When the Experts are Wrong

In the mid-1970s, AT&T was still a regulated monopoly. Bell Labs was the creative research arm, Western Electric manufactured their products, and the Baby Bells sold the wares and cared for the public.  The designers introduced a new phone system, the 770.  As industry and engineering experts they thought companies would be anxious to upgrade to a slick console switchboard, trading in their old-fashioned cords, and enjoy the features that came with changing from rotary to touchtone phones.  The problem was that the 770 was terrible.  Consumers didn’t like it and we who sold, customized, installed, and trained it were disappointed. 

The experts screwed up.  They were stuck in the paradigm that AT&T was the only game in town and that we could tell customers what they wanted and needed.  But times were changing.  Competition in telecommunications was new and others were starting to produce flashy, reliable and modern systems.  January 1, 1984 marked the breakup of the Bell System, and many people thought the experts were wrong to do so, but look at the amazing things that have happened in the communications and telecommunications arena. 

Who were the experts in 1985 that convinced Coke to change its formula?  That was a strategy, branding, and marketing nightmare.

One summer day in 1987 my mother and I were out for a lady’s lunch.  As we enjoyed a cold drink, a salad and some warm rolls in a little tea room outside of Buffalo, she suddenly said, “You know, until the day I die, I’ll regret throwing out your ‘blankey.’  The book said it was the right thing to do, but I hated doing it.”

Now that’s a conversation shocker.  On so many levels.

Aunt Lizzy made this quilt
that hangs in my front hall

Until the day my mother just mentioned there was a handmade piece of quilt about the size of a pillowcase that I hugged as I went to sleep.  It wasn’t anything I carried around, just my comfort object to curl up with. The great-aunts had made it along with other quilts and it had been in my mother’s hope chest for 20 years before it became my blankey.  Presumably there had been one that had been in my brother’s crib.

“You found it the first time I took it away,” she continued.  “You went searching and found it in the Good Will bag in the basement. So then I knew I couldn’t save it and had to really throw it away.  You sobbed every night for weeks.  But the book said at 5 years old you should be able to go to sleep without it.  I wish I’d never paid attention to that chapter in the book!”

The experts were wrong.  On so many levels.  I appreciate that my mother acknowledged that and treasure that she shared her regret.  Do you have an ‘experts were wrong’ story?

As a society, as consumers, we’ve been told a lot, even molded a lot by what experts say.  Too often when we look to the experts in behavior, emotions, culture, finance, we let them have their sway rather than listening to our guts. Certainly there are times we need experts and need to follow their direction.  But our collective and personal histories tell us that experts can be wrong. Let’s have the courage to ignore the experts when what they are saying is not right for us. 

Let’s keep our blankeys. 

Marilyn

An Invention Through the Ages

One pleasant May evening in 1962, my mother and I were at the kitchen sink doing the supper dishes and watched as my dad screwed a hook about six feet off the ground into the trunk of the large elm tree.  Then he climbed a step ladder and tied a sturdy string in the middle of a branch.  At the end of the string was a metal ring about the size of the lid of a soup can.  We were puzzled as he stood back and handled the ring as though it was a horseshoe, taking careful aim toward the hook.  He let the ring go and it headed toward the hook, but it wasn’t close.  In fact, it was apparent it would never be close, so back up the ladder he went.  After a couple more tries and string adjustments, when he tossed the ring, it landed on the hook.  “Hey, Toots, come on out! Loey [his nickname of my mother’s name ‘Lois’], come look at this!”

Thus, the game of ‘Noose’ was born.  That simple game accounted for countless hours of outdoor fun for friends and family and made for a lively intergenerational activity.  I think that the name of the game was lost over the years and someone would simply say, “Let’s go toss the ring” and people would line up for their turn either as an individual or to help their team.  When we moved the folks into an apartment in 1982, the family couldn’t leave the elements of ‘noose’ behind, so out came the hook and down came the ring and string. 

What I didn’t appreciate at the time or realize until recently was that my father was marking, in his own creative way, a transition.  In my toddler and elementary school years, our pattern was that early evening time was for dad and me.  From teaching me to ride a bike to learning to catch and throw a ball, it was our time.  When I was old enough we graduated to badminton and then croquet.   

But, my folks were in their 40’s when I was born, and while I was aware they were older than my friends’ parents, I didn’t realize all that meant.  What ‘noose’ meant on that summer evening was that he no longer wanted to or maybe even could routinely run around with a racquet after a little plastic birdie or do a lot of bending over and swinging a mallet.

My dad was a simple, quiet and gifted man who loved to work with his hands.  He played drums in speakeasies during the 1920’s and played the guitar and piano by ear.  In the early 1950’s he took an adult education class in oil painting and everyone in the family has one of his lovely pictures.  He had a woodworking room in the basement where he made frames, tables, and a lectern for church.  I never saw him read a book because his hands were busy with other things.

So, whether he dreamed up ‘noose’ as he was driving his New York Telephone repair truck, saw something similar and modified it, or copied the idea exactly, I’ll never know.  I didn’t ask.  All I knew was that my dad had invented something fun, easy and that we could do together.  Sometimes my mother joined us, but usually on weekday evenings, it was just my dad and me.  We didn’t talk much – after all, we had just had a meal and caught up on what had happened during our days.  What mattered was simply sharing time.

George Bernard Shaw said, “We don’t stop playing because we grow old; we grow old because we stop playing.” I think my nephew in Indiana has the original hook and ring and my niece in Ohio has the game set up in her yard.  Ralph’s legacy continues, not just in art, in love of music, but in his game of noose.  And, in showing me there are graceful ways to mark a transition and serving as a role model, even when long gone.

Marilyn

Lessons on Blogging and Life

Friends,

Someone has probably done a serious study on this and I'll bet a comic has a stand-up routine, but here are some random thoughts I had the other day.  I would love to hear what you would change or add!

Marilyn

	BLOGGING	LIFE
	Purpose
	Every blog starts off with a purpose.  From serious to frivolous, bloggers search to find their online role.	Everyone needs a purpose to which they are committed.  Purpose creates community. We're all here for a reason.
	It takes all kinds
	The internet opened up the whole world and makes it easy to connect to like-minded or very different-minded people around the globe.  This can enhance, expand and threaten us.	"Variety's the very spice of life that gives it all its flavor" is visible today in the work-place, families, playgrounds, neighborhoods, and parking lots.  This can enhance, expand and scare us.
	It needs tending
	Successful bloggers understand that the readers, the platform, and the blog page itself need regular attention and that sometimes you need to shake things up.	There may be times in life when it is ok to glide along for awhile, but we need to remember that each aspect of our life needs our undivided attention periodically.
	Things change… and they probably should
	Blogs evolve over time.  They can sometimes totally change course or simply get better, going to the next level of development or sophistication.  And, just when a blogger gets comfortable, along comes a new aspect of the internet, things like vlogging (video blogs).	One's purpose shifts, even if there is a faith-based foundation.  People adopt a new focus throughout the natural or sudden transitions of life.  We go from playground to school to career; from BFF's in the sandbox to college roommates to partners; from work to designing meaningful encore years.
	Packaging matters
	How a blog looks needs to match its purpose and reflect the creator.  That look and feel can engage readers, even a following, or it can detract from the message and ultimately turn people off.	As much as we would like to say it isn't so, appearance, understanding and utilizing norms or even trends to one's advantage can make the difference in whether one is successful along the road to one's purpose.
	Not everyone will 'get it'
	Not every reader will understand the point(s) a blogger is trying to make.  No reader will 'get it' all of the time.  This is good and can lead to dialogue.	Not everyone within one's circle understands us all of the time and in fact, people may clash.  This is healthy and parties can  'agree to disagree.'
	It's not fair
	Some very skilled, consistent, thought-provoking blogs get ignored while a cute kitty can become an overnight sensation.	Daily we learn lessons and see things that remind us that life is not fair. As hard as we work for equity - and we must continue to do so - there will still be injustices.
	It’s better when shared
	Putting something out into the cloud feels so much better when you know that it's been seen.  Better still is some type of acknowledge-ment that leads to a connection.	From cave drawings to eblasts, we are storytellers and communicators.  We want others to know, and  yes, even more, to understand us.  And, it's best when it's a two-way street.

Red, White, and Blue - Take Two

An ill wind blew my way Saturday morning when I tripped and fell in a parking lot.  It’s been a long time since I’ve had a badly scraped knee and hand and split lip.  I said to the store manager that it reminded of the summer I got my first 2-wheeler bike.  My knee was continually scabbed. 

The scrapes and blood and bruises also got me thinking again about red, white and blue.  So, the rest of the blog are pictures of some recent red, white, and blues in my life.  What's been colorful in yours?

Stay cool!

Marilyn

Welcome visitor

 

Blue sky on a red hot day

Fireworks and full moon

A visit to the Morton Arboretum

Rising moon

Early morning setting moon

Red, white, and blew

Patriotism has taken different forms in my lifetime.  My parent’s friends criticized me and my generation for protesting the Vietnam War and marching for equality for all.  They called us unpatriotic.  I remember telling them that my spine tingles just like I’m sure theirs does when the national anthem is played and that we cry at the sound of Taps on the trumpet.  They said they didn’t believe me.

Now foreign flags are proudly displayed next to the stars and stripes on the porches and front lawns of the bungalows in my neighborhood. The woman in front of me in line at Office Depot was wearing a sparkly t-shirt featuring the American flag. I remember when putting that symbol on clothing was controversial. Today politicians are questioned when they don’t wear a flag lapel pin. 

A terrible storm blew through here on Sunday.  To the west I saw the red, white and blue balloons from someone’s backyard picnic take flight.  A festively decorated lawn chair was somersaulting along with the trash and recycle bins down the alley.  Then it got so dark and the wind, rain and hail pounding the windows really scared me, so, for the first time I gave up watching nature’s display and hovered in the hallway.  The cat hid.  

When it was safe I walked around my block to see the damage.  There were branches down and debris scattered about.  In one front lawn there was a large flag – upside down with its pole like a spear in the ground.  Also glad to be outside after the storm was a group of rainbow children.  They went over and rescued the flag.  Of course, being children, they ran around with it like a parade for a minute, but then, they knew which house it belonged to and off they marched.  An elderly man came out his front door just as they walked up to his porch.  He smiled and saluted.  So did the kids.

OK, that last paragraph is fiction.  Too bad, as I rather liked the scene when it popped into my head and wondered what to do with it.  It doesn’t reflect a shift from musings to stories it just leads to this week’s question.  What is your red, white and blew story?

Happy 4^th!

Marilyn

PS: Deadlines and loss of internet forced the delay from Monday to Tuesday.