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October 19, 2016 By B. Baylis Leave a Comment

Words: I’m finding that trying to hit a moving target, while still forging my message, is a full-time job.

“O words, words! Wherefore art thou words?”…” Belonging to a man. O, be some other word! What’s in a word? That which we call a rose, by any other word would smell as sweet…” paraphrased from Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet, Act 2, Scene 2, Lines 33 – 49.

from Presenter Media

Recently, I have had the feeling that my aphasia is kicking up again. After more than six months of no headaches and the luxury of having ideas and words flowing almost as easily as they did before my TBIs in 2009, I have very recently hit a dry spell. During the past several weeks, I have found myself in numerous situations where I can’t find the word that I am seeking. Draft after draft finds its way into the trash bin of my computer or the wastebasket in my office. What a waste of time and paper! What’s been just as disappointing and disconcerting is that these spells have coincided with an increase in the number of health concerns. I have started having problems with my right knee (the one that is my original knee; not the replacement knee), a recurrence of extended headaches, and an all-out war with increasing fatigue and my new BIPAP. It seems that I am heading back to the place I was immediately before my knee replacement surgery. There has been no decrease in the generation of new ideas. I am just having to fight to find the right words to communicate the ideas that I clearly see in my head. I can’t write or talk without words.

from Presenter Media

Through thoughtful and helpful conversations with several friends about my recurring difficulties with words, I have isolated two conditions that I believe are my biggest problems. How is someone with a mild case of aphasia suppose to convey his ideas meaningfully when he finds himself fighting against a double edged sword? The first source of difficulty is strictly internal. With a slicing forehand, the first swipe of the sword attempts to destroy my ability to communicate.  How am I to communicate when words that I have used my entire life suddenly disappear? I stubbornly search but I can’t find them in the crevices of my mind? If you will look at one of my earliest posts Words Are More Like Cats Than Dogs (December, 2010), I used a metaphor involving dogs and cats to describe how some words were easily recalled like dogs, while others were as stubborn as cats and just would not come to me. In another early post, Gazing into the Abyss; a Deux (November 2011), I described the hard work of searching for words was very similar to the process of digging for coal on one’s hands and knees, in the deep recesses of a mine. However at the end of the shift, I come out of the mine with an empty coal cart.

from Presenter Media

The second source of difficulty is primarily external. Even when I find a word that seems right to me, I find it no longer means what I thought it did. Thinking back on my target shooting and hunting days, almost all of the time, stationary targets were easier marks to hit. It becomes much more difficult when the words start acting like moving targets. If the first edge of the sword is battling lost words in my head, then the second edge of the sword strikes me on a backhand swing. The words that do pop into my head no longer have the same meanings and connotations as when I first encountered them. I know that this is not a new phenomenon.  The meanings of words have evolved for centuries. For example the word senile comes to us from the Latin senex, meaning “old age.” In ancient Rome, the Senate was the group of wise, old men who were the figurehead government of the empire. The Senate, after careful and considerable deliberations, approved or vetoed laws legislated by the Populous Council of citizens of Rome. Thus by the 14th Century, senile was introduced into the English language as an adjective that simply meant “aged” or “mature.” In those terms, “a senile, old man” is actually a redundancy. In today’s English, senile carries the connotation of having lost cognitive ability. In this sense, senility can kick in at any chronological age. As is the case with many things in today’s world, the rate of change of meanings seems to be increasing exponentially.  How do you find the right word when its meaning changes almost daily? It’s like throwing darts at a moving target, while you’re moving also. Even though our character below is right on top of the target, he is still having trouble hitting the bull’s eye.

from Presenter Media

Fighting this double edged sword is compounding my difficulties in successfully communicating the myriad of ideas that keep flooding into my head. I found myself having to hammer out a message like the famous smithy from the 1840 Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s poem, “The Village Blacksmith”

Under a spreading chestnut tree
The village smithy stands;
The smith, a mighty man is he,
With large and sinewy hands;
And the muscles of his brawny arms
Are strong as iron bands.

His hair is crisp, and black, and long,
His face is like the tan;
His brow is wet with honest sweat,
He earns what’er he can,
And looks the whole world in the face,
For he owes not any man.

Week in, week out, from morn till night,
You can hear the bellows blow;
You can hear him swing his might sledge,
With measure beat and slow,
Like a sexton ringing the village bell,
When the evening sun is low.

And children coming home from school
Look in the open door;
They love to see the flaming forge,
And hear the bellows roar.
And catch the flaming sparks that fly
Like chaff from a threshing floor.

He goes on Sunday to the church,
And sits among his boys;
He hears the parson pray and preach,
He hears his daughter’s voice,
Singing in the choir,
And it makes his heart rejoice.

It sounds to him like his mother’s voice,
Singing in Paradise!
He needs must think of her once more,
How in the grave she lies;
And with his hard, rough hands he wipes
A tear out of his eyes.

from Presenter Media

Toilng, — rejoicing, — sorrowing,
Onward in life he goes;
Each morning sees some task begin,
Each evening sees it close;
Something attempted, something done,
Has earned his night’s repose.

Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend,
For the lesson thou has taught!
Thus at the flaming forge of life
Our fortunes must be wrought;
Thus on its sounding anvil shaped
Each burning deed and thought.

Many of life’s important lessons are found in these 8 stanzas, 48 lines and 286 words. We find the physical and spiritual aspects of mankind. We find the human feelings of joy, sadness, exhaustion, and love. We find the virtues of hard work, honesty, humbleness, plainness, strength, perseverance, and stability. The blacksmith is a role model to the whole village, but especially the children. In the face of a multitude of competing forces, he balances his commitments to work, family, and community. The blacksmith is the symbolic “every man.” He stands as the iconic craftsman, standing upright before the onslaught of the coming industrial age. In the face of the inevitable, Longfellow wanted to make sure that we did not forget the agricultural age that birthed his current age. The smithy’s forge is a precursor to the steel furnaces of the 20th Century cities, spewing out the sparks of modernization. The community feel of the village stands in stark contrast to the rash of social isolation that is rampant in the sprawling cities that would soon develop. This poem is an American history and sociology lesson that all of us should remember and take to heart.

Filed Under: Faith and Religion, Personal, Surviving, Teaching and Learning, Thriving, Writing Tagged With: Aphasia, Community, Family, Hard Work, History, Success, Writing

July 4, 2016 By B. Baylis Leave a Comment

CHANGES AHEAD

from Presenter Media

There are some exciting happenings just around the bend for HEBB. I am reopening some of the previously closed operations of HEBB and rolling out some totally brand new ventures. Please stay tuned to the  HEBB website, and my blog  By’s Musings. for future updates on these events. You can subscribe to automatically receive those blog updates by giving us your email address in the box on the right side of this page. You have my word that your address will only be used for that purpose. We guarantee your privacy and will never sell or loan your address to someone else. Announcements of the updates will also be posted on Google+ (Bayard “By” Baylis), Twitter (@ByBaylis), and LinkedIn (Bayard Baylis),

from Presenter Media

If you can’t wait, I will give you some hints; but please don’t keep them to yourselves! Go and tell others. I really want everyone to know about these undertakings. HEBB will soon open its doors to accepting individual and family clients offering Biblical Life Planning counseling, along with individualized help on how to do college:  step-by-step guide on how to prepare for college; evaluate colleges; select the right college for you; complete college admissions and financial aid applications; successfully navigate the first-year of college; and make the most of your total college experience. I have also started writing books again, and am open to accepting certain speaking engagements, either in person or via electronic broadcasting.

from Presenter Media

I have recently started working on another project that I’m tentatively calling The Watershed Collaborative (TWC). It is intended to bring under one umbrella a diverse team of eminently qualified, highly-principled professionals with extensive experience from numerous fields of expertise, and from all segments of the public and private sectors, working collaboratively to help individuals and organizations identify and answer watershed questions. The mission of this proposed consulting alliance is to offer quality, values-based, comprehensive consulting and coaching services to educational institutions, ministries, non-profit organizations, and for-profit enterprises at reasonable prices. The membership of this alliance will consist of only partners who affirm the common goal of providing the highest quality information, advice and other services that are built on the foundation of solid theoretical research, and practical solutions which have been extensively tested in the work arena, uniquely fitted to the clients’ needs.

from Presenter Media

These are exciting times  for me and HEBB. I was never really sure that I would regain any semblance of the capabilities that I used to have. I wasn’t completely confident that I would be able to work again. This has long been a matter of prayer. Over the past three months, it has been wonderful to see God removing many obstacles. However, not by a stretch of anyone’s imagination am I ready to resume a full work schedule. However, much of my thought capabilities have returned, although I am still thinking visually and have to translate the pictures into words to communicate. My endurance is still a question mark. Most afternoons, I find myself in need of a nap to restore my energy.  After a short nap, I am ready to go again and can almost jump for joy.

from Presenter Media

 

Filed Under: Higher Education, Personal, Writing Tagged With: College, Family, Life Planning, Watershed, Writing

January 27, 2014 By B. Baylis 1 Comment

The Edamame Menace Part II: Boutique Mentality

In Part II of The Edamame Menace, I begin looking at the concept of the Boutique Mentality, a riptide cultural phenomenon that is sweeping across the world dragging millions of people into waters that are way too deep for them.

In today’s world we are being acculturated to develop an insatiable desire for expensive things. Everywhere we turn, we are bombarded with shows of wealth, luxury and exclusivity. We can’t escape it.

This constant pressure is overwhelming families from every social-economic status. Elementary school aged children must have designer shoes and jeans. If they don’t have the latest, greatest fashion, with a famous name splashed all over it, these children claim they will be ostracized by the other children in their school. Never mind the fact that these very expensive shoes will have to be replaced two or three times during a school year because children, in the course of being children playing on paved playgrounds, are very hard on shoes and wear them out quickly. In addition to these shoes breaking down, it ignores the fact that their feet will grow one or two sizes during the school year, Personally, I find it reprehensible to pay for holes in new jeans that would naturally appear through the hard wear. However, many responsible parents will not permit children to engage in childhood play in these expensive jeans. “You’re not wearing those jeans outside to play in and get dirty.

However, parents are not immune from the same marketing pressure as their children. Conscientious parents who want to help their children get ahead socially or educationally in school, get caught up in the brand name frenzy, and buy into every fashion or technological fad that comes along. Every elementary school child must have his or her own game boy and smart phone. If you don’t have a facebook page by the time you’re twelve, you’ll never be part of the in-group or A-crowd.

So that their children do not lose out academically in school, these parents buy the latest technological advances and educational add-ons . They pay for tutors to help their prize children achieve their full potential. Private music, dance lessons, and summer camps for high achievers are in great demand.

The pressure is intensified when the students reach Junior High School. Now they must have the latest, in-vogue sneakers or boots, and the most recent fashion releases from their teen-age sports or music idols. Fads are sparked by celebrities appearing on television. The fans must look just like their idols. So they have to have the brand name clothes. Only the authentic will do. They “wouldn’t be caught dead, in any cheap imitation.” They must also have the expensive pit tickets to their idols’ concerts. You’re not part of the action, if you get stuck in the balcony or have to wait to see the concert on the DVD or the pirated Youtube video.

For the boys who want to be sports stars, their sneakers must bear their sports idol’s name. This generally means it must come from an exclusive and expensive store, a sporting boutique. We are continually sold a bill of goods. “It is the shoes that makes the kid jump higher and run faster.”

This is the American dream. There’s one problem with this dream. It is a reality to only at most 20% of the American population.  For the rest of America, it’s really only a nightmare. Far more than half of the American families only see pictures of this life style. They have no opportunity to participate in it. Their family incomes are at or below a subsistence level of living. The cities they live in are falling apart, taxed to the max, and wracked with drugs and crime. Their schools are bankrupt and in disrepair.

In the next posts in this series, I will speak to what happens when children reach high school and college age. Unbelievably the pressures don’t decrease. They only intensify. What happens when young adolescents find themselves under the gun to succeed in a world for which they are not prepared?

Later in the series, I will also speak about the pressures on adults and organizations, including churches, schools, corporations, governments, and the health care industry. Where can we turn for answers and remedies? I am reminded of the modern folk classic “Turn, turn, turn.” written by Pete Seeger, who relied extensively on Chapter 3 of Ecclesiastes.

 

To Everything (Turn, Turn, Turn)
There is a season (Turn, Turn, Turn)
And a time to every purpose, under Heaven

A time to be born, a time to die
A time to plant, a time to reap
A time to kill, a time to heal
A time to laugh, a time to weep

To Everything (Turn, Turn, Turn)
There is a season (Turn, Turn, Turn)
And a time to every purpose, under Heaven

A time to build up,a time to break down
A time to dance, a time to mourn
A time to cast away stones, a time to gather stones together

To Everything (Turn, Turn, Turn)
There is a season (Turn, Turn, Turn)
And a time to every purpose, under Heaven

A time of love, a time of hate
A time of war, a time of peace
A time you may embrace, a time to refrain from embracing

To Everything (Turn, Turn, Turn)
There is a season (Turn, Turn, Turn)
And a time to every purpose, under Heaven

A time to gain, a time to lose
A time to rend, a time to sew
A time for love, a time for hate
A time for peace, I swear it’s not too late

It seems to return us to the last line of the Shaker hymn, Simple Gifts, “Till by turning, turning we come ’round right.”

 

Filed Under: Faith and Religion, Higher Education, Leadership, Personal Tagged With: Economics, Family, God, Health Care

January 25, 2014 By B. Baylis Leave a Comment

The Edamame Menace – Part I

Please do not worry. This series of posts is not an attempt to create a sequel to the cult classic “Attack of the Killer Tomatoes.” These posts are my response to the growth of a boutique mentality that I see infecting much of today’s culture. The title is derived from a New York Times op-ed column entitled “The Edamame Economy,” written by David Brooks.

In his column Brooks chronicled the rise of a new fad in the hospitality industry, the boutique hotel. Even before I read Brooks’ column, I was composing a post I tenatively entitled “The Boutique Mentality.”  This post was inspired by a blog posting entitled simply “Boutique.” The post was written by John Assunto, President & CEO of The Hudson Group, a specialized, executive search and business coaching firm. “Boutique” was a combination commentary and advertisement for The Hudson Group and their process for helping educational institutions fill their C-level positions.

Brooks’ began his column by waxing nostalgic about a simpler day in travel dominated by railroads. He continues by giving the Hilton chain faint praise for creating a sense of familiar luxury experiences that are the same no matter where you travel. He also paid lip service to the discount hotel chains, down the street and around the corner, that provide you all you really need for a night’s stay at one third the price of the luxury suites in the upscale chain hotels. However, the boutique hotel provides a unique experience, usually at double or quadruple the price of the typical luxury suites.

Brooks explains his choice of the column title by noting that edamame is the pretentious name for soy beans. It signifies something distinctive and decidedly different from the common farm crop that is used as animal feed, the basic ingredient for a common milk substitute, cooking oil, and Oriental condiment.

Assunto’s post and ad for his executive search firm attempted to drive home the point that if you wanted the best, you had to deal only with the best. This idea carries to the extreme the logo of Mercedes Benz: “The best or nothing.” This mentality has infiltrated almost every aspect of today’s culture. This constant pressure is over-whelming organizations of all sizes and families from every socioeconomic status.

In future posts in this series I will speak to a threat that I believe The Edamame Menace poses for American family life, religious life, business enterprises, financial/industrial complex, health care industry and higher education.  In the meantime, I leave you with the lyrics from an 1848 Shaker Hymn, “Simple GIfts, normally attributed to Elder Joseph Brackett:

‘Tis the gift to be simple, ’tis the gift to be free,
‘Tis the gift to come down where we ought to be.
And when we find ourselves in place just right
‘Twill be in the valley of love and delight.
When true simplicity is gained,
To bow and to bend, we shan’t be ashamed
To turn, turn will be our delight
Till by turning, turning we come ’round right.

Filed Under: Faith and Religion, Higher Education, Leadership, Neurology, Personal Tagged With: Economics, Family, Health Care, Simplicity

November 9, 2012 By B. Baylis Leave a Comment

Christmases Past

My father was the youngest child in a fairly large family. He had five sisters and five brothers. The closest sister age-wise was 12 years older, while the closest brother was also almost 10 year older. Many times my father would tell me that he felt like he had six mothers. There is one advantage to this arrangement. You never go hungry. As my father’s only child and the youngest child of my generation, I was never beyond using that advantage to my benefit.

Since all the siblings lived within 20 miles of where they were born, holidays were family gatherings of monstrous proportions. Since my father was the last of his siblings to marry and start a family, holiday traditions had already been established. Christmas dinners were always served at the home of one particular aunt. New Year’s Dinner was served at the home of another aunt. Thanksgiving dinners and Easter dinners were held at the homes of a third and fourth aunt or uncle. July 4th was a picnic at the home of a fifth.

I remember all the holiday dinners but the Christmas dinners were always my favorite. My aunt’s small house wasn’t large enough to allow all 40-plus family members to eat at one time. Therefore, there were two shifts. As a tradition-bound family, certain aunts and uncles always came to the first sitting, while other aunts and uncles always came to the second sitting. Since my father was the family favorite, we were always at the first sitting. However everyone wanted to see and talk to him, so we would stay for round two. Not being a complainer, I cheerfully went along with this plan.

To spread the work load, every family (in the early 1950’s, translate that as “every wife”) had to bring something. However, these Christmas celebrations were not pot-luck dinners because in my father’s family, there were certain traditions. At the impressionable age of six, this was my introduction to the world of smorgasbords. I still carry the love of this style of a meal to this day.

The same two or three aunts always cooked the turkeys to a perfection. It was great. One aunt always made a corn bread stuffing. Another made a traditional rye and mushroom stuffing loaded with celery and onions. A third aunt always made a sausage and oyster stuffing. The only things that can top those three varieties of stuffing were three different kinds of turkey gravy, from the traditional yellow turkey gravy, to two brown turkey gravies, one laced with giblets, gizzards, and liver, and a second loaded with mushrooms.

To go along with the turkey and stuffing were, of course, the traditional white mashed potatoes with large globs of melting butter sitting in pools on top of the potatoes. Then, there were sweet potatoes served two ways. The first was a sweet, whipped imitation of traditional whipped white potatoes. The second was a casserole that was loaded with melted butter, brown sugar, cinnamon and pecans.

For vegetables, there were always two varieties of coleslaw. The first was a creamy, sweet slaw, while the second was a vinegary, pickle slaw. There was always broccoli and cauliflower. Petite peas were served two ways. The first with was small button mushrooms and the second with small pearl onions in a cream sauce. You can’t have roast turkey without cranberry sauce, both the smooth jellied variety and the whole cranberry sauce.

My father was not only the youngest of his siblings, he was the last one to marry. In addition, my father was almost 20 years older than my mother. As a result, my mother was younger than some of my first cousins. Thus, my aunts let my mother off easy. She only had to bring the dinner rolls, while several of my aunts would bring four or five different kinds of homemade jellies, jams and butters.

Did I mention dessert? Of course there were pumpkin, pecan and apple pies served with real whipping cream or ice cream. What’s a kid to choose? Once in a while, I might have had small pieces of a couple different kinds of pies. However, there was always another dessert that I never refused…homemade, warm rice pudding with a touch of cold milk poured over it.

After the second sitting was completed and everyone had finished eating, there came the task of cleaning up. Even this had its own set of traditions. My uncles “retired” to the living room to talk, while my aunts congregated in the kitchen to talk while cleaning up the dishes and the utensils. The kids were relegated to the dining room after the table had been cleared to talk about what we got for Christmas and to play board games.

When the men were in the living room talking, the room was generally considered off limits to everyone else, especially kids, until the women were finished with the mess in the kitchen. When the women had divvied up the left overs, they would all go into the living room. This was the sign that it was okay for the kids to enter the room also. Everyone would say their goodbyes and leave for their own homes. Why did we do things this way? I am not sure anyone could tell you. That was the way it was done. It was just the tradition of the family.

I’m not sure why no one figured out that the second sitting was the best deal and try to swap around to get it. At the second sitting, you got left overs from the first sitting and the fresh food from the new crowd. You also got to take home leftovers of just about everything. Because this tradition was so strong, if the individual families wanted to do something special for Christmas that left Christmas Night or Christmas Eve.

My mother and father chose Christmas Eve as our special time. We would have our family Christmas meal and then decorate the tree. Our traditional Christmas meal consisted of huge butterfly-slit pork chops stuffed with an apricot, raisin and rye bread stuffing, mashed potatoes, a creamy pork gravy, succotash, and apple sauce.

Did I mention dessert? Dessert was always tapioca pudding with a touch of cream, chocolate chip cookies and Christmas cookies. By the time I was six I had figured out that Santa Claus didn’t come down our chimney. If he did, he would have ended up in our coal furnace in the basement. I remember telling my parents the Christmas Eve when I was in first grade that Santa Claus wasn’t real. He was just the spirit of Christmas. I also mentioned that I had found the presents that they had hid in the attic. After that year we always opened our presents Christmas Eve right after we had finished decorating the tree. That was our Christmas tradition.

Filed Under: Food Tagged With: Family

May 20, 2012 By B. Baylis 2 Comments

Why Did The Chicken Cross the Road?

In my blog posting “Moving Right Along” I used a video featuring Dr. Who and a song from the Muppets to introduce the idea of a move half-way across the country for my wife and me. In this blog about the culmination of that move, I feature the opening line to what may be the oldest and most used joke in the world. It would not surprise me if someday we discover a cave drawing of a chicken crossing a path. If the Guinness Book of Records had a category for jokes with the most variations, this would be the winner without a cluck of dissent. Every five-year-old has his or her own answer to this question, which represents the three most basic questions of life: who, what, why. The who is the chicken. There are two whats: The first is the road that the chicken crossed; the second is the action of crossing the road. The why is the punch line to the joke.

One of my favorite answers is the obvious answer: “to get to the other side.” I also like the sarcastic answers:

  • “to prove to the opossum that it could be done;”
  • “because it was too far to walk around;”
  • “because the chicken heard a rumor that the Colonel was opening a new KFC franchise next to where he was standing;”
  • “the chicken saw a farmer dump half of his load of corn kernels on the other side of the road;
  • “the chicken saw a cute chick on the other side of the road.”

Why did I think about the chicken joke? My wife and I didn’t chicken out. We have completed the 650 mile move, crossing many roads along the way. Why did we do it? With my medical retirement, there were more attractions on the other side of the country and across many roads. We are now within 30 minutes of each of our daughters and their families, instead of 650 miles. In our first week after crossing all those roads, we got to see our older grandson sing in his school’s spring choral concert. The theme of the concert was Rock and Roll Forever. Our grandson’s costume was a white tee-shirt and a black leather jacket ala Fonzy. It was a special treat to see him and his fifth grade classmates sing some of the songs my wife and I listened to and sang as teenagers (several years ago).

This coming week, we will be able to see our older granddaughter play as a ninth grader in the state’s district softball playoffs. We were one week late in crossing all those roads. Thus, we missed the game in which from her catcher’s position, she threw out two runners trying to steal second base. While at bat, she hit a home run and two singles. The only time the other team got her out, she hit a screaming line drive that could have been another homerun, if the left fielder had not made an unbelievable catch.

In the last inning of the game, she was disappointed when the other team intentionally walked her with the tying running on second base. Her coach consoled her by pointing out that she did score the winning run when the two batters behind her got hits. He tried to encourage her by pointing out that the intentional walk was a sign of respect of her batting ability. He told her that if she continues to improve her hitting as she has this year, she should expect many intentional walks throughout her career.

My wife and I look forward to watching her develop as a ball player, as well as her as a student. She has just recently been inducted into the National Honor Society. After high school and college, she wants to be a veterinarian and a professional softball player. As a very biased grandfather, I think she can do it. It will be great to be close enough to see her try. That’s why we crossed all those roads.

Filed Under: Humor Tagged With: Family, Humor

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