There’s Always a Choice

My last post about spam generated some interesting comments.

One commenter suggested that spammers have to spam because they can’t afford to pay for backlinks and have no other way to rank well in the search engines. I totally disagree with that position and wrote a long comment in rebuttal. I got on my soapbox so much I decided to move the soapbox to a post instead of a comment.

There are three specific reasons that I disagree with the theory that anyone has to spam.

Reason #1. I don’t think spamming is going to get them to the first page or anywhere else in Google or any other search engine. Few if any of their comments will ever appear on any blog because they will be caught by spam filters. If the comments do appear anywhere, it will be on sites that don’t do a good job of screening for spam. No one achieves a high page rank by allowing spam comments, so the only places where spam is likely to slip through won’t help the spammers with the search engines.  

Reason #2. It’s not necessary to spam to get decent rankings in the search engines. I have never spammed anyone in my life, and I have not gone out of my way to optimize my site for any keywords. This is a hobby for me, so I don’t work on getting traffic. Yet this blog is a PR4 and ranks well in the search engines. For example, posts on this blog are #1 on Google for “freelance editing rates” and in the top 10 for “creating fictional characters.” I figured that out only after getting lots of comments on those posts on a regular basis and deciding to see where the visitors were coming from. When I looked at Google Analytics, I realized that a large percentage of people coming to those posts come from search engines. I haven’t checked out any other terms, so it’s possible there are more terms for which this blog ranks well. If I had worked on search engine optimization, I’m sure I could rank high for a number of search terms. I’ve done it by providing  content that at least some people want to read and by leaving relevant comments on other blogs. I do those things because I enjoy doing them; fortunately, they also happen to be good SEO techniques.

Reason #3. Aside from reasons #1 and #2, everyone has the freedom to choose. No one is holding a gun to the spammers’ heads saying, “Spam or I’ll shoot.” Even then, the spammer has a choice. I’m sure most of us would choose to save our lives, but we could make the other choice. There is always a choice. It’s possible, though I don’t think likely, that the choice is either to do something wrong or to fail in business. If those were my only choices, I would rather fail in business than to do something unethical to succeed.

One of my pet peeves is to read in a novel:  “She had no choice but to …” Perhaps she shoplifts food because she sees no other way to feed her family. She thinks she has no choice, but she can choose whether to let the family go hungry or to shoplift food.  Shoplifting may be the best choice she can see in the situation, but it is a choice. In most situations, there are other, less obvious, options that we may not be able to see. But even we see only two extreme options, we do have a choice.

No, spammers don’t have to spam any more than the heroine in the hypothetical novel has to shoplift.

I’ll get off my soapbox now and see what you have to say about choices. Do you think there are circumstances where “she had no choice”?

photo credit: fsse8info

Memories of My Father

Today on Father’s Day, I’m remembering my father. He’s been in Heaven for 15 years now, but I still miss him.

He was born on a farm near the small town of Dilley, Texas, and lived there his entire life except for the time he served in the Army and the time he spent in a nursing home at the end of his life.

He met my mother when he was stationed in Utah during World War II. She followed him to Texas, far away from home and family, and gave up her Mormon religion to join him as a member of the Methodist Church. They raised six children with little money but plenty of love, faith, hard work, and commitment. Their lives revolved around their children, and they set excellent examples as Christian parents, friends, and neighbors. 

Daddy had a great sense of humor, and I loved the mischievous grin he sported so often.

Although he had only a high school education, Daddy was one of the smartest people I’ve ever met and was a whiz at math. He could work any problem in his head, but he couldn’t tell you how he arrived at the answer. As a kid, I used to test him by asking him to solve a problem and checking his answer on a calculator. Daddy always answered before the calculator processed the problem, and his answer was always right. When I asked him how he knew the answer, he said, “That’s just what it is.”

He prided himself on being independent and self-sufficient. To provide for his family, he worked for the post office in addition to running the farm. He grew our food—produce from the garden and meat from the livestock—and could repair anything with a little baling wire or duct tape.

One Sunday morning, Mama found Daddy standing in front of the mirror in the bedroom holding his tie and looking confused. He couldn’t remember how to tie a tie, though he had worn a tie to church every Sunday for decades. Then he was presiding as commander of the American Legion and became lost and didn’t know what he was doing. Those were the early signs of Alzheimer’s disease. After he suffered a heart attack on Father’s Day, the Alzheimer’s accelerated dramatically.

We watched this once bright, independent, and happy man deteriorate mentally and physically over the next seven years. My mother cared for him at home with the help of paid caregivers, my sisters, nieces and nephews, and me. Finally it reached the point that he required more care than could be provided at home, and he had to go to a nursing home. The nearest facility that could accommodate his needs was about an hour away For the last few months of his life, he lay in a bed—unable to control his bodily functions, unable to communicate, and unable to recognize loved ones.

He loved his farm and his cattle and had always wanted to die in the same place he was born. When the nursing staff notified us the end was near—probably within a few hours, my mother, sisters, and I rushed to the nursing home. One of my sisters and her husband had a van with a wheelchair lift for my niece. We strapped Daddy into a wheelchair and loaded him in the van to drive to the farm, praying all the way that he would live long enough to die on his beloved farm.

When we arrived at the farm, he fought my brother-in-law and nephews when they carried him into the house. He had the look in his eyes of a trapped animal, a look of fear that had been in his eyes for years. We got him into the house and into bed in my parents’ bedroom, which had windows all around the two outside walls.

My mother, sisters, nephews and nieces, and I took turns sitting with Daddy. We held his hand. We told him we loved him. We described what we saw outside the windows—the fields, the cattle, the sunshine. We let him know that he would never be alone. Gradually that trapped animal look left his eyes, and his eyes and face filled with a beautiful look of incredible peace.

We brought him home from the nursing home on a Tuesday morning, and he was still living Friday evening. The last time I sat with him, I said, “Daddy, we love you, and we’ll miss you when you go. But you’ve done your life’s work, and it’s time for you to go home to Heaven. You don’t have to worry about Mama. We’ll take good care of her just like you’ve taken good care of her and all of us. We’ll always miss you, and we’ll always love you.” I continued in that vein for quite a while.

In the very early hours of the next morning, he slipped away quietly and went home to the Lord.

Happy Father’s Day, Daddy. I miss you!

I shared memories of my mother on Mother’s Day and memories of both of my parents on the fifth anniversary of my mother’s death.

Memories of My Mother

Today on Mother’s Day, I’m remembering my mother. She departed this earth for Heaven nearly seven years ago, but I still miss her.

 She was born in California, where her parents were migrant workers. Her family lived in migrant camps with people who were all poor and mostly minority. She was comfortable with diversity long before it became a buzzword. As a teenager, she moved to Utah to live with her grandmother after the death of her grandfather.

She and Daddy met when he was stationed in Utah during World War II, and she moved to Texas to marry him when he came home from the war. She left her family and became part of his, gave up her Mormon religion and joined the Methodist Church my father attended.

For the nearly fifty years of their marriage, they lived on the farm where my father had been born and would eventually die. Mama was a good farm wife and wonderful mother to her six children.

Both of my parents always put their kids first and supported us in everything we did—driving to football games to watch the girls march in the band or the boys play football, going to dances to hear my brother play drums in a Western band, attending school plays and concerts, and cheering us on in all our activities. 

They were strict disciplinarians and expected us to do well in school. Seeing the look of disappointment on their faces when I did something wrong was worse punishment than a spanking.

After my youngest sister entered school, Mama took a training course to become a licensed vocational nurse (LVN). She was an excellent nurse, showing the same love and attention to her patients as she did to her family.

Mama was quiet and unassuming, but she also enjoyed a good laugh. She had a little pillow on her favorite chair embroidered with the words: “My family tree is full of nuts.” All of those nuts found a sympathetic ear and wise counsel whenever they went to Mama for advice or help.

After they raised her family, Mama and Daddy raised four more children. They treated the two grandchildren and their half siblings who had no blood or legal relationship to my parents exactly like they had treated their own children. From time to time, they took in other children who were having problems.

Daddy was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s shortly after my sister and I went on a fabulous cruise with my parents. Mama spent the next seven years or so caring for him. She was in poor health herself so had to have help. My siblings and nieces and nephews and I helped, but eventually she had to put him in a nursing home for advanced medical care. The nearest facility that could handle his needs was more than fifty miles away from the farm. Mama could no longer drive; someone drove her to visit Daddy two or three times a week, even after he no longer knew her. She cared for him until the day he died, then she spent the remaining eight years of her life showering her love and care on the rest of the family.

Happy Mother’s Day, Mama. I miss you!

Abject Terror + A Bluff = New Confidence

Lori Widmer’ recent post at Words on the Page, Worthwhile Tip: Stop Apologizing , encourages writers to stop doubting themselves.

It reminded me of something totally unrelated to writing, but an event that may well have given me the self-confidence to try anything. I left a comment on Lori’s post but decided to share the story here as well.

I was the first person in my family to go to college, and I was in a work-study program to help pay for my education. I was assigned to the library, and when I showed up to find out what my job would be, the librarian took me into a tiny office. “Your application said you took typing,” she said. “You’ll type the catalog cards for us.”

There was a problem, however—and I’m really dating myself now! The small high school I attended owned only one electric typewriter. We each got to type on it once during the year; the rest of the time, we used the old manual typewriters. We didn’t even get to turn on the electric—the teacher turned it on for us and just let us type a few paragraphs.

As you’ve probably figured out, the typewriter in the library was an electric. I immediately panicked. I saw myself being kicked out of school because I couldn’t do the job, humiliating myself and dashing my family’s dreams of having a member with a college education.

I took a deep breath and asked, “Do you have a manual for this machine? I’m not familiar with this model, and I’d like to read up on it to save time when I start.”

The librarian handed me the book that held the secrets to this challenging piece of equipment. I took it back to my dorm room and read it, re-read it, and studied it. The next day, I reported to work and turned on that typewriter just as if I’d done a hundred times before.

I don’t know if the librarian ever realized I didn’t know what I was doing. She never gave any indication she did, and in a few months, she started giving me the most complicated jobs in the library. She was also the faculty secretary and even had me type the minutes and correspondence for the faculty.

After that, I realized I could do a lot more than I gave myself credit for. To this day, when someone asks if I can do something, I say, “Of course.” Then I go figure out how to do it.

photo credit: alexkerhead

Happy New Year

May the Lord richly bless you and your loved ones in the coming year.

May your eyes be filled with beauty, your ears with music, your heart with love, your days with light, and your life with joy.

In spite of whatever challenges you face, may you always experience the peace of the Lord that passes all understanding.

Christmas Gift and Christmas Memories

Merry Christmas!

I hope the Advent readings posted here daily are giving you a moment of quiet devotion in the midst of the busy days preparing for Christmas.

To experience similar moments after Advent is past, download my Christmas gift to you: Scripture/prayer cards that you can print on your computer printer. Print on both sides of card stock or business card forms, and cut into individual cards with a Scripture on one side and a prayer on the other.

And take some time to sit with a cup of coffee or tea and remember past Christmases and special times with family. My Christmas memories may help give your own memories a boost.

Christmas Gift-Giving

Jesus is the reason for the season. Christmas is celebrating the coming of Christ to earth as a tiny babe in a manger to give us all eternal life. That should always be our focus.

However, gift-giving has long been part of our Christmas traditions. The Wise Men worshipped and gave gifts to the Christ Child. The tradition of Santa Claus came from Saint Nicholas, a bishop known for giving gifts to the poor.

Giving gifts to family and friends is a way to show our love for them. Our gifts don’t have to be lavish or expensive. In fact, the best gifts are often simple and inexpensive.

• Coupons that can be redeemed for babysitting, shopping, running errands, or other chores can be a real treat for a busy mom, an individual with limitations that make those chores difficult, or anyone who enjoys being pampered.
• Volunteering together to help with a charity toy drive or a party for disadvantaged children can create special Christmas memories for everyone involved.
• Recipients cherish handmade gifts and value the time and effort the giver puts into creating the gift.
• When you buy gifts, choose them to match the recipient’s interests, even if the cost is low and the gift isn’t a typical choice. The purpose isn’t to impress people with how much money you spend or how glamorous the gift is. The purpose is to show your love and give pleasure to someone you care about.

Of course, I may be just a tad biased, but I can’t think of a better gift than a book. Choosing a title and genre that appeals to the reader on your list demonstrates that you pay attention to their interests. For suggestions on great books (she said modestly), visit these pages of my Web site:

• My books—books I’ve written
• My clients’ books—books I’ve edited for clients
• My guests’ books—books I’ve reviewed or by authors I’ve interviewed

If you don’t find the perfect book there, you can also find information about great books at the following sites:

• Books We Love—promotional site for authors of books is all genres and formats, with a contest going on now
• Goodreads—reader community with reviews and ratings from readers
• Nothing Binding—site featuring independent authors of books in all genres
• Book Hitch—search engine for books of all kinds

You can find equally wonderful gifts for people on your list with interests other than reading. What does he love to do? What is her favorite indulgence? What would smiles on their faces? When you can answer those questions, gift-giving is made easy.

Don’t forget to download my gift to you: Scripture/prayer cards that have a Bible verse on one side and a prayer on the other. You can download a PDF file and print the cards on your own computer printer. Reading one of the cards can create a brief moment of devotion in a busy day.

Wishing you a blessed and joyous Christmas!

photo credit: wolfsavard

Good Luck and a Good Memory

I listened to a voice mail message earlier this week. A man gave his name, then said, “Please call me at your earliest convenience at the main office of the electric coop.” He ended with his phone number.

As a trustee and the secretary/treasurer of a trust my parents established to keep the small family farm intact after their deaths, I pay all the bills. Had I forgotten to pay the rural electrical cooperative that supplied electricity to the farm? That had never happened before, but one time I made a mistake in recording the meter reading. Now the coop reads the meter, so it couldn’t be that.

This certainly wasn’t the time to have the power turned off. We’re in the midst of a severe drought, and just a few weeks ago, the water level had dropped so low that the pump couldn’t reach it. Our tenant farmer had to haul water for the cattle for a couple of days until the well was repaired. It took another forty feet of pipe and several hundred dollars to get the well pumping again.

I’m conscientious about paying bills, so it’s unlikely I missed a payment, but what else could he be calling about? I told myself to quit trying to guess what the man wanted and just return the call and find out.

As soon as I identified myself, he said, “Congratulations! You’re the winner of the $250 electrical credit from the proxy drawing at the annual meeting.” The coop must have a certain percentage of its members vote at the annual meeting so the office mails out proxy ballots for members who can’t attend in person to mail in.

“Wow!” I responded. “I didn’t even pay close enough attention to realize there was going to be a drawing, so this is really a surprise.”

The coop representative said, “We didn’t announce it. The drawing was a surprise to everyone.” He explained that the credit had already been applied to our account, and we won’t need to make another payment until the credit is used up.

This surprise win reminded me of something that happened when I was in elementary school. The hardware store in the little town nearest to our family’s farm held a drawing. To enter, customers had to fill out a form with their contact information and their choice of prize. The store would give either a freezer or an evaporative cooler to the winner of the drawing. No one we knew had air conditioning in our rural area in the 1950s. We thought a window unit that cooled by evaporation of water, commonly called a swamp cooler, was air conditioning. All of us kids were excited about the possibility of winning an air conditioner.

But when Daddy filled out the form, he put the checkmark in the top box, which was a freezer. “Daddy,” we protested. “We already have a deep freeze! We want an air conditioner.”

“It doesn’t make any difference what I put,” he answered. “We’re not going to win anyway.”

He was wrong. He won—a freezer. I’m sure he didn’t even consider asking to change the prize. Daddy never wanted to rock the boat. I suspect he thought a freezer was a better prize anyway. A large family with cattle to butcher and garden crops to harvest could easily use two freezers. A swamp cooler in one window in one room wouldn’t make much difference in the big, old rambling farmhouse.

For a long time, we kids whined, “But we wanted an air conditioner.”

photo credit: p-duke

Wishing You a Blessed 2009

As we begin a new year, I thank you for reading and commenting on my blog, for buying and reading my book, for working with you on your writing and editing projects.

I wish each of you a blessed 2009, a year of health, happiness, and success. And when your blessings are interspersed with trials and tribulations, may you enjoy the peace that passes understanding as you become stronger and wiser.

Happy New Year 2009!

ALMIGHTY God, who alone gavest us the breath of life, and alone canst keep alive in us the holy desires thou dost impart; We beseech thee, for thy compassion’s sake, to sanctify all our thoughts and endeavours; that in the coming year we may neither begin an action without a pure intention nor continue it without thy blessing. And grant that, having the eyes of the mind opened to behold things invisible and unseen, we may in heart be inspired by thy wisdom, and in work be upheld by thy strength, and in the end be accepted of thee as thy faithful servants; through Jesus Christ our Saviour. Amen.

Christmas Memories

Karen Swim’s post I Gave at the Office started me thinking about past Christmases. Karen wrote about obligatory office gift-giving and offered several excellent alternatives. 

I’ve worked alone for a dozen years or so now so I don’t deal with these issues. But when I owned an interior landscape company, we always had a dinner for our employees and their families. We set up tables in the warehouse, so obviously it was a casual affair. Everyone brought a dish, and  we had a good time relaxing together and getting to know everyone’s spouses and kids.

We also gave the employees a chance to volunteer together to distribute toys to needy children. The Elf Louise Project  was started in 1969 by a college student who collected toys for 13 families. Now the charity delivers toys to more than 20,000 children in about 6,000 families with the help of nearly 5,000 volunteers.

Employees of our interior landscape company who wanted to participate signed up to join a company Elf Louise team. Our company usually fielded several 3-man teams at different times during the holiday season.

One person was assigned to be Santa—the organization provided a Santa suit. One was the driver who had to stay with the car at all times, and the third was the elf responsible for navigating and keeping track of which kid got what toy.

We were given safety warnings, such as never park in a position where we couldn’t make a fast getaway, because many of the homes we delivered toys to were in high-crime neighborhoods. One night the team I was with ended up on a dead-end street. As we were leaving, a carload of rough-looking teenagers pulled in front of us and screeched to a stop. All four doors were thrown open and what looked like a gang of youths jumped out and ran over to our car.

We sat there frantically trying to figure a way out. The boys ran up to the window, yelling, “Santa! Santa! Santa!” We gave them candy from Santa’s bag—Elf Louise provided lots of candy to give away to the kids not on Santa’s list who inevitably showed up when Santa arrived. All our candy that night went to the “gang” of tough-looking guys, who grinned and high-fived each other and said, “Thanks, Santa!” Then they jumped back in their car and drove away.

Experiences like that are worth more than any gifts we could exchange with coworkers.

That memory sparked a memory of another Santa experience.

photo credit: Philms

When I was a member of a local organization for women business owners, we wanted to do something for the Battered Women’s Shelter for Christmas. Our contact told us they had lots of gifts and parties already donated for Shelter residents, but they had just started a program to help women and their children transition to life on their own. Women who had been placed in jobs and moved into apartments needed Christmas presents for their children. We volunteered to host a party and give gifts to those families. That first year there were only 12 families with about 20 children in the program. A church near the Shelter provided space, and the Shelter gave us a list of families, including the names and ages of the children. We solicited donations for the gifts, and half a dozen of us planned the party.

One of our members had played Santa for other organizations and offered to wear her Santa suit to the party. As I was preparing to go to the party, on impulse I picked up my Polaroid camera. I didn’t have any film, so Santa and I stopped at a drugstore on the way to the church. It was quite a sight to see Santa walk through the store—kids materialized from everywhere and followed Santa like kids in the story followed the Pied Piper.

We got to the church, decorated the room, and set up refreshments. As the families arrived, they were quiet and reserved. The kids looked at Santa but shyly clung to their mothers. We had to encourage them to help themselves to cookies and punch, but once the kids had the refreshments in their hands, they grinned between bites and inched a little closer to Santa.

We told the children to sit on Santa’s lap to get their presents and have their picture taken. They hesitated, but the lure of all the gifts stacked beside Santa finally pulled them forward. The children sat on Santa’s lap and received their gifts. I took a picture of each child, then invited the mothers to join all their children for a family photo. They smiled and shook their heads. I couldn’t understand why they wouldn’t want a picture until one mother shyly asked, “How much does it cost?” They thought we were going to make them pay for the pictures, and when we said they were free, they hurried over to stand beside Santa with their children. Several of the mothers had tears in their eyes and said, “This is the first picture I’ve ever had with my children.” 

We gave a gift to each mother and some food items for the families. When no one made any move to open the gifts, I said, “Don’t you want to open your presents?” The mothers gave me a puzzled look and one said, “Oh no, we want the kids to have the gifts on Christmas morning. These are the only presents they’ll get.”

We thought we were making the families’ Christmas a little brighter. In fact, we were giving them the only Christmas they would have. And my impulsive grabbing of my Polaroid camera resulted in one of the best gifts of all.

Through the years, the program grew to the point that the last time we hosted the party (shortly before the women business owners’ organization dissolved), there were about 300 families and 700 or 800 children. We had dozens of volunteers instead of the original half dozen, tons of donated food, and gifts for every child and every mother. I knew to invite the mothers and children to have their pictures taken for free, and we expected that the families would head to the bus stop with bags of unopened gifts so they would have presents to open on Christmas Day.

Participating in these annual parties made me appreciate anew my childhood. When I was growing up, we didn’t have many material goods, but we always had a joyous Christmas. My parents told me that when I was in the first grade or so, I begged for a dollhouse for Christmas. That dollhouse was far beyond Santa’s budget, and my parents felt so bad that they couldn’t give me what I wanted. They saved up and gave me the dolhouse the next Christmas. By that time, I was no longer interested and seldom played with it. I don’t remember any of that—obviously I wasn’t traumatized by being deprived of the dollhouse the year I wanted it so desperately, but it made such a deep impression on my parents that they mentioned it for years afterward.

Daddy always built our Christmas tree. He chopped down several soapbush trees on the farm. He used the largest and most shapely one as the base, then he filled in with branches from the others bushes to make a huge tree. Unlike traditional Christmas trees, it was almost round. Then he loaded it down with lights and decorations and dotted snow (made from whipped Ivory Snow soap) on the branches. I’ve never seen another tree that looked anything like Daddy’s Christmas trees. You can get a glimpse of it in this family photo of my parents and their grown children. Christmas meant lots of family, food, faith, and love.

Christmas is quieter for us now. My parents are gone, and the rest of the family is scattered. Jack and I will go to Midnight Mass on Christmas Eve and have  dinner on Christmas Day with my sister and her friend at a local restaurant. The next day, we’ll all get together with my brother and his family from Phoenix, who will spend Christmas Day with my sister-in-law’s family.

There are fewer people than when my parents were alive, but we’ll still have plenty of food, faith, and love. We’ll still remember the reason for Christmas—to celebrate the birth of our Lord Jesus Christ, who came that we might have eternal life.

Merry Christmas!

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