Of Hills and Hamstrings

We just returned from what I like to call my annual "voluncation" where I go upstate New York and get to be a stage director again for an enormous theatrical/religious undertaking called The Hill Cumorah Pageant.

I am in no shape to be climbing hills and stages.  And yet, I went.  Next year, I will be lighter.  That is my vow.  But this year, not only was I too fat for the Hill, I had also suffered a serious injury just prior to departing.

I'm calling it a sky-diving related incident.

I'll save you the awkward details of the lead-up to the incident, and simply explain that, while walking on a rain-wet surface, I slipped, and went down.  All. the. way.

Fat people should not do the splits.  I thought I was fairly limber.  I'm not that limber.

In my mind, this is what I looked like when I fell:

In reality, it probably wasn't that glamorous.  My poor son who was with me, managed to assist his fat old mother upright, up a few stairs and a couple blocks to the car, whereupon I had a good cry, then drove the 60 minutes home, groaning in pain every time I had to apply the breaks.  I thought surely this meant I wouldn't be able to go to pageant.

But, my hamstring was only severely strained.  Which heals rather quickly, even though it left a very, very ugly bruise. But, by the time my flight left for New York, I was barely limping and was beginning to do stairs.  Slowly.  I took the hills and stairs slowly all week, mincing steps like a little old lady, and avoiding the highest stages at all costs.  But I did it.

Next year, I won't be so stupid, nor fat.  I showed the picture to my boss and his response was:  "well, at least you stuck the landing."  True that.

Dottore Pants

My husband and I spent four hours at a medical clinic today.  No, it's not Valentine's Day, thanks for asking. I know that's a little romantic tradition of ours, but today was even more special.  Today we met Doctor Vasquez.  I couldn't stop staring.  When he entered the room and shook our hands, I suddenly felt a little breathless and unsure of where I was.  Doctor Vasquez looks like what you think a doctor in a telenovella or soap opera should look like; young, handsome, latin, smooth, and very well-dressed.

I kept expecting him to say:  "No, I am not a Doctor, but I play one on television."

Instead, in response to every answered question he would say: "Good.  Muy bien."  And "shit".  He said "shit" several times, which is not what I'm used to hearing from a doctor.  But he said it in such a way that it wasn't offensive in the slightest.  He said it in a way that made me want to say it too.  And giggle.

And if ever there was a man who knows how to wear pants, it is Doctor Vasquez.

In the United States, men have not yet mastered the art of pants-wearing.  They are always too long, too short, too tight or too loose.  Not so for Doctor Vasquez.  It made me think just for a moment, that maybe I was in Italy again.  Or that I wanted to be wherever he came from.

The good news is that we anticipate seeing quite a bit more of Dr. Vasquez in the next few months. I'll let you know how it goes.  Muy bien.


Next time maybe I'll tell you about Miguel, my boyfriend in the Canary Islands.

New Ideas from Dead Public Administrators

I'm sure I haven't mentioned that I have gone back to school--in a manner of speaking.  I have embarked upon a Masters of Public Administration.  Long story.  One of my professors, recognizing that Public Administration theory is particularly dry, likes to shake things up by assigning us "Creative Applications" rather than research papers.  I have to admit, I rather enjoyed the first one.   The assignment was to write the "transcript" of a fictional talk show hosting three PA theorists.  I've made meager attempts at writing novels or even short stories in my life.  What I've found is that everything seems to come out dialogue.  So recently I've begun to think I'm actually a playwright at heart.  I digress.  I did enjoy this assignment (as much as one can enjoy something like this).  So indulge me if you will (it is my blog after all) and enjoy my "Creative Application No. 1" or as I like to call it, New Ideas from Dead PAs  (see if you can guess the talk show host who most inspired me in this endeavor for some Jen bonus points): 

The following is a transcript of a very fictional radio talk show based on very real historical figures.

Jennifer:  Welcome back everyone!  My next guests are here in the studio with me; they’ve travelled a long way to be here with us.  Sometimes I wish this was television and not radio because this is hard to believe without seeing it, but our next guests are actually dead—and have been for some time.  It is my privilege to welcome Max Weber, Frederick Taylor and Luther Gulick, all brilliant minds, forefathers in the field of Public Administration.  They’ve travelled all the way from the afterlife ladies and gentlemen, to talk to us today. I hope our current public administrators are listening today because I think we all need to hear what these men have to say.  Mr. Weber, I’d like to begin with a question for you.

Weber: Please, call me Max

Jennifer:  Certainly, Max I see here you were born in 1864, and died quite young at the age of 56 (Fry & Raadschelders, 2008). Yet, considering your relatively short life, you were a prolific writer.  How did you manage that?

Weber:  I started quite young, and felt I had a lot to say.

Gulick:  He’s a windbag—brilliant, but pedantic.

Taylor:  Why say in two words, what you can say in 30?

Weber:  Don’t mind them—I certainly don’t.   The afterlife has provided plenty of time for my search for lightheartedness.  You see, I was quite serious about, well, everything in my mortal life, so I’ve made a concerted effort to find humor in death.    

Jennifer:  I’m glad to hear that.  I do have to admit that I found your writing to be somewhat difficult to get through at times.   

Gulick:  Admit it, you fell asleep didn’t you?  Happens to me all the time.  It’s dry stuff.

Jennifer:  Let’s just say that it was so interesting, that I had to read much of it twice.

Taylor:  It helps if you only read every other paragraph—you get the gist but in half the time.

Weber:  Laugh it up Speedy Gonzaga, you’ll have your turn. 

Jennifer:  It seems you’ve all become friends in the hereafter.

Weber:  Oh most certainly.  I never had much time in my mortal life to get to know these two—and of course Frederick and I died about the time Luther over there was just catching his stride.  But for all their frivolous mockery, I daresay they both studied my writings extensively in their time, so I imagine something I said was useful to them in their work.

Jennifer:  So during the decades since your death, have you had an opportunity to follow much of our current state of affairs in this country?

Weber:  Undoubtedly.  I find it quite fascinating to watch principles, the study of which I dedicated the better part of my life, manifest themselves posthumously.

Jennifer:  Can you give us an example?

Weber:  For instance, I’ve always considered democracy not as “the end of the historical process, but as a precarious condition” (Titunik, 1997).

Jennifer:  How so?

Weber:  In the sense that a democracy, contrary to being simply the panacea of a free society, will eventually produce a new aristocracy—a new elite political class of wealthy, technically experienced bureaucrats.  This is indeed what we are all watching develop in the modern political arena.  The reality is that the working man does not have time and wealth sufficient to govern (Fry & Raadschelders, 2008). Far from a free, self-governing populace, we see the emergence of wealthy career politicians.

Taylor:  Somebody nudge Gulick, I think he fell asleep at the end there.

Jennifer:  Mr. Taylor--

Taylor:  Please, call me Frederick.

Gulick:  Or Freddy.  Better yet, Fred.  It’s more efficient.  He prefers that.

Jennifer:  Okay Frederick.  Teasing aside, I’d like to address this concept of efficiency. You are known as the Father of Scientific Management and renowned for your efforts at creating efficiency in management and industry.  Do you feel that there is ever a limit to efficiency?

Taylor:  In theory no.  In practice, efficiency is limited by many factors of human shortcomings; mostly surmountable with time. 

Jennifer:  So, if we had sufficient time, talent and training, the possibilities of efficiency are limitless?

Taylor: Precisely. 

Gulick:  Be warned, this man is all racket and no balls.

Jennifer:  I’d like to point out for our sensitive listeners that Mr. Gulick was commenting on your tendency towards efficiency at all cost as well as referencing your time as a champion tennis player.  Isn’t that correct, Mr. Gulick?

Gulick:  Certainly, and please call me Luther.  What I was attempting to convey (although admittedly with a dose juvenile levity) is that if Frederick believed that the game of tennis could be played more efficiently by eliminating the tennis ball, he would do so, without regard for the organic necessity of the ball to the game.   

Jennifer:  Yes, I read about this in your work.  Can you explain for our listeners, the concept of organic limitations to the division of labor (Gulick & Urwick, 1937/2012)?

Gulick:  Yes of course, you see, there is a limit to efficiency, particularly in the division of labor.  For example “it might seem far more efficient to have the front half of the cow in the pasture grazing and the rear half in the barn being milked all of the time, but this organic division would fail” for obvious reasons (Gulick & Urwick, 1937/2012).   I’m not sure Frederick over there realizes any such limitation.

Jennifer:  Frederick?  Do you agree with this organic limitation?

Taylor:  Yes and no.  We are limited only by knowledge and time--

Gulick:  You see what I mean?  Tell me Frederick, how exactly do you propose to split the cow?

Taylor:  What I was about to say before I was interrupted—

Weber:  Knock knock?

Taylor:  Good heavens Max, do you really think this is the place to practice your knock knock jokes?

Weber:  Oh, play along, then you can get back to dissecting the cow.  I assure you, it is relevant.  Come on.  Knock Knock?

Taylor: I shall defer to our gracious host.  Max here, as part of his efforts at finding the humor in death, that he found unattainable in life, has been collecting jokes.  Would you like a sampling?

Jennifer:  Certainly, as long as we get back to dissecting the cow.  Alright Max, who’s there?

Weber:  Interrupting Cow.

Jennifer:  Interrupting Co--

Weber:  --MOO!!!  Ha! Ha!  What a clever joke!

Taylor:  Hilarious Max.  Are you finished?

Weber:  Yes, I’m quite finished, please continue.                                                 

Taylor:  As I was say—

Weber:  --MOO!!  Oh, how I love the modern knock knock joke.  I’m sorry, you were saying?

Taylor:  As I was saying, the problem is not in the splitting of the cow.  It’s not that we lack the scientific ability to split the cow in this manner (which, granted we do).  It’s in management’s inability to properly conceptualize the problem.  The manager, who is the dairy farmer in this instance, has not properly gathered the knowledge, or studied out the various parts of the system.   I would venture to say that the inefficiencies of this system lie in the time lost in taking the cow to and from the barn.  But that is the way in which it has always been done by the farmer.  That is the old “rule of thumb” (Taylor, 1912/2012) which management must strive to replace with knowledge.  Luther has confused the division of labor with the division of the laborer.  You don’t take the front half of the cow out to pasture, you bring the pasture to the front of the cow.   I believe they do this in your modern dairy operations.  They milk the animal while it feeds at a trough. Brilliant.  I wish I’d conceived of this in my lifetime.  I would have been the father of Scientific and Dairy Management.

Jennifer:  You’ve obviously given this some thought.

Taylor:  My life’s work was making the inefficient efficient and the efficient more so.  However I do concede that with eternity now before me, sometimes I wonder at the necessity of all that efficiency. 

Gulick:  Perhaps you should spend some time figuring out how to dissect a cow?

Weber:  MOO!

Jennifer:  Alright, I think it’s time we turned to Luther.  You have at times been called “The Dean of Public Administration.”  This is because your career in the study and practice of public administration spans 70 years; a good decade or so longer than either of your colleagues here even lived.  You only passed away in 1990, which means in your 100-year lifetime, you witnessed nearly the entire history of the modern public administration movement.  It says here that “if there is a single person who personifies public administration in the United States, it is Luther Gulick” (Fry & Raadschelders, 85).  Do you feel this is a fair estimation?

Taylor:  Luther, are you blushing?  I didn’t think dead men blushed.

Gulick:  Whether it is fair or not is really a question for others.  I do say that my life was very fulfilling as a public servant.  I enjoyed my work.  It also felt very long at the time.  Now however, it seems but a blip on the eternal radar.

Jennifer:  I can only imagine.  One thing I did note in my studies is that many scholars in this arena have written about the need to distinguish in practice, the political from the administrative.  This was the prevalent thought among scholars throughout most, if not all of your lifetime.  Yet you consistently advocated for the intertwining of the two?  Why do you differ on this point?  And in observing the politics of today, do you continue to hold to this opinion?

Gulick:  Consider for a moment your government’s current state of affairs with regards to the political and the administrative.  Would you say that they are separate, or overlapping? 

Jennifer:  Definitely overlapping.   

Gulick:  Precisely.  And do you recall a time when administration and politics were successfully separated?

Jennifer:  Well, no.

Gulick:  Thank you for proving my point.  I don’t advocate for separation, first and foremost because I believe that separation is impossible and impractical (Fry & Raadschelders, 86).  I also believe that separation is not only impossible but is undesirable, or is not perhaps the most ideal situation, given the political realities. 

Jennifer:  So do you think the current system is working fine in this regard?

Gulick:  Not necessarily.  I think that the politic can harmoniously be involved in the administrative without being unduly meddlesome, but in the current state of affairs, that line is regularly crossed.

Jennifer:  Politics is presently meddling too much in administration?

Gulick:   To the point of paralysis.  Consider the recent political government shutdown stunt.  What was the impetus?

Jennifer:  The Affordable Healthcare Act.

Gulick:  Exactly!  A law that should have been well into the administration phase of its lifespan, and here it is, forever languishing in the political arena.  Obviously there is political discord over this law, which requires some continued interaction between the political and the administrative; which is why I say complete separation is impossible.  But when we reach the point of government shut down due to a law that is legally on the books, we’ve tipped the balance.

Jennifer:  We’re going to have to let that be the last word as we are out of time.  I have thoroughly enjoyed our visit here today and I thank you all for being here.

Gulick:  Well, thank you.  It has been delightful.

Taylor:  Yes, the pleasure has been--       

Weber:  --MOO!  Sorry, couldn’t resist there.  Of course, thank you. 

Jennifer:  And a special thanks to our producer, River Sticks and our new intern Weeji B. Horde.  I’m not sure how they managed it, but was largely due to their efforts that we were able to have these distinguished guests on our show today.  Thank you, and please join us next time. 

 

 

 

References

Fry, B. R. & Raadschelders, J.C.N. (2008). Mastering public administration: From Max Weber to Dwight Waldo (2nd ed.).  Washington, DC: CQ Press.

Gulick, L. & Urwick, L., eds. (2012). The study of administration. In J.M Shafritz and A.C. Hyde, Classics of Public Administration (7^th ed. pp. 81-89). (Original work published 1937).  Boston:  Wadsworth.

Taylor, F.W. (2012).  Scientific management. In J.M Shafritz and A.C. Hyde, Classics of public administration (7^th ed. pp. 37-39). (Original work published 1912).  Boston:  Wadsworth.

Titunik, R. F. (1997). The continuation of history: Max Weber on the advent of a new aristocracy. Journal of Politics, 59(3), 680.

 

The Day the Magic Died

We have not been staunch protectors of parental mythological secrets.  When our children have asked challenging questions, we've neither confirmed nor denied their suspicions.  We simply respond with something along the lines of "wow, how do you think Santa makes it to every house in the world in one night?"  When they'd pretty much worked it out for themselves and presented their case, we simply explained that as a family, we play some fun games.  Those who wish to continue to reap the benefits of the game (i.e. presents) must continue to play the game.  Those who are tired of receiving presents from Santa are free to stop playing.  When they vocally question the magic of the game the response is something like "are we done playing the game?  because my life would be certainly be simplified if we stopped playing the game."  This usually elicits a response of "oh no, I'm still playing the game!" 

This year my seven-year-old discovered "air quotes."  His new version of the game therefore is to ask me questions like "did you tell 'santa' about those shoes I want for Christmas?"  I'm not so sure this qualifies as playing the game, but it's pretty cute.  So this year "Santa" made no effort to hide all those amazon packages that arrive all December long.  Instead they just piled up in my office--the pay off here is how crazy that pile of boxes drove my children.  "What do you think is in this one?  Can I open just one?!"  to a response of "you peek or guess, game's over and it goes back."  Tons of mental torture fun. 

Today my son lost a tooth.  He came running to me with the bloody thing in his hand asking what he should do with it.  Grossed out, I suggested he throw it in the garbage and the "toothfairy" would hand him 50 cents here and now.  He declined and chose instead to play the game.  I hope I remember to scrounge up some quarters before I pass out tonight.  This "toothfairy" has a poor track record for remembering her duty. 

Now It Is Written

In my old age, I am growing ever more comfortable with being thought of as a jerk.  So be it.  I have enough self-esteem and sufficient friends that if there are a few people out there who think I'm a terrible human being, I'm not going to sweat it.  Heck, some days I agree with them.

But, masters, remember that I am an
    ass; though it be not written down, yet forget not
    that I am an ass.
--Much Ado About Nothing, IV.2 

The Cold War

I know, it's been far too long and all the excuses and such. I've been busy, okay?  I just popped in to mention a few of interesting facts I've learned this winter as the temperatures have dipped.  There were some days in December and January where we had to turn off the AC and turn on the heater (gasp!).  We had a whole week where the daytime highs did not break 50!  And some nights that have dipped below 40!  And so, in my miserliness I have set the thermostat for the furnace to a chilly 68 degrees at night (I'm such a Scrooge!).  Here we go, I'll try and type these with a straight face:

1. Drinking ice-water causes fever and a head-cold.  In fact foregoing ice is just the first step.  It's wisest to zap your water in the microwave for a few seconds before consuming.  One can never be too cautious.
2. Same goes for cold milk, or other cold foods.  Excepting of course ice-cream.  Somehow ice-cream is exempt from the illness rule. (But if you eat "cold" cereal, be sure to warm it up in the microwave--safety first).
3. Going outside with wet hair causes a sore-throat (I think--so hard to keep the diseases straight)
4. Going barefoot on cold floor can cause "female problems"
5. Sitting on a cold surface can cause urinary tract infection, hemorrhoids and other unmentionable below-the-waste ailments (because viruses like cold temps--and illness comes from something laying dormant in your body, just waiting for the proper cold temperature to make a go of it).
6. One can be "allergic" to cold, even if one hails from an incredibly cold climate (one can also just be paranoid).  If the temperature in a house gets below 70 degrees this will induce coughing, runny nose, hives, and I would assume eventual death.  The cure is to stuff your comforter in your closet, sleep in your underwear with a light sheet over you and turn the heat up to about 80.  
7. A draft of air, particularly of cold air and particularly while one is sleeping can cause severe nerve damage/paralysis (this one I knew from my days in Italy) so under no circumstances should any vent, fan or window be allowed to be on or opened indoors (especially in a bedroom) and all caution should be taken to cover every inch of ones body out of doors when there is any kind of breeze.  If it's windy, just stay home.  Especially if you've washed your hair in the past week.
8. Illness is caused by a change in the weather, or getting slightly chilled in some way (see above), not from simply being exposed to disease-causing micro-organisms, particularly in closed quarters.  This is why kids tend to get sick about the time they go back to school--because the weather is changing, not simply because they're suddenly locked indoors with other kids who may be sick.
9. We should all move to Russia because they have antibiotics that prevent and/or kill viruses. (If only the CDC knew!)

Oh, and an extra one, not related to temperature but useful information all the same--did you know that the reason a child may develop a stutter is simply because the child suffered a terrifying incident (such as someone jumping out from hiding and yelling "Boo!").  So take care not to scare your child.  Seriously.

Living Obituary

As promised, the obituary I wrote for my mother.  And no, I don't typically write obituaries for the living, but my mother had emailed around this obituary to her children and specifically noted that we could use it for a template for hers.  So in my defense, I was just doing what my mother told me to do. (Names and other identifying details have been changed to protect the innocent and guilty alike).

Sophronia LaDorn Knudertonsen, 1948 ~ present, Western Front, Utah - The Lake Effect Smog which so characterizes Salt Lake’s West Side thinned just a little yesterday, a tribute to the passing of one of its treasured daughters, Sophronia LaDorn Knudertonsen. It is fitting that Sophronia died in her own recliner located equidistant between the classic brown hot-tub in her perfectly manicured backyard, and the incomparable Honda Civic in her garage, which dominated the landscape of her life and which she faithfully drove to work until the day of her death. Sophronia was as strong as the steel with which the car had been built by factory workers in Japan and she never wanted to live in any city, state, or nation that could not provide her a hot soak in a snowstorm. Sophronia was born July 4th, 1948, the first of two children to Ernesto Heinz and Salina Epperstein LaDorn.  She attended local schools where she was the “E(1)” of the famed Western Front High Letter-Highs, sitting between the remarkably devoted “W” and “S”, sometimes between the "T" and "R" when E(2) was unavailable . On October 31, 1970, Sofronia married LaMar Knudertonsen who, with his Liechtenstein charm, swept her off her feet . . . three times over three consecutive years at the same annual dance before she politely reminded him they’d met before and he figured he ought to propose. She found her deepest trials and truest sense of irony in mothering four sons and a daughter, Abraham Lincoln Knudertonsen of Nashville, Tennessee, Albert Einstein Knudertonsen of Pocatello, Idaho, Marie Curie Knudertonsen-Rodriguez of Oak Ridge, Tennessee,  Pablo Picasso Knudertonsen of Orlando, Florida, and Orville Wright Knudertonsen of Waco, TX, who has felt short-changed since infancy. Her joy has been magnified in her senior years by watching the TiVo, and listening to her daughter's incessant prattle daily on the telephone. Her dog Amidala and her parakeet, Flippers preceded her in death. She is survived by the Energizer Bunny. Sophronia reluctantly served as president in all the auxiliaries of the LDS Church, at least twice, with perhaps her happiest years being those directly following each release. When she wasn’t visiting her grandchildren or talking on the phone, she served faithfully as an Accountant at a world-renowned tax firm in Salt Lake City near the LDS Temple where, after many decades, they’re still trying to downplay the embarrassment caused by that little episode on South Temple. The family wishes to thank the host of friends, neighbors and professionals who tolerated her crankiness and combed the back of her hair in her declining years. Special mention must be made of her husband, LaMar Knudertonsen, who washed her car nearly every day of her life, her psychiatrist, and the devoted employees of the local Joanne Fabrics. Her thoughtful grandsons Harrison Ford Knudertonsen-Rodriguez and Luke Skywalker Knudertonsen-Rodriguez repeatedly offered to just shoot her with various pieces of their personal arsenals in her final months.  Appreciation is expressed to the members of the Wards that attend the church behind her back fence for their faithfulness and compassion despite the raucous Sunday hot tub parties during their worship meetings. Funeral services will be held in that same backyard at 11:00 am this Saturday, as her final request was to be buried under deck by the hot tub.  Also at Sophronia’s request, there will be a clogging party and open mike poetry slam held Friday, from 5:00 to 8:00 p.m. in her garage. In lieu of flowers, please feel free to vote multiple times for any clogging group on all future episodes of America’s Got Talent, or to just do a little dance of your choosing, while thinking of Sophronia. Arrangements are made under the influence of lots of chocolate. Friends and family are invited to post comments about embarrassing moments in Sophronia’s life on her daughter’s blog:  http://image-jen.blogspot.com/

I've now posted explicit and personal details about my mother on two consecutive days.  I realize I've dropped off the blogging map for a while there, but I'm waiting to see when she decides to check in on my blog and whether she requests I remove either posting . . . anyone want to place bets? 

I lost that bet, but I do think the edited version may surpass the original.