Congrats on my work anniversary...38 years later

My First Job Start Anniversary

This week my friends at LinkedIn (some physical and some virtual) reminded me that at this time of year, near the end of February in 1979, I began working for Digital Equipment Corporation as an associate technical writer. It is ironic for an app to congratulate me on a work anniversary that occurred before applications were invented. Even a few LinkedIn friends have trouble remembering just where they know me from, but that doesn't stop them from clicking Congratulate Mary Marotta. (In February of 1979, I was still Mary J. McCarron, but she doesn't have a LinkedIn account, or anniversary date, to send to everyone who's connected to her.)

It was a plum job, and led to over three decades of working with brilliant people, both managers and engineers, testers, documentation specialists and instructors. Many of these people have just been notified by LinkedIn about my work anniversary, and a few have responded. (Yes, all they have to do is click; but look how precious and important a click can be!)

I was 21 years old when I was hired by DEC. The emerging software component of the computer industry required writers who could make sense of what the engineers and product designers intended, as well as to keep track of the reams of data required to maintain and continually improve the early technical products. 

In the fall of 1978, I entered my fourth year at UMass/Amherst with a goal. For the first time in my life, I knew what I was going to do when I got out of college.

The problem was, I needed to graduate by February. Training for new (associate) technical writing hires was provided starting in the spring of 1979. I had to complete my Bachelors degree, get hired by DEC, and be ready to start working full time at whatever facility hired me. My college dean must have felt steamrolled after my meeting with him; he agreed to waive a redundant course in exchange for a thesis on the development of the novel. No problem. What's one more classic novel every week?

By the time I went to my first job interview at DEC in Maynard, I had completed the thesis and all the coursework for my senior year. Fresh off campus, I smiled and stuttered my way through meetings with managers and human resources, then was sent on my way by a stern but kind old lady after a heart-to-heart talk - my first professional female pep talk. I did not get the Maynard job, but my next interview was much more successful, and I was hired by DEC at Marlborough.

Thirty-eight years later, computers link us together and even remind us automatically of our life events, our friends, each other's lives. It's odd - like having a precocious child who will never grow out of asking personal questions in public. I won't change it. I kind of like it.

How Corporate Culture is Killing Americans

This winter, I heard about companies advising their employees to stay home if they are coughing or ill. It started with the doctors’ offices, I think, and the hospitals. It was refreshing to hear some big companies offering sick time to employees to prevent them from coming to work and spreading contagious germs. It is effective to offer an incentive, like ¾ pay, for employees who are out sick. Most people want to do the right thing, but are afraid of either losing their jobs, or losing income.

Management has long held a certain mystique in American corporate culture. The power that the employer has over the employee in America is frighteningly effective, regardless of the actual circumstances and contractual agreements. Many employees live in dread of losing their jobs, closely associating the event with bankruptcy and shame. A strong upbringing only reinforces the corporate ideal employee who never calls in sick, is available off hours, stays late and never makes trouble. (A cancelled meeting is trouble. A late morning start is trouble. Absence from the office Christmas party is trouble.)

Not all companies are run this way. A company that is truly respectful of human needs must be managed with flexibility and humor. The team is only as strong as its weakest link, so it makes sense to support that link. Tomorrow, you might be the weak link. Your child might come home with chicken pox. Your hot water boiler may need to be replaced. You may catch the flu. If your first thought is for your job, then you are victim of America’s corporate culture.

Your symptoms may differ. Instead, you omit breakfast to get to work on time. You drive great distances to arrive at a sparse, inhospitable office building. You skip daily exercise, or you perform it like a drill, without stretching and warming up. When you are at home, you feel like a stranger – your only friends are coworkers. You go to sleep late, after working nights, and wake to the alarm, getting ready for work like a zombie.

Maybe you have given up cooking, so important to the body and spirit. A cooking meal spurs your body to eat properly, the scents and sounds create a physical reaction that is part of eating healthy. Take the time to cook fresh vegetables, sizzle a portion of meat, and boil up some flavored rice. No take-out, frozen meal, or freeze-dried package can provide the physical experience of a hearty meal.

Obesity doesn’t come from eating too much. It comes from not moving around enough and not eating properly. Corporate culture would rather you sit in your office chair for 8 hours or more. Maybe you even eat lunch and work at the same time. Many companies do not pay for your lunch hour (or ½ hour). You may spend over two hours a day in the driver’s seat of your car. The many problems caused by obesity require medical attention, insurance, and affects productivity.

American companies are aware of the lost productivity, the high cost of insurance, the rising numbers of disabled Americans. If your company requires you to attend a meeting about health insurance and what it costs, including some tips for keeping healthy, you are watching corporate culture at work. You pay for medical insurance, but you are responsible for making sure you don’t get sick or injured. Have you ever felt that you have compromised your health for your job?

You may not even be aware of the on-site dangers of your job. If you work on the computer all day, for several years, you will inevitably suffer physical problems. Carpal tunnel syndrome, sciatica, migraines, vision impairment, and thrombosis are just a few of the ways the body breaks down over time. It’s a natural process that is ignored in corporate culture – neither prevented, acknowledged, or managed. Similarly, during the years of parenting, employees expect little or no help. The timing of the corporate day is cast in stone, and American management is failing to support the basic needs of employees.

Vacations are short breaks from the daily stress of work, but can become an added stressor to someone who has to prepare by working extra hours before the time off, and then puts in more time after returning, to catch up. The manner of accumulating hours of paid vacation time creates management dilemmas. For years, the carry-over of vacation hours from one year to the next has been reduced to 0. That is, employees have to use all their year’s vacation time before the end of December, or they will lose it. The same companies have a policy of “earning” vacation hours. Employees accumulate vacation hours per week; if they have two weeks of paid vacation per year, one week is available starting in July. The results of these policies are:

·         Employees take short vacations, if any. Long vacations have to wait until late in the year. November and December vacations hamper most corporations, preventing them from following plans.

·         Employees take no vacations. Some companies pay employees ½ their salary for lost vacation time. This may sound like a good deal, but there are serious problems with families that don’t have time together.

·         American families are falling apart. Parents feel guilty spending time with their kids when they could be working. Corporations create policies and environments that present unsolvable quandaries for employees. (The office Christmas party has become mandatory.)

Corporate culture is an incredibly powerful influence in American society, but seems to be unable or unwilling to take responsibility for the future of America. Instead, offshoring (the process of sending American projects to contractors overseas) is effectively spreading corporate culture across the planet. As a result, employees in India, China, Taiwan, and other nations are having medical issues (both physical and emotional), resulting in rising medical and insurance costs and challenging the low wages paid our overseas replacements.

Corporate culture has split up families by forcing employees to choose to move or lose their jobs. The concept of the neighborhood is no more, because the strict work week, yearly calendar, and long commute to the office prevent employees from having any social life at home. The conflicting requirements on management are being pushed down, placing the employee in impossible situations. Under enormous emotional pressure, employees face complicated insurance policies, retirement policies, vacation policies.

Behind all this, the American work ethic is going strong. Good corporate management recognizes this as one of the advantages of hiring Americans. Most Americans want to work and are willing to work hard. The challenge is how to employ them correctly. How to utilize their strengths and prevent damage to their minds and bodies.

Scientific research on the need for a natural daily cycle indicates this may play a large part in the obesity epidemic as well as the depression epidemic. Expectations are changing, based on psychological research, and corporate management should address them. Employees go through the aging process. Parenthood is perhaps 1/3 of an employee’s overall life employment expectancy. Workloads and productivity that depend on unrealistic expectations must be adjusted. Winter storms will happen – employees should be practiced in working at home, since technology now provides advanced warning. Telecommuting can and should be the norm, allowing people to spend more time in the home, perhaps cooking healthy meals and parenting their children.

It is time for employees to take back their lives, their health, and their families and neighborhoods. This is the new challenge for American corporations.

Unfinished Projects

When knitting a certain pair of socks became impossible, my dear Nana and I had a formal unravelling ceremony, complete with the disposal of the terrible pattern book that promised so much, yet explained so little.

We made three separate trips to the fabric store, purchasing and returning the yarn, the needles and the yarn again. These socks required a particular brand and type. We learned the color selections were very limited, and when we finally compromised, Nana began to knit. Within a few minutes, I heard a little voice. "Shit." A needle clattered to the floor. I investigated, and was horrified to see four needles at work at the same time!    "That looks hard," I said, feeling a little guilty. After all, I had chosen the pattern; Nana wanted to knit the socks for me.

I've never made a pair of socks. My knitting projects are challenged at the mere shape of a rectangle. Nana, on the other hand, has been knitting her entire life, and had recently finished knitting a Pug dog. The sock project, however, was doomed to fail. Not far along, Nana realized the instructions were incomplete. Our abandonment of the sock project was a strategic withdrawal. Between her determined persistence for three days, and her gracious acceptance of the futility of the endeavor, Nana demonstrated an important emotional boundary. She knew when to stop trying to make it work.

Will Nana ever try to make those socks again? I suspect she could make them with her eyes closed; but she has other things to do. For Christmas, she knitted my daughter a Husky dog.

Ludwig Beethoven left us perhaps the most famous symphony ever - the Ninth - unfinished. Though he was deaf, and died without completing the composition, Beethoven's Ninth is legendary, fun, and incomplete. Perhaps his most famous symphony is greatly enjoyed, although he never finished it.

During the long weekend of the 2013 blizzard, it was hard to find things to do. Cabin fever sets in quickly these days, so we learn to plan ahead. In addition to the milk, bread, and batteries, we bring home a good book. This was the time to work on projects, and perhaps resurrect those that have been left unfinished.

A small plastic box contains grey and brown crocheted squares, left to me by my grandmother, Eudocha Jean Richard. Ten years ago, Grandma Dolly passed away, leaving her legacy in her gifts. Grandma was the knitter, the cake maker, and the seamstress. Raggedy Ann and Andy, Mary Poppins, and even a flip-flop doll with a long skirt that had two heads - one sleeping and one awake. (Grandma used the fluff from her dryer to stuff her dolls.) The little box of squares is my legacy. I will relearn crocheting and complete that project for my Grandma Dolly.

Getting out after the big storm, I dropped in to see my girlfriend. I arrived to find her happily ensconced in finishing abandoned quilting projects. Mining her storage bins, she unearthed scraps and starters, batting and sheets, spending the snowbound days in contented creation. She had three new quilts completed. A knitted shawl was next, needing  just a collar. The sun was finally shining on the drifts of snow, the clouds cleared from the bright sky. Spring is many weeks away, still,  but we have made plans to start another project together.

Nobody starts a project thinking to leave it unfinished. But if we demand the completion of every project, we will be unlikely to start any projects at all. And if we stall on a project too long, we get frustrated. There are so many more things we'd like to be doing, like knitting dog!

Do Trees Get Tired?

Hurricane Sandy Wasn't Dandy!
This on the front page of the local newspaper. In actuality, this region didn't witness the worst of the storm, aside from some short-term power outages and downed trees; no lives were lost here in my city. But like Christmas, Sandy was a natural event that was predicted early and thus over-prepared-for.

Monday afternoon I cuddled under a furry blanket, a wool cap on my head, as I gazed out the big windows on the sunroom that overlooks our property. Facing southwest, the gales blew past my high vantage point. Bright leaves swirled into the corner and were blasted high into the air. Across the way, tall young maples bent and stretched like cats being groomed. A yellow bullet streaked past - a single leaf caught in a current of sea air that had originated far out over the Atlantic Ocean.

My husband laughed at the sight of me, a lookout in my own private, landlocked lighthouse, all bundled up. Though the tropical storm was warm, the wet cool wind drove through the interspaces and invaded my glass tower.

Still, I kept watch over the last willow tree. The last of the Three Sisters, she lifts her veils to the sky, far over the tops of any buildings. Her massive trunk twists and drives deep, a living conduit between the earth and the sky. From this vantage point, I watched the willow tree respond to drought by collapsing its trunk a little; this happened during the unusually long dry spell during April and May of 2012. Five months later, the wood is full and the joints are round. The branches are green and strong; long drooping fronds drip showers of golden leaves.

In the forty mile per hour wind, the fronds are wiggling like hula dancers' fingers. Thick connectors twist and spread like Japanese fans, lacy branches flutter and flirt, then tear and dash to the ground. The soap opera of wind and tree. Enormous limbs entrusted with thick bundles of squirrels' nests, sheltering dens of  woodchucks and chipmunks, yielding graciously to the greater forces of wind and rain. Only the silly sparrows dare to plunge and swirl, daredevils on wings. One clever fellow nestles into the window birdfeeder to ride out the storm, dark brown and dripping as he pecks at the birdseed and shivers.

For long minutes at a time, the fury recedes. Heavy strands of willow sink to the soaked grass, and all of nature seems to take a breath before the next blast. Again and again, the firehose drenches the land, propelled by distant unseen forces, a siphon spilling water across the fading autumn foliage. Darkening skies and huge raindrops lead a fierce dance that demands more flexibility and stamina from the graceful willow tree.

At one impossible twist, she releases a single golden frond, a branch as big as a grown man, to the verdant carpet, where it continues to twitch and roll with a life of its own.

Far above, in the mist of heavy rain and shadows of cumulus clouds, glittering leaves clashed and shimmered. Long green ribbons circled and swirled, and the taut strong tree trunk rocked, belly-dancing in the teeth of nature's rage. It was a celebration of Gaia, her creative forces informed sensually, a 5-D experience from the ground to the sky. Late into the night, she danced in veils of green and gold.

Grey morning light fell over tattered rags and scattered bones, leaves and twigs soaked in running puddles. The lucky survivors drooped and dripped, poor cover for wet birds.

Though the brook has risen to the top of our lawn, the willow tree perches on a mount of roots. Hundreds of heavy strands soaked with water, still thick with golden leaves, cloak and curve over her bent frame. Unseen roots collect the excess water and store it for the next drought. The slightest breeze frees a branch, and with languid reluctance she lifts her fan, the willow tree stirs as fat squirrels race along its extended branches while shy finches dart through her fringed sleeves.

A night and a day of dancing have left my willow tree in disarray. I wonder if she is tired?

The Meaning of Life

What is the meaning of Life? Perhaps it is 42, like the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy says. In that case, I suspect we have been asking the wrong question.

In our church, we had the answer to those important questions at a very early age. We might be initiated into the mystery of Holy Communion at the age of 8.  Before then, we knew the answers to the three most important questions in the universe:

1. Who made me? (God made me.)

2. Why did God make me? (God made me to serve Him.)

3. How can I serve God? (By following the dictates of the Church.)

Even at my young age, I had follow-up questions. Like, How can I serve God, when he has everything and I have nothing?  And, What if the Church tells me to do something that hurts someone else?

I was a thoughtful child, but overawed by authority and I had a paralyzing fear of disapproval. So instead of clearing these things up before I was confirmed and made a Soldier of God, I snuck off to the library to read about the history of religion. I learned that there are as many religions as there are faces of God (or vice versa).

The variety and number spread before me only made me lose my appetite for the search. There were many answers to my question, But I didn't know enough about myself to become emotionally involved in the quest for meaning. It was many many years before I found my steps leading along the path to spiritual understanding. I made money, I brought up a daughter, and I learned new skills and found tools to help me round out my life. I learned how to be more of a person, but I began once again to question my purpose.

I was living selfishly, shallowly, taking and filtering and hoarding my experiences. I grew a thick shell to prevent anything from hurting me. Unfortunately, from inside that shell, I couldn't feel anybody else. I forced myself to peep out occasionally, first one antenna, then an eye. But if anyone saw the real me, I retracted fast, back into my shell.

For someone who is curious, active, imaginative, creative, and compassionate, this was prison. Inside my cell, I wrote my questions, and my theories. I filled notebook after notebook with wanderings, thoughtlings, idealets, doodles and desperation. Where is my tongue? I have a need to speak! Where are my words? The feelings run high and fast and powerful to the brink...crashing and falling in exhaustion and frustration.

We want to share, you and I. We have words, and ideas, and thoughts and feelings that knowing, I can help you, you can help me, we can be amused, amazed, and tickled at the foibles of Fate.

What is the meaning of Life? We are not alone here.

Roxbury Notes

The brownstone apartment where my daughter's boyfriend lived was in Roxbury, a neighborhood in Boston, Massachusetts. It is the site of some dubious fame.  Most people are familiar with the alarming news stories eminating from here - one of Boston's most crime-ridden areas. The clash of different cultures can be as close as next door, or across the street. The twisted lanes and narrow alleyways have been there since 1640 - more than a century before the Revolutionary War. Early British settlers found it too difficult to till the stone-strewn soil, and thus named it  Rocksberry. It is common to find puddingstone in the area, a type of conglomerate rock where different types of stones are embedded in a larger rock. Puddingstone was mined here and used to create the foundations of the buildings.

The long history of Roxbury makes it one of the oldest occupied towns in the country, and it has changed gradually with the waves of new inhabitants for over 375 years.  Before anyone dreamed of separating from England, wealthy settlers quickly established plantations on the unclaimed land.  The treasurer of the early Bay Colony William Pynchon (yes, an ancestor of the author Thomas Pynchon, and also the actress Fay Wray) settled in Rocksberry, but the land was not good for farming. He moved west and established Springfield Massachusetts. William seems to have been a compassionate man, for he advocated trading with the local natives.  His philosophy differed greatly from those of the men running the Connecticut Colony, so instead he did business with the Massachusetts Bay Colony, even though he was located far away from Boston.

In addition to farming, this early settler wrote the first book that was banned in Boston.  His thoughts angered the Puritans, and eventually he returned to England, leaving his vast settlements in the Pioneer Valley to his children and their families. He also seems to have left a legacy of free thinking that was passed to writers in the central Massachusetts area centuries later.

Back then, Rocksberry was stuck out in the bay, off an isthmus, and in a good location for shipping and fishing. As the city of Boston grew, the coast was filled in.  Today Roxbury is about three miles from the water. In the 1840s, the neighborhoods in Roxbury were split up.  Where there was one town, now there were several neighborhoods, including Jamaica Plain, Roslindale, and Franklin Park.

The early settlers were replaced by indigent populations. Irish, German, and new waves of English settlers established neighborhoods in Roxbury, and became proud citizens.  They were not happy in the 1950s when the migration of black people from southern states brought busloads of indigent workers who were happy to do any job they could find.  The new neighbors were different.  They cooked different food, they wore strange clothes, they played jazz and laughed loudly.  Many of them could not read and write, but their church congregations became a powerful force, and Roxbury was a proving ground for civil rights, and integrated public education.

The latest wave of immigrants came from Puerto Rico. Their tastes and styles are reflected in the small boutiques and bars on the crowded streets. At night, dark and narrow alleys shelter drug users and criminals. Roxbury is home to a strange and dangerous combination of people - clashes occur often, sometimes with tragic results.

Today, the name of Rocksberry seems more apt than ever - a conglomeration of antique and modern and everything in between. Cultures from all over the world reside here in a single neighborhood, each distinct and different, like puddingstone.

My Health and Personal Rights

I remember being about 5 years old and standing in line at school for my drink of "orange juice" that vaccinated me against polio, and another line where I stolidly presented my left arm for an enormous four-pronged shot, the imprint lasting for many years.  It was some concoction of popular vaccines in the day (okay, early 1960s).  School-wide eye and ear exams, as well as vaccinations, were highly valued as benefits of the public school system.  I knew, even then, that it was not right.  Some children fainted, were excused, or had bad reactions later.  As part of a society that had beat smallpox and dyptheria, our parents were proud.
Even out in the hinterlands of Massachusetts, our water system was treated with flouride. That nobody asked whether there were any side-effects to swallowing this teeth enamel-strengthening substance surprises me.  As a child, I could only wonder if the reason lay beyond my limited powers of logic.
Now I have fifty or so years of questioning and listening and trying to make sense of things.  Fifty years of researching, breaking things down and rearranging them, putting real information into context that is useful and interesting...I am look at the flouride and the old vaccines, and wondering if we should not be learning something from them.
Mammography causes radiation.  Despite the prescribed limit of 2 rads, we usually need 3 pictures (at least).  That's 6 rads!  Now, in one exam, we have a 1 in 2000 risk of getting cancer from the mammogram.  But that factor stays the same no matter how many you get.  So if you have 15 mammograms over 15 years, you have a 1 in 133 chance of getting cancer from the mammogram itself.
It's simple math, like credit card interest.  And, like credit card companies, it's something the medical industry (and its overblown parasite, the medical insurance industry) don't want us to know.  And what I've found is they are very effective at eliminating their competition.
Almost nothing is available on the Internet about the dangers of mammography since 1997 - 16 years ago!  I did however find support on holistic care sites which describe the factors involved in radiation and breast cancer.  For me, this is encouragement to continue investigating treatments for my non-life-threatening issues and to keep questioning the prescribed methods and vague diagnoses of medical professionals who are not trained to aid me in gaining physical and emotional wellness.
My current concern and interest is hypothyroidism. I was diagnosed with lower than acceptable numbers about 8 years ago and have been taking a very small dose of Levothyroxin ever since.  I went to a new doctor recently, and the clinician taking my medical history made a comment about every woman over the age of 50 having hypothyroidism.  That got me to thinking.
I know lots of women "my age" and they are a mixed bag.  Size, ancestry, habits, occupations, outlooks, and personal relationships - all different.  I asked around.  They, too, were taking a thyroid T4 medication.  Then my Mom, who has had a variety of problems, was diagnosed with hypothyroidism and prescribed a low dosage of T4.  I ask myself: can this be right for everyone?  Is everyone suffering the same symptoms, taking the same cure, and experiencing the same relief?  And what about curing hypothyroidism - does that ever happen?
My doctor talked about reducing my cholesterol, getting more exercise.  Changing my life to avoid stressful situations.  All very good tips - for anybody, in any situation, anywhere in the world.  He is a nice guy, my doctor, but he is not an expert on menopausal women with professional careers and hypothyroidism.  Recently I decided to do some research on my own.
I have also been diagnosed with depression.  When I expressed confusion at this about ten years ago, and reminded the psychiatrist that I had been diagnosed with anxiety ten years earlier, he commented "Depression and anxiety go hand in hand."  I was so impressed I didn't question this until many years later, when I began to wonder whether I was on the path to a cure, or a life-long treatment.
Time to take a time-out, and see what symptoms I am really suffering from, and what specifically can boost my system to eliminate them.
My symptoms are not life-threatening.  I have a full-time profession career.  I have been married over 30 years old to a man I adore.  I have an adult daughter preparing for her Masters degree.  I have a home, a cat, a small personal artisan business.  I love to write, and I am a fan of history.  I believe we need to look to our past to understand where we are and to decide where to go.  I take my medical care very seriously, and I work with professionals to keep up to date with the results of tests and objective observations.  So working with my own therapy is under serious constraints and considerations.  Not to mention my family and friends love me and understand me well enough to help me when I need it.
That said, my new journey is one of exploring my body and my spirit in the context of the world I live in .  The vaccinations and mammography questions are just that - questions.  As are the TSH tests used to determine hypothyroidism.  These tests are not conclusive.  The medications are not the most effective. But more importantly, there is no indication of getting well - of recovering from the illness of hypothyroidism.  Yet, it is possible to manage, even cure, thyroid diseases.  Some alternative treatments are pretty weird, like taking dessicated thyroid tissue. But what if I told you it has a significantly higher rate of success in combating hypothyroidism than the conventional prescribed regime?
Going further, I learned that hypothyroidism can cause depression...not surprising, since it cuts off the blood supply to the brain.  That the right hypothyroidism treatment can ease depression. anxiety, and a host of other problems.  And that the thyroid hormone is behind all those symptoms of menopause you've been experiencing!  But I am taking medication for depression as well as hypothyroidism, and they are prescribed by different doctors, from the results of completely different tests.  If the doctors are not working together, how can you expect the medications to?  It is up to me to determine the real symptoms of my medical issues and to address and monitor them.  For that, I need information, both professional and personal.
Step  1 is to eliminate all medications and supplements from my diet.  I am trying natural, alternative supplements and solutions, one at a time, while monitoring specific symptoms (both causes and side-effects).  I am looking for a prescription of foods, activities, and attitudes to cure my health problems from the inside out.  I look forward to sharing what I find, whether effective or laughable, and letting you know my progress through this journey we call life.