Do Not Dial 90#
Dear Paul and Kate, Melanie and Jared, Bridget and Justin, Sara, Ben and Sarah, Heather, Audrey, Rachel, Matt via hardcopy, and Brian,
cc: file, Andrea, Tony Hafen, Sara and Des Penny,
Maxine Shirts
Welcome to "Thoughtlets." This is a weekly review of an idea,
belief, thought, or words that will hopefully be of some benefit
to you, my children, with an electronic copy to on-line extended
family members. Any of you can ask me not to clutter your mail
box at any time.
"It is hard to keep up something like writing weekly Thoughtlets.
Especially when there are hard weeks, or when the words seem to
disappear into the ethereal blue yonder of cyberspace. Possibly
this part of the experience is my next exposure to black holes.
I have come to believe black holes are necessary in order to
comprehend light and truth, and that the material spiral into
the sink of a black hole feeds the light and truth emanating
from a spiritual source like the Son. However, it is hard to
do a mass balance on something as lightweight as words, and as
penetratingly fast as a concept or a prayer.
So the key seems to be to endure and to continue to produce
words, with the hope these words do not crystallize into a
barren volcanic wasteland. Keeping faith the words will
form rich fertile valley soil within which my descendants
and step-descendants can grow straight and tall and true,
becoming timber in the Lord's hand, timber pleased to be used
to build His kingdom on this earth.
The hard part for me is recognizing there are distractions
and wanderings off of the straight and narrow path which
there is absolutely nothing I can do about. My job is to
believe those who do slip off of the path, let go of the
iron rod, and fall into black holes will come out the other
side of their experience with spiritual strength which
lasts through eternity. We can give and receive all of the
best advice in the world, and if it is ignored, even by
those we love, there is nothing we can do about it. For
instance, I received the e-mail below about the perils of
dialing 90# at the request of someone else, especially a
scam artist. And even though I am passing on the advice,
there is a reasonable one or more of you will either not
see this note or not believe it and will dial 90# at some
point in your life. My recommendation, based on this e-mail
is that you do not dial 90#.
<![CDATA[ > 90# on the telephone
> PASS ON TO EVERYONE YOU KNOW
> I received a telephone call last evening from an individual
> identifying himself as an AT&T Service technician who was
> conducting a test on telephone lines. He stated that to
> complete the test I should touch nine(9), zero(0), the pound
> sign (#), and then hang up. Luckily, I was suspicious and
> refused.
>
> Upon contacting the telephone company, I was informed that
> by pushing 90#, you give the requesting individual full
> access to your telephone line, which enables them to place
> long distance calls billed to your home phone number.
>
> I was further informed that this scam has been originating
> from many local jails/prisons. I have also verified this
> information with UCB Telecom,Pacific Bell, MCI, Bell Atlantic
> and GTE. Please beware.
>
> DO NOT press 90# for ANYONE.
> The GTE Security Department requested that I share this
> information with EVERYONE I KNOW.
>
> PLEASE pass this on to everyone YOU know.
>
> If you have mailing lists and/or newsletters from
> organizations you are connected with, I encourage you to
> pass on this information to them.
>
> After checking with Verizon they said it was true, so do
> not dial (9),zero(0), the pound sign # and hang up for
> anyone.
>
> PLEASE PASS ON TO EVERYONE YOU KNOW]]>
The best intentioned advice can be seen as an attempt to
meddle in someone else's private affairs. For instance,
encouraging parents who took their child to a church
once when they were first born that it is more important
to teach the child to pray and to read from the Bible
than it is to perform a ceremony can ricochet like a 22
long-rifle shot off of a piece of Southern Utah agate.
It can be very dangerous to be down range in these
conditions. More than I want to admit, giving a 54-year
old advice about how to handle finances is pretty much
the same type of circumstance. It is like saying
`Do not dial 90#.'
As far am my week from the 27th of October to the 2nd of
November, hopefully the words above paint the color and
the tone. Life does not get easier for me as I get
older. It seems like there are some pretty significant
lessons I have missed somewhere along the line. Oh well1
There were good things that happened to, and I need to
remember the good things.
The SEG started on the 27th in Dallas. First time in
several years I did not attend. I understand there is
not cash for the trip, and I still struggle as to
whether non-attendance was the right move or not. I
stayed home and sent out a bunch of e-mail's seeing if
I could scare up some consulting work or a real job
(../0037.html). I did get a question back from BHP
Billiton 10 days later concerning data mining. I
responded to this right away, and have yet to hear
back from them. Oh well! Doug Harless promised to
set up some investor meetings for me. These have not
happened yet. Oh well! So I ended up spending a lot
of time working with Andrea organizing all of the
books (0343.html). One of the things that came out
of this exercise was a visceral understanding of how
little I know compared to how much I would like to
know, or in other words, how far behind I am on reading
compared to where I would like to be. Oh well! Isn't
it interesting how easy it is to get in spiral down
mode when things do not go as you wish them to? The
`Oh Well's!' simply seem to multiply.
The good news for the week was Grandma Shirts came to
visit for the Quilt Show. She seemed to have a good
time with Andrea. We had some nice discussions. I
appreciate the advice and faith in me.
Thursday during the day I gave a web presentation on
some of the Shackelford County drilling locations to
John Benard and a geologist with the Jones Company
in Albany, Texas. It is pretty easy to see how this
could become routine, and sometimes I wonder why it
has been so hard to get it to be routine. Oh well!
Thursday evening I helped with a Youth Temple Trip.
Brother Jurinak was going to ride with me, and we
needed more seats, and so I ended up riding with
him and several Teacher's and Mia Maids. I asked
a lot of questions about how his work is going on
the way to the temple. He did the same to me on
the way back. Being a no nonsense engineering type
guy, he cut right to the chase, explaining that in
his perception I spend too much time attempting to
prove that I am right. I've thought about this a
lot since our discussion.
One firm conclusion I have arrived at is that if
this is the case, it is no wonder we are strapped
financially. Proving one is right is a very basic
form of the kind of pride President Benson warned
the church about. There is no question about the
fact I have a some pride, and probably too much.
In my mind the question becomes, `Is my pride
affliction so serious that I am self-destructing?'
I think I can introduce each of you to someone
who thinks so, and maybe it is you.
My secondary conclusion is that there is a big
difference between this kind of pride and tenacity.
My little dictionary defines tenacious as 1: not
easily pulled apart 2: holding fast 3: retentive.
When I was serving my mission in Harlow New Town
we had a Sister Missionary from Sweden. When I
asked if the word `Roice' has a meaning in Swedish
she responded, `Yes, it means tenacious.' I have
always thought this was a pretty good description
of my approach to life.
For instance, in 1988 when we were doing the
Sequence Stratigraphy design at Landmark, I
recognized the importance of what came be be
called the `Abbott On-line Atlas' (../0118.html,
../0120.html, ../0132.html, ../0148.html,
../0149.html, ../0225.html, 0304.html, and 0305.html).
This project became the basis of forming HyperMedia
Corporation, and all of the heart ache that came from
that. The Atlas project became the basis of the
Knowledge BackboneSM, the TimedexSM, the Infinite
GridSM, the Prospect Machine, Prime Words, these
Thoughtlets, the Grandkidlets, and many of the projects
I have worked on since 1988.
I'm not sure I can separate myself from the facts, and
rationally decide whether it is pride and an attempt
to prove myself right, or recognition and pursuit of a
true principle that has resulted in so much work and
effort tied to this one concept. I do know my work on
the Atlas and the projects it has spun out has never
been driven by a goal to become famous, nor to become
rich, nor to seek control nor power over others. If
any of these were true, then my drive most certainly
is pride. I think it is tenacity, and maybe this is
a personal blind spot that needs a spotlight shined on
it and which is the reason for being down recently.
Sometimes, particularly when the slope is very steep
and contours are very close together, it is almost
too easy to slip of the cliff and fall into a black hole.
On Saturday evening Andrea, Grandma Shirts, and I went
to see the movie `Radio.' I enjoyed it. It fit the
theme of this thoughtlet, i.e. how easy it is to fall
off a steep slope and find yourself in a dark and dirty
place. The coach had a hard time explaining why he
wanted to help the mentally challenged black youth he
called Radio. Was it out of pride, or was it out of
tenacity? Was he trying to become famous or was he
trying to do the right thing? Was he just being
stubborn, or was he driven by a higher ideal? Of
course, I have worded these questions to justify my
choices. And it will be interesting to see in 10 or
20 years, looking back at this last week of October 2003,
which side of the fence 20:20 hindsight shows I was
playing on.
On Sunday the 2nd there was a note Sara was going to
call (http://www.walden3d.com/benin/letters), and
then there was a letter to everyone. For those of
you who are not on her list, and to include some
key documentation of her experience in the permanent
record of thoughtlets, her general letter is below:
<![CDATA[ `Hey all~
I miss you all!! This is so long, so please bear with
me...I tried smooshing a whole month into one email. I
don't have much internet access but I still love emails.
They'll just get checked sporatically.
So I just love this. I love being here. It's such a
neat thing that I was able to define myself enough to
find the right things to do and be where I wanted to be.
Thanks to my freakout last fall where I discovered a
lot about myself. And I survived thanks to my roommies
Jenn and Mary, Deborah and my mom. I love you guys! I
don't think I've ever quite been at that position
before. Until now, I've always done something because
it was the next step. And with this, it wasn't the next
step. It was off on left field and yet, still so right.
My host family has been nothing short of amazing in
helping me feel right at home. Papa has the best laugh
ever, as do most of the Beninoise. But his is that
much better just because of his energy level. He's the
most hyper person I've ever met! He works at one of the
governmental offices where he works with AIDS education
and I'm not sure what else. Mama works in the market,
so she's on a four-day schedule of traveling to Togo
to buy corn, peanuts and beans. She's gone for a night,
comes back to spend a day around the house then is off
to the big market in Azove selling what she bought in
Togo. She also comes back with bananas for my breakfast
and plantains to fry up for the fam. These two things
are by far my favorite food here. Everything else was
good the first ten times I ate it, but after eating
practically the same thing (lots of starch, a little
meat, and a spicy tomato sauce or a salty collard
greens sauce) for every single meal, I'm really ready
to move on and cook for myself. They have no concept
of a balanced diet. They're just content that they eat.
And they definitely make sure I eat enough. I get
hassled at every meal about how little I eat as they
pile on more.
These people are so full of conflicting perceptions and
resulting paradoxes. I can't help but wonder what they
would think about the existing quirks in American
culture. Their surface and material priorities make no
sense. Why would you have more than one house if you
don't even have running water in the first (much less
air conditioning, a flush toilet, etc.)? Why have
stereo systems nicer than the one I've got back at
home but eat the same, cheap and not-very-nutritious
food everyday? These are things I have yet to discover.
Papa begins by being a proud Catholic with only one
wife who he really loves. Except they never go to
church. After assuring me that he loves Mama, he asks
what he would have to do to get an American wife. And
he has recently revealed his real beliefs in voodoo
only after I was exposed to some of it with training.
These are things I have yet to understand.
So they are obsessed with being clean, but I've never
been so dirty or felt so nauseated eating in my entire
life. I wrap my pagne around my body, prepare my
bucket with nice, cool water, and walk across the
farm-like courtyard of a deep red-orange dirt full of
goats, chickens, ducks, and pigeons. I always feel
covered in the dirt. The courtyard is filled each day
with orange peels, banana peels and dirty water from
laundry and dishes as everything is cleaned outside
in the courtyard. The women pee standing up against
the back wall. The world is your trash can here. They
throw everything on the ground, even in their own
courtyard. I asked where the trash can was and my
sisters looked at me like I was crazy. The animals
eat most of it. Then each morning, the dirt is nicely
swept. Somehow, it's "cleaned". So, I walk across all
of this to the most awful "bathroom" ever. The girls'
bathroom at 4am after a frat party doesn't even
compare. At night I have my flashlight to find
whatever insects happen to be visiting with me at
the moment, and all I can do is stare at them,
trying to make sure the damn things aren't coming
after me. I'm sure latrines really don't need to be
this bad. But to give a standard, I would like to
say that I live with a middle to upper-middle class
family.
So, then I take a bucket shower, which I really like
cause they're cold, refreshing, and they remind me of
laps at Barton Springs. But then I walk right back
through the farm, my feet are quickly covered in the
world's trash pile (trying to wear anything other
than flip flops really is ridiculous because of the
heat). I begin sweating again, and I'm wrapped up in
my pagne that will never really be clean for the next
two years because it's been hand-washed and is
impossible to get all the soap out of.
There's Papa who tells me that I need to shower
twice a day. Mama that points out my zits and
freckles everyday, asks if I'm sick, has me
explain both phenomena to her and that I don't
need to go to the hospital. Then she is only
satisfied if I agree to get medicine from the
pharmacy. Yesterday, we made sure all of my
clothes were nicely ironed (with a charcoal iron)
so that I would be presentable when I left the house.
Appearances are apparently important. But I'm leaving
with wet hair, no makeup, dirty feet, soap in my
clothes, sweating, etc. You get the point.
On the other hand, no-one washes their hands after
they go to the bathroom. No-one washes their hands
before preparing food. Everyone always shakes hands
with everyone. No-one washes their hands before
eating; only after. And they eat with their hands.
I was fine eating for the first couple of weeks
until I discovered a little more behind everything.
Cooking with my sisters showed me that the same
flies that hang around the nastier-than-frat-party-
"bathroom" also hang around the food that is being
prepared that is not covered or refrigerated. At an
informal restaurant, I was brought in the back to
order some cheese and bread (because I'm dairy
deprived) where they brought in a huge bowl of
freshly slaughtered chickens and the cook was in
the middle of cleaning out fish for the daily
special. A kitchen that could not pass a US
inspection is not even in the same league as the
"cleanliness" of this kitchen. In the market, it
doesn't matter if bread, tomatoes, peanuts,
whatever tumbles to the ground. Just pick it back
up and put it back in the pile. Everyone touches
the food they are inspecting whether they think
they're going to buy it or not. Who remembers the
dentist check in elementary school? Brush your teeth,
then put that red dye in your mouth to see if you
got all of the "bugs" out of your mouth, and your
shocked that because you didn't floss, you're teeth
are stained red. Now imagine being able to do that
at a market in Benin. Yes, nauseating.
On the other hand, I now understand (and am actually
thankful) that everything is prepared hot.
Everything I eat is plunged into a pot of peanut oil
or palm nut oil. Everything is hot and everything is
oily. The meat is always cooked until its tough. It's
easier to prepare food without burning it when you're
cooking over with fire or charcoal with oil, and
cooking everything thoroughly guarantees that you
won't get sick from the food.
So as far as "working" goes, our training is structured
with language, cross culture and technical sessions.
The French kicked in much easier than I expected it to.
After letting my ear get used to hearing the Beninoise
accent, I've been able to communicate just fine. For
now, I'm working with ten mechanics that know how to
offer their service but have nothing resembling a
business. Not only is it interesting to learn about
how politics and businesses work in an informal sector
(laws, taxes and contracts are all a joke), but its
discovering all this and their perspectives through
French: it's my second language and for most of them,
it's their third or fourth!
For my two cents on my future post, I just asked for
an unstructured job in a relatively pretty part of
the country. And I ended up with Save (with an
accent over the "e", its pronounced sah-vay) as my
post for the two years. It's a city of 35,000 people
in the heart of great hills and "mountains" in
central Benin, closer to the Nigerian border. The
local language is Najot. If you check out Yahoo,
it's one of three cities that you can check the
weather for. It's in Lonely Planet too, but pretty
much just says there's good rock climbing close by.
I think I may even have the internet. I'll be the
third business volunteer in the town which means
I'll be closing up the project and my main goals
will be to ensure that the projects started and
ongoing are sustainable, as no-one will be
replacing me. I can't wait to visit my village
(if you can call a town of 35,000 a village)!
The origins of voodoo are from Benin. So for a cross
cultural session last week, they brought in a
traditional medicine doctor. I was chosen to bring
in a chicken for the ceremony "a nice healthy,
lively chicken" were the instructions. So there I am,
wearing my new African outfit I just got back from
the tailor, hiking up the skirt to ride my bike,
and with a chicken dangling by its feet from my handle
bars. This is just too much. So, I get there and the
doctor explains how the invisible world works, how
people can communicate over long distances and how
he can cure people of unnatural sicknesses (these
are the ones that an enemy provokes; AKA: you pissed
someone off and they put a spell on you.) He asks
me to kneel (how I was picked for this ordeal, I
have no clue). He starts whispering to the chicken,
then grabs it by the neck and swings it around my
head, stops it and asks me to tell the chicken to
take away all my sicknesses- in English. Weird.
So I do. He swings it again, and I say it again,
louder this time. This goes on four times until I
think he broke the chicken's neck. The chicken
almost shit on me, its eyes rolled back. I'm
extremely disturbed at this point. He lays it down
and it starts breathing. He asks me for money to
give to the chicken, so I lay down 150 CFA in coins
($0.25), and I have to say With this money I buy
your soul, three times. The crowd of uncomprehending
Americans just stands and stares as the chicken
struggles, flops around, and eventually dies. His
soul, of course, leaving with all of the sickness
within my body. So we practically tortured a chicken
as a sacrifice for me, and I wasn't even sick. It
was so messed up. I can't even begin to describe
the cloud I walked through for the next day and a
half. And now that I told the story to my family,
they think I'm all initiated into voodoo and assume
I'd believe it, so they want to do all these
ceremonies for me. Yes, the Catholic family.
Now nothing that I have to say is going to top that
story and I've definitely gone on too long. I miss
you all so much. Buckling down for the first round
of tests, making plans with families for Thanksgiving,
settling into Fall? Congratulations to Melanie who
will be having a baby girl! Please be random and
write often.
Always, Sara']]>
There was the e-mail promise of a call, and mention of
the possibility of a call every other week. I've had
the AT&T international calling plan for 6 weeks now,
and still have not talked to Sara yet. Oh well!
Sometimes it seems like when it rains in one part of
your life, there is rain and concern in many other parts
of your life.
Rob came over for lunch on Sunday, the 2nd of November.
We had a joint birthday party. I told him he was the
one responsible for the 75 candles on our joint birthday
cake. He told me I was responsible. He blew out some of
the candles and left the majority for me. It took me
three breaths. Guess I won't be getting that wish granted.
Rob gave me a book and a card. The card reads:
<![CDATA[ `Bees drink nectar from flowers, process this nectar in
their bodies, then spit it out as honey. So when I say
I hope your birthday is sweeter than bee barf, I mean
it as a good thing.']]>
The book is `tuesdays with Morrie' by Mitch Albom (see
0345.html). All in all it was a very nice visit. It was
good to see him again. We do not see each other often
enough. Oh well!
So, how do I summarize the week? Pretty simply I think:
Do not dial 90#."
I'm interested in sharing weekly a "thoughtlet" (little statements
of big thoughts which mean a lot to me) with you because I know how
important the written word can be. I am concerned about how easy
it is to drift and forget our roots and our potential among all of
distractions of daily life. To download any of these thoughtlets
go to http://www.walden3d.com/thoughtlets or e-mail me at
rnelson@walden3d.com.
With all my love,
Dad
(H. Roice Nelson, Jr.)