Friday, July 17, 2020

I stayed in bed until 6 befor getting Elsa out to do our walk.  I am successfully getting more weight onto my left hip, but it causes some discomfort and strain on that leg. We only did 4,000 steps this morning.  I like to get 6,000 in the morning walk.

I had my final tutoring session with D. In preparation, I made the multiplication facts flashcards.  I was still working with the same facts but changing up presentations.  He had scored 100% on the facts when they were always presented in the same order on a single sheet of paper.  Now, each fact was presented in four different ways—two on the horizontal axis and two on the vertical axis, in addition to switching the positions of the factors. I had been thinking of using cardboard. I remembered that I have several packets of cardstock left that I have not used. This was great. That means the problems were not only in different formations, but the background colors would be different as well.

First, I went through the cards, keeping the four variations together. When he got the first of the four, he could reel off the answer for the other three. We went through that twice. Yes, he made mistakes when he first saw the problem. I warned him he would. Changing format presents a challenge to memory.  Actually, changing the location where you learned something can challenge your memory.

Research was conducted to test people's recall of information in the room where they learned it versus a different location.  Those who were tested in the same environment where they learned the information did better on the test.  Our memories are fragile. D.'s memory is exceptionally so.  Changing up the format and background was enough of a challenge.  When he has these down, it will be time to add a few new facts, only a few.  Again, I want to challenge his memory, not overwhelm it.

May I add that he actually asked to return to math after we had completed the reading for a while.  I asked him if he wanted me to keep the cards in the same order, all four formats in sequence, or to mix them up.  He chose to have them mixed up.  If nothing else, he is finding this challenging in a fun way enough to ask for the activity. You gotta love it.

He didn't have his book with him for the session and had to go and get it.  He came back with the more difficult book, Socks.  I heard his mother reprimand him for not being ready for the class and leaving me waiting.  I don't know if she also pushed him to work on the harder book.  

I let him choose where to start.  I hadn't read up to that point, so I didn't know how the story was unfolding.  I was committed to using one sentence for the decoding activity, having him say all the letters in the sentence one after another, and then going back and identifying the sounds in the words and which letters represented them.  I found a short sentence halfway down the page that I thought would serve that purpose. The exercise proved a challenge for him. I did what I always do when a student gives me the 'wrong' pronunciation for a phoneme in a word: I said to him, "If you say the word that way (pronouncing it using the phoneme he gave), that's right. If you don't say the word that way, it's wrong." Responding that way reminds students to rely on their own speech for determining the sounds in words, rather than relying on some rule they have learned. The latter shows phonemic awareness; the former doesn't.

D. wound up having problems with comprehension.  As I hadn't read the story up to that point myself, I asked him if the characters Mr. and Mrs. Bricker were George and Debbie's parents.  He said yes.  But they're not.  He missed the point that Socks was sold to these folks for fifty cents.  Socks no longer belonged to the children.  Socks, the kitten, was off on his own adventure without them.

I had had a short nap before the class, and now I was ready for another one.  Before I lay down, B. called to say he might be interested in buying the Prius, and Scott texted me to tell me he had a friend who might be interested in buying it.  When I awoke from the nap, Scott texted that the potential customer from yesterday had become an actively interested one. He would get the cash together today and bring it over tomorrow.  

My Prius is decorated with an auto lei.  I wondered if I would see my car around town or if he would remove those flower decals.  Some of them have already started to peel, and some got dented out of shape in the accident. A lei is a flower necklace fashionable here in Hawaii. It is usually made from flowers or other natural objects. People often receive them in ceremonial situations, such as upon arrival at the airport and being greeted by friends, relatives, and tourist companies, as well as at weddings and funerals.  

I dreaded someone making one for me on the occasion of Mike's funeral. They itch. I can stand pain, but not itching. I was concerned about having to refuse one.  That would have been a terrible insult, but I would rather have lost all Hawaiian friends than have had to sit through the funeral with that degree of discomfort. As it turned out, a considerate person made a haku, which is a flower crown, instead of the necklace form.  She made the longer one to wrap around the box with Mike's ashes. 

As I awoke from my second nap, the phone rang. My friend Melissa called to check on how I was doing.  She is a doctor who traveled to Seattle to help during the particularly severe COVID-19 outbreak. She said that four of the front-line workers she met had died from the virus, all under sixty years old, none with comorbidity. She also told me that her daughter, an ICU doctor who intubates patients, said she has had four children under 6 die from the virus. Being unable to help these children and just watching them die was the worst. 

Schools are being opened here in Hawaii. I think people are overly optimistic about how this will work.  I know one schoolteacher who has a four-year-old with severe asthma.  Will she risk her child's life by coming to school?  There are many teachers here who are older and in the high-risk category.  Melissa and I agree that there is no easy solution to protect children from the trauma in this situation. Being out of school is undoubtedly difficult. However, what kind of trauma will be inflicted on these children if their teachers become ill and even die?  While we all assume responsibility and blame for things that go wrong around us, children tend to do so more often than adults.

_____ ________ ________

Musings:

This is on children's inclination to assume blame for things that go wrong.

I don't think there is any argument that children assume responsibility and blame for things that go wrong, like their parents' divorce or someone's death. Some argue that the response is irrational and, therefore, of no consequence.  Unfortunately, our irrational thoughts do have an impact on us.  Verbal assurances, dismissing those thoughts as irrational, have no impact. Rather, they tell the child that there is something wrong with their thought process, adding to the burden. Now they are not only responsible for something that happened, but they are also crazy to think that.

I think taking responsibility for something that goes wrong in our lives is hard-wired into our brains. As adults, we develop the capacity to silence our thoughts, but not the feelings they create.  Is there anyone who still believes that our nonconscious thoughts have no impact on us?  Is there anyone who thinks that they are entirely rational and have no unrecognized thoughts lurking in the subconscious? I'm sure there are. However, I have difficulty believing that those currently making decisions about opening schools are among them.

In the past, I have heard people say that when an adult believes they are to blame for something bad that happened, it is because they believe they are special and had control over the situation, which they failed to exercise.  Since this is a mental behavior that appears in many people, we should reconsider its origin.  Are there people who don't experience this sense of fault? I'm sure many don't experience it consciously.  They just deny that they have a non- or subconscious mind. They only identify with their conscious thoughts. Besides that, sociopaths and psychopaths have no sense of responsibility for their fellow man.

Now, why would responsibility and blame be built into the human psyche?  Because we are all responsible for each other's welfare.  I can hear those say, No, I'm not." Our brain functions were developed over thousands of years, when we were hunter-gatherers and all were responsible for one another.  That was the deal.  I work to make sure you stay alive, and you work to keep me alive. 

Why are we only plagued by negative thoughts, those moments when we failed?  No reason to think of successful moments. All went well. When things go bad, we have to rethink the situation to see what we might have done differently; we learn from our mistakes. Also, success is like a period at the end of a sentence. The problem has been solved. Done. Our minds drop it.  When there is no positive outcome, there's no period; the release button doesn't get pressed.  We wind up thinking and rethinking the moment. Success was the acceptable outcome when we were roaming the savanna.  The alternative was death. 

In our 21st-century lives, we are not living with the threat of death hanging over our heads in the same way as we did when we were hunter-gatherers. Our nonconscious thoughts don't compute well. They are out of touch with reality.  But that doesn't make us crazy any more than bleeding does when our skin is penetrated.  This is how we are designed.  

I'm not saying we have to take our nonconscious voice literally, but often it gives us valuable information.  It needs to be translated into a modern voice, much as we struggle to understand a difficult poem filled with concrete images. The poetic images are understood as analogies.  Our unconscious thoughts also provide us with information suitable for our lives on the savanna. But we are not living there now. We are living the 'safe' lives of zoo animals, animals far from their natural environments.  We must utilize our human intelligence to negotiate between our conscious and unconscious minds if we are to survive. The threat to our survival now is the man in the mirror.

Thursday, July 16, 2020

            Elsa had a 7 am vet appointment to have her teeth cleaned and have one tooth extracted. Because she was going under anesthesia, she couldn't have any food that morning. I woke up at 4:30 and was bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, but stayed in bed so Elsa wouldn't spend all that time wondering what happened to her breakfast. Dorothy called at 6:30, perfect timing. She called because she had plans for the day and wanted to call when she had time. I love talking to her.

Today, being Thursday, it was driveway yoga day. I was going to have to miss it. Oh, well. Elsa blew my mind. Once Yvette's dogs were loose in the driveway, she wanted to go out. I expected her to stay in the kitchen, looking up at where I store her food. It is her way of telling me what to do: feed me, give me a treat, and open the shower door so I can go out.  She did her morning pee in the backyard. I left her in the driveway as I did a short walk alone.

           I ran into a young woman I hadn't met before. I told her about Yvette's yoga class. She walked back to the house and came inside the gate. It turned out she was allergic to dogs. Yvette wiped down her legs before she left. I guess she's not a good candidate for this class.

           I drove Elsa to the vet for her dental appointment; it was her first ride in my new car. The vet has it set up, so you sit in the parking lot after calling them to let them know you've arrived and wait for someone to pick up your pet. Only staff members are allowed in the office. I walked Elsa because while she had peed this morning, she hadn't pooped. I thought everyone would be happier if we got that out of the way, which we did.

           After dropping Elsa off, I went to town to Toyota to get the estimate for a hybrid battery replacement and air conditioner repair for my car. The service coordinator quickly found the one for the battery replacement, a mere $4,500. The battery was the bulk of the cost. The labor was also a pretty penny. These babies are huge and dangerous to handle. You need someone who knows what they're doing. I also asked how much a latch replacement for the tailgate would cost. Fortunately, the service guy asked the right questions. I didn't want a latch replacement. I wanted the little gadget that releases the latch. Mine fell out.

The latch release had worked perfectly in Ohio, but its fatal flaw showed up here in Hawaii due to the heat. The 2007 Prius model had some debris in the latch release, which melted in the heat, oozing a black tar-like substance. I covered it with duct tape. I had to apply additional layers of the tape periodically. When I had accumulated the tape, I decided to yank it off. The whole apparatus came off. The only way to open the tailgate was to crawl into the car through the back seat, lift the carpeting, and release the latch from there. A bit labor-intensive; not the best arrangement when you want to load your purchases for the week from Costco.

           As I approached home, I saw an unfamiliar car parked in front of the house. As I got closer, I saw that the gate was closed. We only close that gate during driveway yoga, so the dogs can't get out. Then I saw Scott in the driveway with the stationary bike Mike had bought. Scott had posted it on Craigslist and was handling the transaction. 

He moved the bike out of the way, opened the gate, and I drove in. He closed it after I was through. That was odd. Also, he disappeared in a shorter period than it took me to park my car. Another weird. I called his name. I wanted to show him the information I got from Toyota. Besides posting the bike on Craigslist, he posted the Prius.

           Eventually, Scott came into view. He had remained on the street side of the gate because he was loading the bike into the guy's car. He sold my stationary bike for $200. The guy who bought it came from Hilo, a good 100 miles away, to buy it. I gave Scott 10%, although he didn't ask for it. I appreciate what he is doing for me.

           Yvette came up for some reason. I spoke about how much stress I was feeling. There is a significant amount of conflict in the world, both internationally and domestically. I'm frustrated about getting my work out. I have a dear, dear friend who has been diagnosed with breast cancer, and now Elsa. Yvette and I shared a bear hug. That's back-to-back rubbing up and down, the way bears scratch their backs against a tree. It helped.

           Thankfully, Yvette and I are now on good terms. It took effort to get us to this point, but we are doing significantly better than when I first moved here. It was a mother/daughter issue. We didn't really know each other. Many things about us were a surprise to each other. Fortunately, we were both prepared to take responsibility for the difficulties in our relationship. Fortunately, neither of us assumed it was all the other's fault. That wouldn't have gone well. We also shared the belief that each of us would profit individually by working out the kinks, even if we were not successful in our relationship with each other. Delightfully, we were – and there is more to come as we get to know each other better. How lucky am I?

           I called the Hawaiian Insurance Department. I had written an email asking for confirmation of what the first man from the department told me the other day. Although I didn't speak to someone the other day, I got an agent today. This man gave me slightly different information. The first one told me they could raise the premium rates unless the company paid out a claim. This one told me that it was up to the company's discretion. They could raise the premium rates depending solely on a person's accident record. Progressive grabs all accidents and holds them against you. The question is, can they make that claim when your car is hit when you are stationary, or when a driver has been dropped from your policy? The last one is illegal. The truth is, I don't know if Progressive raised my premiums because of Adam's accident or if they reduced them when I dropped Mike from the policy. I never could get a straight answer out of them. I will file a complaint and post information about Progressive's policy on Facebook and other social media sites, in addition to filing a complaint with the relevant state authorities. There is little chance I can get my money back, but the company may be fined and hopefully persuaded to change its policy. Besides filing my complaint, I will also offer to fill out complaint forms for others.

           I had a 10:30 appointment with D. He remembered the six multiplication facts correctly for the second time. He gave me the correct answer. I thought it was wrong because I was looking at the wrong problem. He had enough confidence in his memory to correct me. Wow!

When we worked on reading, I began with the opening activity that I recommend for all teachers to use, as outlined in my article. Duh! We worked with one sentence, saying all the letters as they appeared in the sentence, and then going back through the sentence to identify all the phonemes and which letters represented them. He made a few mistakes. I'm glad I recommended this strategy to others; it is good advice to follow.

           As he continued reading the story, he did much better. He self-corrected several times. Additionally, he encountered two words that he didn't know, and he applied the decoding procedure I had been teaching him for a year on his own, without any reminders from me: "Happy Birthday" and "Merry Christmas," Auntie Betty. I thanked him profusely. He broke out into a big smile.

           Zoom closed the session for some reason. I called D's mom. She asked if I wanted to reconnect or call it a day. I chose the latter but used the occasion to speak to her. I told her I saw substantial improvement with the math, and it was time to add new multiplication facts for him to memorize. To start, I think he should present the same facts in different formats, so 7 x 9 will also be written as 9 x 7, and so on. Also, I have been showing the problems only in the horizontal presentation. We should check that he is also secure with them in the vertical presentation. Then it will be time to add new numbers.

           There was a terrible racket as D. and I were working. When I looked, I saw that Scott had jumped the fence into the neighbor's undeveloped yard and was sawing down the haole koas growing in the empty lot next door. He and Yvette were working together to clear that whole section of the yard of weeds. Yvette used the yanking method on our side of the fence, while Scott used the slash-and-saw method on the neighbor's side. I had to move from the lanai to the living room to escape the sound.

           After the session, I sat down for my 40-minute meditation. I already felt much better. Having a list of things to do was energizing.

           Scott contacted me to inform me that he was expecting two people later in the day to inspect the Prius I was selling. Thanks to him, this is happening. I was prepared to take it to the junkyard and pay to have it carted away. He told me that he thought the car was worth $5000. That didn't sound right; it was a little optimistic. The hybrid battery needed to be replaced, the air-conditioning was out, and there was a significant dent in the front bumper. He changed the post to ask for $ 1,500 and received some responses. He said someone was coming that afternoon. Did the car start? 

           I went out to check. Dead as a doornail. I hadn't driven the car for over a month. I've been worrying about it, but I'm concerned about the car dying on me while out on the road. So I just let it sit. I figured it had a new battery. While it would lose its charge, the battery wouldn't need to be replaced, unlike the old one. Scott came up, jumped the car, and I drove it up and down the street. I managed to reach 35 miles per hour without difficulty, which indicates that the hybrid battery had sufficient charge. I got the car up to a certain speed and then braked repeatedly, hoping it would charge the defunct battery. After a few passes up and down the street, I pulled into the driveway and parked it. Scott called and told me to see if it starts up again. Dead as a doornail.

He came up again to charge it and had me move it out on the street so the potential customer could take a look. He had two people interested. One was scheduled to arrive at 5:00, and the other at 5:30. Then he received a message that the 5:00 arrival had been rescheduled to 5:30. We were expecting two people. When the man arrived, he explained that Scott had been communicating with both him and his wife separately. There was only one potential customer. 

           Scott texted me when he was here. I went out to go for a drive. Scott had been charging the starter battery off his alternator. I got in and tried to start the car. Nothing. Scott hooked up the jumper cables, and I tried again. Nothing. I was at the wheel, and the customer was in the passenger seat. Fortunately, he knew something about Priuses. He pointed out that I didn't have the key in the ignition. I had forgotten that I had taken it out and put it in my pocket. Putting it in the ignition improved circumstances radically. The car started, and we drove down to the end of the block.

           When we got there, I asked him if he wanted to drive it back. I got out and said that I would walk back because I needed the exercise. He was speaking to Scott when I returned. He didn't tell me the car's status. Whatever it was, it was. The customer left, and I drove the car down at the bottom of the drive to B's area. B. had spoken to us as he left to go shopping with Elijah. He said if we had brought the car down, he would charge it overnight. 

           That was one busy day. And there were things I didn't get done. I did no work on the reading article, and I made no effort to download the audio file into my PowerPoint, following August's directions.

I watched a British show called Bench. Wow! It is very good. Complex situations, complex characters, excellent direction, excellent acting, and no violence. Perfect.

_____ _____ _____

Musings:

           I have been feeling overwhelmed by stress. Most of my heartbreak is caused by international and national situations, not the loss of Mike. We're dealing with the many current consequences of the Covid virus and the threat of its future impact. Also, this country, which provided my family shelter from persecution, is turning into a country where the policy of exclusion has a growing voice.

           I remembered how Viktor Frankl maintained his peace of mind and capacity for compassion while in much more dire circumstances than I am in now. While he was a prisoner in a Nazi concentration camp, he focused on his love for his wife. He didn't know where she was; he didn't even know if she was dead or alive. Concentrating on loving her kept his heart open. Likewise, I call on Mike to be a source of comfort for me and give me the strength to be open to what life has to bring me and accept those who see the world so differently from me.

Wednesday, July 15, 2020

Today would be my father’s 117th birthday. He died 64 years ago when I was 15.)

I took videos of the wildlife for my three-year-old grand-nephew, Sidney, as I walked.  It’s primarily turkeys at this hour in the morning. I meditated when I got home after feeding Elsa and washing the dishes.

I have been writing more politically oriented musings. I can no longer take advantage of my white privilege and forget what is happening to non-whites. We live in an era where the forces of exclusion and inclusion are waging a classic battle. I am on the side of inclusion.  I can’t say I’m overly optimistic about my side winning, but I can hope.

My parents were refugees from Nazi Germany.  We were fortunate, more like wealthy and well-positioned.  Therefore, everyone got out alive except for one family unit. They stayed because the man of the house couldn’t imagine supporting his family in the US. He also thought his being married to a Christian would buy him some protection. Well, they both died in Auschwitz.  Their daughter survived in a different camp and was brought to the US by my father.

My uncle used to talk to me about that time. He said if the Jews hadn’t been chosen to be the scapegoats, they would have been the best Germans.  I was confronted by Jews who came from Eastern European backgrounds. They expressed contempt for the German Jews, who they felt aided and abetted the Nazis instead of doing what they could to stop them.  Not that they could have done much about it.  He also spoke about why the Jews were chosen. He said they were a convenient target. Most factions had some issues with the Jews. My bet is that if we continue going as we are, the Jews will get it again. All the other factions, including Afro-Americans and Muslims, no less than Right-Wing Christian groups, have issues with the Jews. (Anyone who thinks the Evangelicals value the Jews, think again.  They are anti-Semitic  Pro-Zionists. Trump already voiced a proposal that all Jews should be made citizens of Israel.  That died on the vine – for now. )

I have been trying to alternate writing with physical activity, such as spraying my yard with vinegar to kill the weeds and vacuuming.

As I have been writing my article, I have also been developing a lesson plan to incorporate the method into daily practice.  I found myself thinking students should alphabetically and phonetically analyze one sentence a day.  Just one. Even a short one.  Then they can proceed to read the rest of the text, focusing on automatic processing, checking for meaning as they read, identifying words they read incorrectly, and decoding those they can’t. But first, they should do that one sentence. Ha! Of course, I haven’t been doing that.  Like any human being,  I lapsed into doing the familiar, having students read and correct mistakes.  However, if this method can have the effect I claim it can, as I have experienced it having, then I should have students do one sentence a day. The goal is for them to do that independently. With some, that happens immediately. With others . . . . 

Tuesday, July 14, 2020

I heard a TED talk about grief that resonated with me, not about moving on, but about moving forward with it.  The talk helped me fill my heart with Mike. I know that he is always here for me.  His love for me and my love for him remain satisfying.

On my walk, I saw Josh getting into Mike’s car, which he owns now. For a moment, I thought he was Mike. The moment was ordinary, as joyful as it always was when I saw Mike. I thought it was strange. I didn’t have the reaction of overwhelming joy that he had come back. No, instead, it was just as if he had never left.

During morning driveway yoga, I asked everyone for the names of people who could help me post my audio file on YouTube.  What I need is someone who can do video editing.  Elise does it, but she is off-island and won’t be available for a month. I want to complete it sooner.  Alisha asked me if it was many files or just one. She said she could check how to do it. Maybe I could do it on my own.  I had to contact August, my grandson, who did the work for me.  He said it was one file. This will make it easier to get the visual effect I want. 

August sent me a text about something related to YouTube. I had assumed at the time that it was instructions for downloading my files onto YouTube.  I was waiting for the merged files to come through. August told me that’s what they were.  He sent them to me again.  They had a single static image, not the PowerPoint slide show I had put together.  I was surprised. Boy, we’re not on the same page. He told me that he didn’t know how to do video editing.  Okay. He’s sixteen. He has a life of his own. He has no obligation to me, not even to communicate clearly. I texted Crista, the owner of the Bikram studio, to find out who designed the Bikram Website. She gave me a name.

I worked on my article on my reading method.  I put it off and put it off and then wind up enjoying the work when I do it. The other day, I finally posted two ads on Craigslist, one for the Big Island and one for Oahu.  There was no response. I can’t seem to give it away.  Oh, well. I would love the work just for the stimulation.

After completing some work on the article, I addressed my insurance complaint.  I couldn’t believe that what Progressive is doing, raising my premiums when no claim has been made, is incredible. I need to see it in-writing. It’s mind-boggling if that is true.  It makes them utterly corrupt. They’re stealing thousands of dollars from people. When I respond affirming this, I will not only file a complaint but also advertise that I will file complaints on behalf of others.  It seems unlikely that I will be able to get my money back. Why would I bother putting out the effort if I can’t-  because the immorality of their behavior makes me sick.

I called the name of the IT person Crista gave me.  This woman charges $75 an hour and figures it will take half an hour for each file.  Really!  I have trouble with that on so many counts. The big one for me is that teachers don’t earn that kind of money.  I find the disparity outrageous.  Alisha made it sound like I could do the video editing on my own.  I am prepared to try.

Adam hadn’t gotten back to me about making an appointment.  Judy called to tell me that he was interested, and he was going to charge me a lot less than $75 an hour.  If he can do it, that would be great.  She said he hadn’t gotten back to me because Jazzy was sick in bed with a high fever.  She appears to have contracted something from a family member who visited them. I asked Judy if it could be Covid. She said no, she had no trouble breathing. I then asked Judy if she had difficulty breathing when she had Covid. She said no, just some pressure in her chest. 

It is going to be a while before Adam can work with me.  Once Jazzy is better, I wouldn’t want to contact him before he’s guaranteed for two weeks.  I have been putting off posting the Phonemic Awareness audio file on YouTube until I have it the way I want it to be.  I decided this morning to post what I have. That way, I can tell families that they can use it. 

In the meantime, Adam has his hands full, taking care of her, the baby, and Luke.  Leon knows he can go up to Grandma’s and Auntie P’s house.  Judy was talking about taking Luke off Adam’s hands.  Zion, the new baby, has been crying a lot.  He is also proving to be a bruiser.  He was large when he was born, and he is gaining 2 oz a day instead of the usual 1 oz that most babies gain.   These kids have their hands full. Thank God they live on the same property as their grandmother and aunt, so they have plenty of help.

___ ___ ___

Musings:

For some people, learning to read, or for that matter, doing anything, happens effortlessly.  For others, it requires effort.  Having to make an effort to learn what many can do with ease creates an unpleasant experience.  It suggests that there is something wrong with us.

This tendency to self-judge is ingrained in our brains.  It’s a survival skill.  Yes, self-evaluation, seeing how we compare to others, is a survival skill.  How so? Easy.  When we roamed the savanna in the bad old days, survival, basic physical survival, was everyone’s daily objective. Where was the next meal coming from?  Where was the next attack by animal or hostile tribe coming from?  When survival is at stake, diversity is an unaffordable option. Diversity is a luxury of abundance.

Think of the military culture.  Everyone has to fit into a mold.  People who deviate too much have to be eliminated. Fortunately, these days people who deviate too much are just not accepted into the military and are not abandon in an isolated place to die.  That’s what was done with children who couldn’t conform in our hunter-gatherer days. They weren’t being heartless. They were doing what was absolutely necessary.  If the tribe took on the burden of this child, it might have survived. But if this was a precedent on how all children who couldn’t conform would be absorbed. There would be no tribe shortly. Everyone would die. Everyone had to pull their weight and be a productive member of the group.  We are born with the ability to compare ourselves to those around us. The objective is to encourage us to work to learn the required skills, so we won’t be excluded from the tribe.

Monday, July 13, 2020

            I had a dream about experiencing calf cramps last night. In my dream, I doubled over, and no one came to me.  I never woke up completely, and I don't remember my legs actually hurting me, just in my dreams.  This has something to do with what is really happening to my legs, particularly my left calf. 

           I meditated again after I walked.  This is going well. Not only did I meditate, but I also worked on the reading article for the first time in a month since Dorothy sent me her edited version. I had done some work on it when it occurred to me that it was the wrong version. I went back to the email Dorothy sent me and started again.

           At 10:30, I had a tutoring session with  D. His memory for the multiplication facts is improving.  It is more consistently correct. Yeah.  Reading was better. He got more correct but had to be walked through the decoding process repeatedly.  He still doesn't use cross-body blending when he runs into trouble, holding on to sounds. Yikes! How many times does he have to be reminded?

           Marissa called from Progressive, and she connected me to someone higher up. I got the runaround.  The Resolution Consultant, Rob, told me to contact the state department. I did.

           The state representative told me everything they did was illegal.  He asked what company I was with. Progressive. He said nothing. I asked if there were many complaints. He scoffed.   He also told me that he used to work in California. He found that there are more problems with the Hawaiian companies in general. I have to file a complaint. The complaint may not win me my money back, but it will add to the list against them and set them up for a huge fine.

           I called Marissa, my contact at Progressive, to tell her what I had found. Marissa didn't deserve what this company is about. 

           Then I took a nap.  B. called. He was stopping at Costco. Did I want anything? Lemons, blueberries, and salad?

           I continued working on my reading article. This has been a great day.  If I do some work to advance my work in education, either writing an article to promote the work, or meeting with a student, it makes for a good day.  While I did some good editing on the article, I still need to write a conclusion for it.

           As I listened to Fresh Air, I sewed. That way, I can have my hands busy doing something other than Free Cell as I listen.

           It was raining for my before-dinner walk.  I feel less driven to get Elsa outside to do her business since I have put down the wee-wee pad.  She hasn't used it for a while; she hasn't done anything else in the house either.

           For dinner, I tried one of the frozen salmon patties I had bought at Costco, served with broccoli. I was disappointed: it was somewhere between fishy and tasteless.  Too bad.  I like salmon, but not this version of it.  However, broccoli with butter never gets tired.

           Watched the Bench, an English legal drama, again.

____ ____ ___

Musings:

           Yesterday, I wrote about the transformation of the Camden Police Department in New Jersey.  Today, I want to address the problems that I think others see within the African-American community that they feel justify harsh police tactics.  These same people, I believe, are opposed to 'mollycoddling' marginal groups. They look at those who make it from those minority groups in our current society and say, "See! There's something wrong with the rest of them."

           These same people say, "Get over it. Slavery was 400 years ago."  Let's start with that argument.  We know now that trauma is passed on epigenetically.  Many things are passed on epigenetically, but here I will focus on trauma because that's what the slaves experienced, and their children passed on in their genes to their 'freed' children. (A belated hats off to Lamarck)

           Does this mean that the genes are immutable? No, of course not. Good experiences can also be passed on epigenetically.  Unfortunately, the bad experiences resonate more loudly in our psyches.  Why? The good doesn't need fixing. The bad does need attention. The enhanced focus on the bad is a survival skill, not some psychological aberration.

           For people to recover from trauma, there has to be relief. The freed slaves barely adjusted to their newfound freedom while supremacists  moved 'to put them back into their place.' Perhaps they could no longer own these people outright, but they could put them in such a financially disadvantaged position that they were effectively trapped. 

           The freed slaves were offered a plot of land. However, that land reverted back to its original owner when the former slave died.  It was not passed on to their children. I also learned that African-American soldiers returning from WWII were NOT entitled to the GI Bill's benefits.  How many returning white soldiers took advantage of the GI Bill and changed their lives and their children's lives?

           I heard someone describe the situation in the following way: You sit down to play Monopoly with someone.  Only you don't get the $200 starting capital, you're not given any loans, and should you be successful in any way, the property you acquire is taken from you.  Sounds like cheating to me. 

           Some argue that there are minority people who become successful.  True. I learned from a dog trainer that those animals trained with harshness will develop into two extremes. Those who survive will be super dogs, but those who don't will be a mess. The rule of the exception says nothing about the conditions in which their lives were forged.

           I believe those opposed to welfare say that there is something inherently wrong with these people. They will make no effort on their own if we dole out support or equal opportunities. I'm sure that is true for some people.  But most of the Afro-Americans I have met in my life go about living their lives as best they can.

           Here's an example of someone damaged by trauma who never completely recovered. This man's mother was a drug addict; he was homeless in his teens. A lovely woman found him and married him. Lucky him! She has provided him with a home and a semblance of a comfortable life.  Is he psychologically normal?  Can he hold a job? Is he a pleasure to deal with?  Not for most people. But his wife is his biggest protector. Yeah, for her. 

           Where's the problem? Well, for me, this man presents the same problem that some Afro-Americans do.  Most of the problematic people come from abusive homes. Like the man I mentioned above, who is white as the driven snow, they don't seek ways to heal their wounded souls, and they pass on the damage to their offspring. 

           Someone once told me that a professor of his said, "Once you have decided on your belief about the nature of man, everything follows from that." I certainly haven't done a broad survey. From what I've seen, some people believe that an individual's nature is just that. I am not in that camp.  I believe in transformation.  If I hadn't, I would probably have killed myself sometime in my early 20s.  I thought I could transform and find a way out for myself and others.  I remember thinking, "If there is a way into this mess, there has to be a way out." I committed myself to finding that way.

           Some take a more fatalistic point of view, not only of minority groups that they criticize, but also within their own families.  Their point of view is, "That's the way they are; oh well, what you do about it?" 

           I don't disparage that point of view.  I had to learn to be more accepting of others as they currently were, and forgive myself for what I was at the time.  But there is a balance. 

           Mike and I achieved that balance with each other, or at least to some extent. We were able to ask each other to change things that were difficult for us.  In doing so, we both had to look at ourselves as well as each other.  Being able to do that was very enriching. 

           On the other hand, some things were too hard to change easily. We both worked on them. In the meantime, we had to accept each other's good intentions and enjoy each other. That worked.  There was more good than bad in the marriage.  For some, anyone in their in-group is considered basically good, with some problems. Those people get unconditional acceptance. Then there are the 'others that are not part of the in-group.  They are considered basically bad, with some exceptions. The best they get is conditional tolerance. 

Sunday, July 12, 2020

            I decided not to go to church today. The incidence of viruses is higher.  The priest wears a high-end shield while he consecrates the host, but no mask. For me, that means that his breath is being forced straight down onto the serving plate.  That was forgivable while we had zero new cases on the Big Island, but now that the numbers have increased, no. 

            I am still feeling sluggish. This is a familiar feeling. It's the way I feel after a ten-day silent meditation retreat.  It is a result of under-stimulation.  I remember thinking years ago that I would go on one of these silent retreats if Mike died.  Of course, I didn't do that. I had too much to do after he died to get my life in order. Now, this COVID virus has forced a retreat on me. Odd.

            I texted Adam this morning, asking him to set up an appointment to work on my computer issues.  I want to put the audio files on YouTube.  My grandson may have set it up, but I didn't have a chance to review the videos before posting them.  No, no, no.  And my sixteen-year-old grandson, who has been doing work for me for free, has other things to do with his life.  Adam was busy last week because his brother was visiting with his wife and two children.  His brother lives on a different Hawaiian Island, Lanai.  There is not a single case of COVID on that island. It is the only inhabited island that is free.  Hopefully, they won't pick up something here and take it back. Adam's brother and his family left yesterday. Hopefully, he will get back to me soon. I am anxious about getting this material posted.

            I have had great success with my work. I have been called a miracle worker. However, no one is interested in learning what I do. I have neither colleagues nor acolytes interested in acquiring my methods for teaching reading. It is very frustrating.  I am interested in getting at least these audio files out, so they are available before I die. Death is not such a far-off possibility with COVID hanging over my eighty-year-old head. 

            I have been putting out information that I'm willing to work with people for free. My main target is families that are suffering financially at this point and want help for their children.  Even here, I am having trouble finding interested people. Really weird.  D. was recommended to me by one teacher.  

            I have people who admire my work, consider me a miracle worker, those who scoff at my work, and those who think I should be mocked or fired. One person who thought I should be fired was my husband, Mike.  He told me at least twice over fifteen years that he would fire me if he were my boss, and he knew my methods were successful.  Shortly before he died, I reminded him of what he had said.  He said he was just responding out of fear because I represented chaos to him.  He was terrified of chaos.  Now, why would he have attached himself to me if he was afraid of chaos?  He must have wanted to be challenged on that front.

            I have told this story at least twice before, but I think it's worth repeating. Mike was always disturbed about the way my mind worked.  He told me he thought I was one of the smartest people he ever met on our first date. That was saying something given the people he had known in his life. Steven Jay Gould was a good friend of his in college. But then he told me that I wasted my mind because of the way it worked. 

            Mikes' mind was into elucidation.  For example, he read Plato and spent his life working on understanding his ideas better.  My mind makes connections, new connections between things that seemed unrelated to Mike.  We went to a therapist with this problem, Mike, complaining that I couldn't stick to a topic.  I said to him, "I use primary sources," meaning I look at what is before me in life to figure out how things work. 

            Well, he was outraged. He said, "I use primary resources. I've read the original Plato and Aristotle." The therapist, thank God, has some background in philosophy. She said, "Betty is a phenomenalist." With that, Mike had a neat category for me and let go of his fear, and followed my line of thought.  Shortly before he died, he said how much he enjoyed me. "I never know what is going to come out of your mouth next. You are endlessly interesting and fun." It took over thirty-five years to get to that point.  Well, we were a work in progress. 

            Scoffers: When I worked at Licking Heights schools, the teachers appreciated my work. However, there was one couple, yes, married to each other, who referred to me as a quack. I announced that I prefer they not refer to me that way.  The wife said, "How should we refer to you?" I said, "Mad scientist." I would often tell them that what I was doing would be routine within ten years. True, I was developing methods on my own. True, I still haven't come across anyone doing precisely what I am doing, either in teaching reading or in brain modification. But some forms of these ideas are already in the air.

      Some programs claim, accurately, that they produce brain modification.  These programs are generally expensive. This one program claims that it fixes people within thirty hours of work.  I can believe that it is effective for many people and all people with a certain type of limitation. However, nothing works for everyone. There is no medical cure that works for everyone.  My program is free.  If it costs nothing.  It requires no new materials. You would think school schools would be all over me.  But no, that's not the way it works.  Of course, I'm not exactly out there banging down their doors, either. Too shy. Too afraid of rejection.  Too bad for all the people who would benefit from what I know and have developed and me.

            My walking is limited because I have been wearing Oofos, which is a spongy flip-flop.  They are too hard on my leg. It doesn't hurt; it aches. 

            I meditated and then napped.  Mediation used to energize me. Now, it makes me sleepy.

            A friend who was going to stop by this weekend texted to say he wasn't coming. His wife's aunt died in the night. They live in a large family compound. I think he told me twenty-five family members are living on the grounds. I don't remember how many houses are involved.  Many.  His wife's family is one of the old ones, of mixed Hawaiian and Portuguese descent. 

___ ____ ____

Musings:

 

            I read an article in the NY Times that blew my mind. The Camden police department in NJ has been completely reorganized.  There is a drastic reduction in police violence; there is also a drastic reduction in community-initiated violence. This suggests that the police department initiates at least some of the community violence.  Not that the police start every shooting incident, but that the police set a tone of violence in the community that the community then follows. 

            I have heard people say police departments can't be changed; there are too many across very diverse communities.  The interesting thing is Republicans say that. I thought they were opposed to centralized control. The Camden police department is proving that the police departments can be reformed one police department at a time on the initiation of the police department and the community. 

            In the case of Camden, it was the community that forced the reformation.  Camden is a poor community; they weren't providing enough taxes to support a heavily militarized police department.  Ten years ago, everyone in the police department was fired. Then those interested in being guardians of the community instead of enforcers were welcome back.  

            Note: I repeat: the murder rate in the community, Afro-American and Latino murders of Afro-American and Latino victims DROPPED.  This suggests that the confrontational policing style was at least one of the causes of violence among the community members.

            You might ask what a confrontational and violent police force would have to do with the murder rate in their area of patrol.  I have an answer from psychology.  When children are raised in an abusive home, some, not all, will seek to be like the abuser. Why! They want the power to be safe themselves. They see the abuser as causing harm but remaining untouched.  They want to be like the abuser. 

            If children are raised in homes where everyone is treated with basic courtesy and see appropriate ways to resolve differences, they will imitate that behavior. If our police behave in nonconfrontational ways and with courtesy and respect, the children of that community learn to do that. 

            Here's a link to that article: ^{https://www.nytimes.com/2020/07/12/nyregion/camden-police.html}  There must be many stories about this police department. When I spoke to my sister, who lives in New Jersey, she said she was familiar with the Camden Police department story. 

            For me, this represents hope.  I want to live in a world where everyone is accepted as equal.  I believe in the basic equality of all people.

Saturday, July 11th, 2020

      I got up at 6.  My alarm doesn't go off on the weekends. I ran into Laurie on my walk. Her husband, Dave, used to walk with her. She told me his knees were killing him.  He needed surgery.  He had been walking to keep her company. I suspected he was that kind of husband. Besides being a generous and considerate man, he is also good-looking. Before the virus hit, there were singles ads on my Free Cell site.  One of the men looked just like Dave.  I told Laurie about it the other day. Today, she told me that Dave got a big laugh out of this.  He wanted to see how much this guy really looked like him.  I told her where I had seen the image, but I hadn't seen those ads for a while.

      There was a lovely breeze while we were doing our driveway yoga.  I appreciate the wonder of seeing green foliage and blue sky while I do yoga. I'm being bathed in nature. I meditated after yoga. I'm so proud that I'm sticking with this.

     As I woke up from my midday nap, Damon called. He was sitting poolside.  He complained about the heat in LA.  He had to slip into the hot tub to cool down while we talked.  I told him I was wearing a sweatshirt. 

B. called from the driveway while I was on the phone with Damon.  He came to pick up the long pole pruner to do some work on my lime tree.  He'll keep it down there.  He passes my lime tree every day as he comes up the driveway.  I can't see it unless I go down to his space.  He had already fertilized the tree.  He is going to get it productive again for me. 

I worked on hemming an old pair of dungaree overalls shorts while listening to my favorite Saturday shows.  I found it wonderfully relaxing.

I called Dorothy while pruning some hedges. I had wanted to vinegar spray my weeds, but the sprayer made too much noise as I pumped it. She found the sound annoying.

     I am noticing how unstable I am on my feet. Age is undoubtedly a factor. My bad hip and wobbly leg contribute to the problem.  Of course, I am also wearing Oofos.  Their soles are very spongy.  This is challenging for my legs in a good way, but it also contributes to my instability. 

While I did some work on the updates, I still avoided working on editing my reading article.

Friday, July 10th, 2020

       I stayed in bed when the alarm went off, even though I was up.  I just snoozed for a while. I weigh myself every morning. For the last two days, the scale has reported 144 lbs. Where did they come from? I don’t eat that much, except for my chocolates at night.  This has to stop.  I can’t continue packing on the pounds. 

The day was overcast, so it remained cool as I walked.  I meditated when I got home. I had a Zoom tutoring meeting with D at 10:30 am.  We had trouble connecting the auditory. Everything looked okay on my end, but what do I know? Finally, his mother figured out how to fix the problem.

      In our last session, he demonstrated he still had problems recognizing the consonant digraphs sh, ch, and th.  Today, I asked him if he thought English had one letter for each sound. He said yes.  Good luck! This is English.  I told him that while there are twenty-six letters in the English alphabet, there are forty-four sounds. Too many sounds for the letters, so we have to make up other symbols for those sounds. Therefore, we have digraphs.  

     Good explanation, but only partially true. If we have the letter f to represent the sound /f/, why do we need ph to represent the sound too? How do you explain this nonsense to a child who has trouble remembering as much as D. does? He doesn’t only have trouble with his associative memory, remembering 7 x 9=63; he has a problem with his procedural memory: the steps he has to take to accomplish something, like division or word decoding. I have been covering the procedure for decoding words since last August. I still have to start from scratch.  He is not a ‘stupid’ boy.  He has a reasonable vocabulary.  He does seem to be getting a little better at reading for meaning; he substitutes words that make sense into a sentence when he doesn’t know the word—a step in the right direction, for sure. 

After I got off the Zoom with D., Marissa called from Progressive. She was going to introduce me to someone in a managerial position.  She has been wonderful. She calls me back promptly, speaks to me with more than just courtesy, gives good explanations, or says she doesn’t know and passes me on to someone who might know better.  She arranged for me to speak to a supervisor so I could get the best service.  I was connected to Tom, who was an underling.  He was going to connect me to his supervisor. He announced that Rob would handle the matter with me.

Rob asked me what I wanted. I told him I wanted to challenge the premium rate. He said I received notification of my rates whenever the policy was renewed. He told me the matter was closed.  When I told him I wanted to pursue it, he told me to get a lawyer.  It wasn’t just what he said; it was his tone of voice that was suspicious. He sounded temperamental, defensive, and irritable.  He didn’t sound like someone in a supervisory position requiring dealing with the public.  I asked him if he was the supervisor. He said no; he was a Resolution Consultant. I have some questions about his suitability for this job. I said, “Thank you. Goodbye,” and hung up. 

I called Marissa to let her know what had happened. She didn’t get back to me right away, as she usually did. It was during lunch hour.  A few hours later, she did call. I told her my experience with Rob. She apologized. She asked me if I wanted to connect with someone right away. I told her that the first fellow I talked to sounded okay except that we got disconnected, and he never called me back. I thought that since he had started the process, he might be better equipped to finish it. 

I went down for my midday nap. I do love those naps. Scott called my name as I was waking up.  He had bought the fertilizer for my lime tree.  He told me how to apply it. 

     When I did my before-dinner walk,  Mariana, a neighbor, drove past. She was on her way to Matsuyama’s to buy a tub of ice cream.  She sells coffee from her farm out of her car at Costco. I see her car there, but often not her. She’s got the seat leaning way back, and she’s snoozing, waiting for her customers to come by.  I asked her how she managed to tolerate the heat during the day. She said, Oh, she’s used to it. 

     Marianna always has a great smile on her face. It was a delight to speak to someone who smiled at me. My facial muscles are forgetting how to smile. I bet it makes me look a good ten years older.  Given how I am doing with the lack of social stimulation, I can only imagine how it is for others who are isolated than I am. I also feel more empathy for those confined in prison cells with a lack of physical and social stimulation. I have been limiting my walks to the road I live on lately.  I think I’m going to have to mix it up, so I have more visual stimulation.  Of course, I’m limiting it because of the physical problems I’m having. I may have to wait until they clear up. How much of this limitation can I still overcome?

Dorothy recommended a new mystery series, The Frankie Drake Mysteries.  I didn’t find it very satisfying.  A little too lightweight. 

- - - - - - -- - -

Musings. 

This one is about perception in the context of education, a subject that fascinates me. 

      In the reading profession, the big debate has been whether we recognize a word as a whole or break it down as we read it. Competent readers experience reading as something that happens without needing to analyze each word.  We have complete knowledge of the word after a brief glimpse. Obviously, we are not doing a laborious analysis of the word. However, when we describe our experience when reading that way, we only describe what our conscious minds are doing. 

Our nonconscious minds do a very detailed analysis of everything we see in split-second timing, once we have trained them to do their job.  That training can be labor-intensive and hard work. It entails forcing neurons that are asleep to wake up and perform their intended function, connecting with other neurons. 

     The conscious mind gets an easy ride once the unconscious mind is adequately trained. The unconscious mind breaks down perception into minute details: the curved lines versus the straight ones, the tall ones versus the short ones. After the neurons send their specific information to the right place, something combines all that information into a whole again. That reconstituted image is what the conscious mind gets to see and then claims it did all the work. Not. Automatic processing does not become automatic automatically. It always takes some conscious input.  For some, that learning phase is short; for others, it is long; for others, it is very long. This is related to the development of our brains. There are multiple causes.

Thursday, July 9, 2020

I woke up before my alarm went off.  Waking up before my alarm after a good night's rest gave me confidence that I wasn't depressed.  I have been somewhat concerned.  I feel sluggish. Today, my hair stopped looking and feeling good. My mom always said you can tell how people feel by the way their hair sits.  If it seems like it can't be managed, they are not doing well.  My hair is not sitting right. It suggests I'm out of sorts.

It was a two-sweatshirt morning again.  It was a bit warmer by 7, but still a gorgeous, cool day.  I focused as much on the sky and the landscape as I did the postures this morning in our driveway yoga class. There were only four students today. One student called Yvette to tell her she had overslept; another fell going to the bathroom and possibly broke a rib. There was one returning student.  He thought he had been exposed to someone with the virus. As it turned out, both he and his contact tested negative. It was most considerate of him to wait until he was cleared.

Yvette took a picture of me and Elsa during savasana. I was lying down with my knees bent. The image revealed how out of whack my body is. I wrote Yvette about it. She said it wasn't a surprise. Surprise! It was to me. I had focused on my back, not my lower legs. 

After yoga, I meditated.  I have been doing that more regularly. After I meditated, I was tired and slept for a while.  I do love to sleep, and fortunately, I sleep very well. 

At 10:30, I had a Zoom tutoring session with D. He is doing a better job of remembering his multiplication facts. He doesn't always come up with the correct answer, but he does come up with the numbers we have been working on. He will remember that 7x9= 62, and 7 x 6= 46, and 9x4=34.  I can imagine people asking, "Where's the improvement?" Admittedly, I am being optimistic.  He is getting all the numbers in the tens place correct and mixing up the numbers in the ones place. We're only working with five multiplication facts because the objective is to embed the neural pathway for associative recall. 

His reading varies from one minute to the next. He can read difficult words correctly and then read he'd as had, even though it makes no sense in the sentence. On the other hand, he does catch his mistakes more often, and when he does make mistakes, they are substitutions that support the meaning of the text. I am frustrated because he prioritizes getting through the text quickly and sounding good over accuracy.  I can't convince him that he will make better progress toward his goal if he moves slowly.  It is frustrating. 

I spent a good part of the day dealing with Progressive about the insurance premiums.  I initially contacted them to confirm the date I added Adam to the insurance.  I received that information on February 27, 2019.  I also asked for the dates when I dropped Mike from the car insurance policy. I had asked that once before; I was told March 4.  When I asked this time, I got a different date, March 27. This company is driving me around the bend.  While I was on the phone, I asked who to contact if I wanted to challenge the premiums. I obtained the contact information of a higher-level service provider.

Wow! What a difference! I had left a message saying that I wanted to challenge the premiums. Marissa, the Progressive agent,  got back to me later that day. She listened carefully and told me she had to pass me on to someone in the Policy Department. I spoke to Brandon, who was also attentive. Then, we were disconnected.  I don't think he hung up on me, but he also didn't call me back. I have no idea what happened. I called Marissa back after several hours to let her know what had happened.  She suggested that I speak to a manager. I told her I would rather wait until the next day.

I headed out to Home Depot to pick up the pole pruner that Scott recommended.  They come in three sizes: 12 ft, 14 ft, and 16 ft. I was wondering which would be most suitable for my needs. I called B. He said the 12-foot would be perfect.  Great, it was the least expensive. 

I also picked up a house plant to replace the one that died the other day.  I believe the one I got now is the same plant as the one Mike brought home. Let's see if I can keep it alive.

--- --- --- --

Musings:

White privilege: I've been hearing a lot about it. Again, I think the term is a misnomer for most whites. White privilege means that I can assume a police officer will be polite to me when he stops me for speeding or crossing a lane inappropriately.  To me,  white privilege means that I can lie in my bed at night and be confident that the police will not break into my home.  It means that I was entitled to a good education. 

When I hear the above described as white privilege, I don't want to give it up.  I don't want to be treated rudely or brutally by people in power.  I don't want to give up "white privilege'; I want everyone to have the same privilege. 

Privilege becomes that only when we have unfair advantages and when our 'privilege' makes us feel entitled to abuse others.  Watching Chauvin's face as he sat on George Floyd is an example of toxic 'white privilege.' He executed a man on his own initiative as calmly as I stepped on an ant.  I have reviewed Floyd's own criminal record, which is publicly available online. The question is, is there anything he did that warranted a death sentence? 

Most white people are like me; we do not use our privilege to actively abuse someone. But we do have the opportunity to overlook the constant threat that people of color live with that colors their every minute and every interaction, probably with every human being. We can forget about it.  We are not 'guilty." The question is, what do we do or not do that allows that form of 'white privilege' to stretch to such an extent that Chauvin could believe he was doing nothing wrong. 

I recommend that whenever we approve of the abuse of people of color before we justify it, ask," What if they were white? Would I have thought that was okay?" Anyone who says, "This is different," says you can assume brown people are guilty. You can assume light-skinned people are innocent. Really?  

Dylan Roof? Suppose he had been a person of color shooting up a prayer group in a predominantly white church. Would those police officers have dealt with the situation the same way? Would he have made it to the police station alive, no less, without a bruise? Would someone have been sent out to buy him a Burger King because he was hungry?