books like Margaret Truman and Elliot Roosevelt did. Maybe they can have a few carefree years like Jeb Bush did.

Taking students out of the workforce makes more jobs available for those with families to support and house payments to make.

What about the kind of jobs that pay a decent living wage and provide benefits? Those jobs may be a thing of the past. We know that many of the best jobs have gone overseas. We know that factory workers in third world countries will work for low wages and American companies in their greed lost no time in shipping our jobs to those counties.

In the future, robots are set to take over jobs like plumbing and performing surgery that we thought were safe. What do we do when all our jobs disappear?

We can enjoy learning and leisure. Pleasures once available to only the very wealthiest amongst us can be available to all. We can write novels like Margaret Truman and Elliot Roosevelt did. We can take up portrait painting or gardening. We can study history or astrology.

Leisure has never been a dirty word, at least not when applied to the wealthy. The rich man can play golf all day or lay on a deck chair on his yacht. But working class people are expected to slave every day even when jobs are not available.

We can all contribute more to the wealth of the mind and the spirit even if it is just our own individual spirit. We should have the luxury of less drudgery.

Haven’t we been doing the rich man’s dirty chores for too long?

BOOK COVERS: A SCHOOL PROJECT LIKE IT OR NOT

In some schools, students are now required to make covers for their books. Students often use plastic wrap. It clings. Tape isn’t even necessary.

There are book socks that one can purchase to cover textbooks. These are made from stretchy material, and they fit most hard cover books. Book socks don’t work well on paperbacks.

When I worked in a label factory, we had huge sheets of paper with beer or ketchup labels printed on them. Those co-workers who had kids in school would would take several sheets home, cut them up and make wrappers for school books. The kids loved them, and wanted more of them for friends.

I read over a hundred books a year, but I don’t wrap my books. In fact, I unwrap some of them. If I have to carry a book around in my purse to read in restaurants, I take the sleeve off the book and tuck the sleeve in a safe place at home until I finish the book.

I like paperbacks. They take up less room on the shelf and they don’t have sleeves. I could never understand why wrapping a book up was so popular. How do you know which textbook is which if you cover the book with paper? In college I never saw a book wrapped up, and college students do make use of their books. At least they do if they want to stay in college and graduate.

I do think see-through plastic wraps are an improvement. If you have to wrap up a book, at least wrap it up in see-through plastic, so you can still see the title.

Place the book in a plastic grocery store store bag if you think it will rain.

I looked up book socks on Amazon and eBay. They are not called book socks, but book covers. I like calling them socks better. The book covers that I saw don’t come in see-through. I guess if you want see-through covers buy a box of plastic wrap, the kind used for putting leftovers away in the refrigerator.

One could get creative. Have a soccer ball or football cover for the book in a health class. A Shakespeare cover for an English class textbook.

Which ones would I buy if I bought a book sock? I wouldn’t buy one. I like to be more intimate with my books. I like them bare. After all we are having a meeting of the minds. You can’t put a sock on that.

WHEN DOROTHY KILGALLEN ATE SOY - AND LIKED IT.

LIKED IT. The old “What’s My Line” television program in the 1950’s had an episode in which the celebrity panel ate soy meat. They were not told their hot dogs were really made from soy. The panelists agreed the ‘meat” was delicious and none of them guessed they were not eating real meat.

Soy meat products are indeed delicious. If they tasted good enough to fool television panelists back then, think how great they taste now, after over 60 years of improvements.

My grandfather was visiting our house that day, and I remember that he said one day only the rich people will be able to afford meat. I was a little kid, so I didn’t openly disagree with him. But silently I thought just the opposite. I didn’t like eating meat even back then. I knew where it came from and I didn’t want to eat cows, pigs and chickens.

Today nutritionists tell us that a plant based diet is healthier. Many better educated people, also have higher incomes and they are choosing plant based diets.

My grandfather was wrong. Meat actually is more popular with the lower economic classes, than with the educated elites. It is in economically depressed areas that one finds the McDonald’s and Burger Kings.

WHAT'S THAT DEAD COW DOING ON MY PLATE?

Here’s a vegan’s confession. I didn’t become a vegetarian for health or ethical issues. I just didn’t want to eat cows, pigs or chickens.

When I was a preschooler, the neighbors had cows. My family had pet rabbits and chickens as well as the usual assortment of pet dogs and cats. As soon as I found out that beef was really cow; bacon was really pig; and chicken was chicken, I didn’t want to eat it.

I wasn’t eating dead animals. I also didn’t want to eat eggs. They came from a chicken’s butt, and in those days I didn’t understand the difference between a fertilized egg and an unfertilized egg, so I thought there was a baby chicken in there.

My mother was okay with my choices. She thought I would grow out of it. She always cooked potatoes with every meal and there was always a vegetable too. I ate pancakes and lots of breads and desserts that had egg in them. Just so long as I didn’t have to eat anything eggy or meaty. I was all right.

I did get into trouble at school. The school lunch program served what was then described by teachers and cooks as “nutritional” meals. I wouldn’t eat the meats, and sometimes if the vegetables looked runny or the potatoes were mixed with the meat in a kind of hash, I wouldn’t eat that either. I would eat peanut butter sandwiches and milk and I usually ate the desserts. It was enough to get me through the day.

The teachers considered my eating habits rebellion. Sometimes I was forced to sit in the lunch room after everyone else had left. I was told I couldn’t leave until I ate something. When no one was looking, I would cut a piece out of the meat with a knife, hide it in a napkin and then claim I ate something.

Then I could go.

I was a liar, I know, but I was not going to eat a cow, a chicken or a pig. I knew the animals were murdered for their meat; I felt that was wrong, but I was not protesting the horrors of the slaughterhouse in those days. Factory farming did not exist then.Despite living in the country and visiting farms, I knew nothing about farming. I certainly never witnessed a slaughter.

On television I saw commercials for Carnation condensed milk. It supposedly came from contented cows.

I read Laura Ingalls Wilder’s books. In one book she writes that cheese is made from a calves’ brains. I gave up cheese for awhile. But kept going back to it.

My elementary school classes got more their share of lectures about how important it was to eat meat for good health. I am sure I was the student those lectures were aimed at. The teachers were bound and determined to change my eating habits.

While I loved my pets, the birds and turtles, rabbits, and chickens as well as the dogs and cats, empathy was something I learned. I was not born with it. We who have Asperger’s are often accused of not having empathy. But like good nutrition, empathy can come from a variety of sources. I am grateful I always had pets. They made great teachers, and taught me empathy despite the Asperger’s.

As I got older, I became interested in the humane movement. I volunteered at an animal shelter in Iron Mountain, Michigan and I even wrote an article way back in June 1973 for “Dog Fancy” (Now “Dogster” Magazine) on how to start a humane society.

I became a conscientious vegetarian.

I learned about the health benefits of vegetarian and vegan living. I consider that a wonderful plus. I also feel superior to all those teachers who tried to force me to eat meat, and who lectured on its benefits.

I eat vegan cheese now, not the dairy kind. I avoid dairy like its the plague.

It’s good to be healthy and kind.

WRITE ABOUT YOUR FEARS

When I was growing up, I was afraid of everything. The dark. Spooky places like ship wrecks and airplane crashes,Haunted Houses. Dead bodies and snakes. I had to experience the dark every night. Snakes were a possibility, but the others were highly unlikely.

Where did all those fears come from?

We lived near a small airport, and the boys who lived near by told me the airplanes came alive at night and ate people. I was afraid those airplanes would come and get me in my sleep.

Those were the days of scary television dramas like “Twilight Zone.” I would watch an episode about a lost airplane, and I’d have nightmares for days afterward.

My mother used to get “Life” magazine. The pages were filled with graphic pictures of plane crashes, burned children and disaster aftermath. I tried to avoid looking at the pages of that magazine, but it was always there. Sometimes the magazine sitting on the coffee table would be open to the most horrible picture in the book.

When I was about eight years old, the Andrea Doria, a luxury ocean liner collided with another ship, the Stockholm. I watched the Andrea Doria sink. I had nightmares, not only then, but every time I thought about the ship. It’s in the deepest, spookiest part of the ocean, and many experienced divers have died exploring the Andrea Doria as it lies in its grave.

If there was a fear out there, it seemed ready to attach itself to me.

I remember the first time I saw a snake.

I was a preschooler sitting in the house with my parents, when the dogs outside started barking. They were making quite a ruckus. My dad was going to get up and see what it was about, but I jumped up and said, “I’ll see. I’ll see.”

I went out and saw the dogs barking at what I thought was this really pretty colorful striped cord. It looked like a jump rope. I was going to pick it up and start jumping rope. I started to approach it, but the dogs got in my way. They gently pushed me away and barked more fiercely than ever.

“What’s going on?” My parents came outside.

“See,” I pointed. I still thought it was a jump rope, but it startled me by moving.

My dad killed the snake, and then my mother said I should touch it so I wouldn’t be afraid of snakes.

The dogs went wild when I started toward the dead snake. They wouldn’t let me touch it. Thank heavens.

I am afraid of snakes. I don’t think touching it would have made a difference.

TRY THIS: Write about something you are afraid of. Why do you think you are afraid of this something? What experiences have you had real or imaginary?

Family Secrets

By M.A. De Neve (Mary Ann Slavcheff)

Chapter One

Lisa Brianka’s arrest came as a shock to all of us. Even me. I’m the Mountain Ridge snoop, so usually I’m way ahead of the gossip, and I can even sometimes predict things like this. What I felt that morning was closer to fear than to surprise.

When I stopped by the Yorkie cafe less than twelve hours after Lisa’s arrest, customers were discussing the latest Lisa gossip.

“Do you think she did it?”

“Of course, she done it.”

“She’s crazy.”

“Everyone knows that.”
 “Don’t mean she killed anyone.”

I glanced around at the dirty floor, the wooden tables, and the toy-sized juke boxes on the counter. Tony Orlando sang,“Tie A Yellow Ribbon.” Everyone in this town knows what a snoop I am, so no one ties a yellow ribbon for me. They started to quiet down. That was all right. I’d heard enough.

I glanced at a copy of today’s newspaper lying on the counter. The Beatles had broken up. Darn. Richard Nixon defended his decision to invade Cambodia. The war in Viet Nam was as unpopular as ever.

I know a lot about unpopularity. I’m not even a war, just a girl trying to escape boredom.

Bev the waitress poured me a cup of coffee just the way I like it, strong and black. “Hi, Penny. What’ll it be this morning?” she asked.

“A grilled cheese with a thick slice of tomato. Hash browns. Keep the coffee coming.”

“You got it.” Before she turned to put my order in, she asked, “You know anything?”

“The alphabet, the state capitals and my multiplication tables right up to 13 times 13.”

“Don’t be a smart ass,” she told me.”Were you there when they made the arrest?” “No.”

“Did you hear anything?”

“What they said on the radio.”

“But you’ll tell me when you find out anything?”

“Depends on what I find out.”

“You know I could spit in your hash browns,” she said.

“You won’t though.”

“Don’t be so sure.” Bev took off with her order pad.

I smiled and waved at Elaine, the elderly cook, who was moving slowly about the kitchen; her arthritis was probably acting up. She ignored me. She’s got some kind of grudge. She says I stole some papers she threw out years ago.

What can I tell you? They were at the curb, and I noticed them. She could have burned them. She could have read them herself before she put them on the curb for anyone to take.

I took a deep breath and sipped my coffee. I didn’t look around. I knew the other customers were looking at me. The only voice I heard was Tony Orlando’s voice. So much for yellow ribbons. At least the waitress talks to me.

I was just finishing my sandwich when Leo Olson came in. He used to be sheriff here in Mountain Ridge. Olson arrested me back when I was eleven or twelve on a shop lifting charge.

It was a fifty cent tube of lipstick. I could have bought it, but how much fun would that have been?

Leo was 70 years old or more than that, but still tall and thin like teen age basketball player. His grey hair was cut short; his steely gray eyes looked at everyone like they were murder suspects or drunken drivers. His skin was weathered like a fisherman’s skin. Yet he wore his years well. I would see him walking and even jogging around town, fit as a man in his thirties.

I started walking toward the door. Then I couldn’t help myself. I had to ask. “Is Lisa Brianka all right?”

The stillness in the room was complete. Every other customer was wondering the same thing, but no one else was brave enough to ask.

Leo sipped his coffee really slow, and then took a deep breath. Cops know that silence makes the rest of us feel uncomfortable and even guilty. Finally he said, “I ain’t a cop anymore.”

“Your son’s the sheriff,” I reminded him. “Is Lisa being treated okay?”

“Far as I know. Miles ain’t here. He’s getting ready to fly down to Louisiana.” Surprise. I was getting information from a cop, but then the sheriff’s comings and goings wouldn’t be secret. Or would they? At least Sheriff Miles Olson had something to occupy him other than poor Lisa.

Norman Cain, a serial killer awaiting execution in Louisiana was spilling his guts, delaying his execution for crimes committed down south by telling authorities where more bodies were buried in the tunnels under and around Mountain Ridge.

Dozens of state cops, crime scene investigators and reporters were in town covering the excavations. I supposed Miles’ presence was now and then called for down south.

“Our sheriff’s a busy boy,” I said. He arrested Lisa last night, and then what? Today he gets on an airplane and flies south.”

“He’s busy,” Leo agreed. I wasn’t going to get anymore out of him.

“Tell Lisa I’m thinking of her, will you?” I said after a pause.

“I ain’t goin’ near that crazy,” Leo said.