Coping Strategies

[austintorn@aol.com]

When moderators modify or remove posts, as they did upon my complaints recently, and may do more of, it is because they deem it as noncondusive to the flow. This could as simple as it being off topic or as intense as it being an insult. They makka da rules, not us.

Being nonreactive, I first draw attention to straying onto the person instead of the idea in case it wasn’t meant as such or to find if it was, then see if one wishes to work it out or not. When those fail, plus further failures of sociability and humor, and I observe several more insults and characterizations following and continuing, then I finally report the post(s), even a whole series if more than just one or several.

This happened a lot more in the olden days, involving at least 14 separate posters and situations, as there were more posters then who labeled anyone with contrary opinion to their topic as 'evil'. Robert pretty much put a stop to this, as well as discussing politics, preaching religion, and the posting of pornographic images (plus more going against the guidelines).

See the 'Norm' thread for a fuller exposition (by some soldiers talking) of the lengths gone to to defend a 'concept of good'. In the extreme, such as in national politics or religion, full scale wars are begotten between the two sides of a 'debate' of so-called sure-thing 'concepts of good' which are usually but arbitrary [flawed] ideologies, many even merely 'made up'. This insight was a product of the 'Root of Evil' thread.

[labelwench]

Discussion is yet another coping strategy.

Support groups are formed so that people with common experiences may share and learn from each other.

Discussion groups are often a forum for differing views to meet and debate. From these efforts, areas of consensus may be identified as well determining respectful non-agreement.

From her tours through the back pages of T.O.E.Quest, the evidence of "scorched earth battle and retreat" remains, even after moderation.

Labelwench would respectfully ask that any further discussion on the subject of vaccines be moved to a thread of it's own by that name.

Any discussion of past forum conduct would be a topic for private message only.

Labelwench and Caramel may travel through space portals and break all of the laws of this universe, but their journey moves only one way in time.

Everyday is the first day of the rest of your life. Moving forward now. Those who would like to join me on those terms are all welcome.

Thank you for your respect and co-operation.

Labelwench

[austintorn@aol.com]

Coping Strategies:

Expect that opinion will vary. That makes for discussion. Frustration in life is guaranteed, but it may still come as a surprise, as if it is something that should never be, for we do not know exactly when it will arrive. 9 blind dates could fail before one clicks.

One-time happenings need to be taken with a grain of salt. Trends, as in science, can be used to form theories for future verification.

Switch sides of a debate or a family situation or whatever(in your mind) and look for evidence to promote that other side and examine it closely.

Enabling bad behavior, say, of kids, may only groove them deeper into that rut.

On ToeQuest, for less debatable debates, maybe post an article. This may focus more of the discussion to only what is in the article, perhaps, but there is still a ‘reply’ section and a debate may still ensue. The tradeoff is that threads seem to have more discussion than articles since threads are more readily listed and seen and new topics come up.

I was in New Jersey over the weekend. They have no left turns and so one may have to go for miles before there is a U-turn. Enjoy the scenery rather than curse the place, for what you have to do still has to be done, being done beer in peace. Same with spilled milk. Plus, parking is limited everywhere. Patience is required. In any case, anger could make one crash, not to mention feeling pretty crummy for awhile since the cortisol remains in the bloodstream.

[Mikal]

Mikal came galloping in on her faithful old horse..Babe. She dismounted and dug deep in her saddle bag for (*) (*) Agent Peepers big magnifying glass...

hmm...awful quiet place...devoid of the presence of spiritedness....

She put the big magnifying glass back and caught the presence of her gun-toting opponent glaring at her under his texan hat....

She mounted babe and said...."hey amigo..if you promise not to shoot me in the back..I'll take you to Dodge...the spiritedness there is like fire..spitting sparks....so off into the horizon of Dodge the 2 riders and tough old horse headed into a new leg of the journey......


Mikal

[labelwench]

Physical activity can be a very productive strategy when one has a situation to work through. Depending on emotional involvement, some caution should be observed.

Labelwench has been known to use housework as a diversion, as there is always some task that can benefit from the energy generated by frustration. Splitting and stacking firewood, repair of fence rails, shovelling snow, are all utilitarian and having a visual measure of the accomplishment gives one satisfaction to balance the less pleasing matters of the day.

One should not attempt tasks that should be done "with love in your heart", however. Discord is distracting, and it is almost a rule that your cooking will burn, your bread will not raise, your crochet tension will go all wrong, LOL.

Likewise, when distressed, perhaps one should not use sharp and temperamental tools like chainsaws.....

[austintorn@aol.com]

The Momentous Coping of the Moment of Now

History has come to and end, for this
Is where it meets the present bliss
Of now, about which tale on its axis
Swings the past and the future, a near miss.

[austintorn@aol.com]

How should we be able to forget those ancient myths that are at the beginning of all peoples, the myths about dragons that at the last moment turn into princesses; perhaps all the dragons of our lives are princesses, who are only waiting to see us once beautiful and brave.

Perhaps everything terrible is in its deepest being something helpless that wants help from us. So you must not be frightened if a sadness rises up before you larger than any you have ever seen; if a restiveness, like light and cloud-shadows, passes over your hands and over all you do. You must think that something is happening with you, that life has not forgotten you, that it holds you in its hand; it will not let you fall. . . .

— Rilke

[austintorn@aol.com]

Coping With The Jury Selection Today

Part 1 of 2

On this second day, one of bright sun and a deep blue and promising sky, I was again driving for an hour down through the mountains on the glorious and scenic Taconic Parkway to the Court Plaza of the mini-metropolis of White Plains, NY.

Listening to E.S. Posthumus on my ipod gave me a heightened sense of emotion on this curving road that not only had no shoulders but also a straight up rock wall that was only inches away. In this way, one can ponder great adventures past or imagine those to come. While no trucks were allowed on this road because they wouldn’t fit, my van was not exactly tiny either.

Ah, here was another accident at about the same place where there was one yesterday, at Peekskill Hollow, where two cars flipped upside down into the woods. Today, there were 4 cars involved and 2 school buses, requiring 6 tow trucks.

Then there came a triplicate sequence of places that seemed ominous in their relationship of proximity, if Fishkill’s and Peekskill’s murderous names were not token enough. First came Sleepy Hollow, the haunt of the legendary romps of the headless horseman, then on came the Gate of Heaven cemetery, extending forever, and next the town of Valhalla, an afterlife of an old-time looking place of shops coming right up against the highway.

Of course, street parking in White Plains was limited to one hour, so I entered a municipal parking garage whose lower floors had a 3 hour limit. I found a whirling ramp to the 6th floor, kind of a spiral staircase for cars, and paid 6$ for 7 hours.

We had to empty all of our pockets and pass through an x-ray machine each time we entered the courthouse. They took away all cell phones and gave a receipt for each. The guard paged through my books, I noting that he was a fast reader. He noted that one of my books was a different one from yesterday’s.

THe day before, they had sent about 100 potential jurors up to the court room from the jury room in order to obtain a pool of 40 from which they could take another month or so to whittle down to the desired 12 main jurors and 4 alternates in case some died or were assinated.

Compared to this jury selection process, snails would seem like speedsters. Each day, after 2 hours of not much progress, there would be an hour lunch break and then another 2 hours of counting bumps on the ceiling for those who did not bring reading material.

The judge was a roly-poly sort of fellow in the style of some of the great black comedians, seeming to have all the time in the universe to tell some great stories.

The case consisted of a massive number of counts for several murders, kidnappings, and drug dealings of cocaine and crack. If the jury could ever be chosen, the trial was estimated to take 8 weeks—and I could tell how these guys underestimated things. Isolation in a hotel would probably follow, perhaps even with protection from any hostile intent by the friends of the accused.

People began trying to try to drop like flies when they heard all of this, but it is not so simple to get off. No one in the audience was to hear what they each claimed, so there were endless ‘sidebars’ with 6 lawyers leaning in to hear the whispered responses to the judge’s probing questions about their excuses, with a court reporter therein as well to take down every important word.

Remind me never to be a lawyer. They stood around forever and strained their ears to perhaps hear about someone’s grandmother being ill—and then they even wrote it down on a huge yellow pad whilst almost falling over in an attempt to hear more clearly.

I read an entire book the first day, on pseudo science, and was well into a second one. They had not yet picked my top 40 candidate’s name out of a turning box that might be used for Bingo or a raffle, but eventually they surely might as our reserve ranks dwindled away as slow as some erosion over the geological eons.

During yet another break, of which there were many, when we went back down 6 floors to the jury room, I noted a mysterious door at the back and went in. It was the smoking lounge, in which I could spread out some newspapers to read them all the better. Some more people came in and we had a smokin’ good time. There was a loud speaker in there and so we wouldn’t miss anything.

Back up on the 6th floor, we were looking out the window or sitting on some benches waiting for the session that was already a half hour late to begin. I saw a guy with the newest Nelson Demille book, one that I could not afford to buy yet since it was only out in hardcover. Now this is someone I would like to talk to, I thought.

We got to taking about many of the great novels of Nelson’s, such as when 911 happened just when a detective was going to present the evidence behind the downed TWA flight near Long Island. My new friend worked for Metro North Trains and told me of a case awarding 7 million dollars to an admitted drunk person who was walking about the tracks when a train severed one of his legs. My new friend and I decided that in the U.S. judges don’t really judge and that obtaining jurors as ‘judges’ out of the blue probably led them having sympathy for such as he severed leg and perhaps stuff like his having babies at home and he like, tales which may be especially touching with women jurors, whereas, a man, of course, takes only a certain box out of his head to deal with specifics, such as he actual case, and then puts back the box. It is thought by some that women can connect anything to anything. He went on to tell me that he lived in Peekskill, the scene of many of the crimes, and much more about the suspects, who were to be tried separately. While the ‘kill’ at the end of the name of Peekskill sounded ominous, it meant but a ‘stream’ in Dutch. We wondered if our names were even in the rotating box. He told of how he never ever won any raffles in his life, deciding that this was now a good thing perhaps.

[austintorn@aol.com]

Part 2 of 2

Back in court, a goodly number did indeed get finally excused, their seats getting filled to begin the ‘sidebar’ processes yet again to hear some new excuses. The came the shock to me that everyone had to put down their reading materials. So I then minutely examined everyone in front of me such as one might do in church. That didn’t do as much as I thought it would, the minutes slugging by like death worms, so I picked back up my book again, seeing as I was far back from their view to which they weren’t looking toward anyway.

After several eternities that might have ensued but for my reading about the endless universe, my novel friend was chosen for seat 39, the last seat of 40 being still open. It was getting near lunchtime. There was some talk about someone having a trip to Alaska on a cruise in a few months whom they said they still had to keep in the 40 pool, and how the lawyers would get to do the questioning of prospects instead of the judge in order to get down to the final 20.

After reading another chapter about why people believe in weird things, I heard the weird thing of my name being called to move to seat 40, and so I ended up next to my friend who’d read all of the great detective stories and we whispered on about some more talk of the deep secrets of local criminals. It seems that this guy on trial was a monster of a dragon who was never going to turn into a prince.

Going on to the outside to look for lunch, a lady asked me for a light and we began talking about how in the British court system there were no juries since 3 judges presided over trials and determined all guilt, or not, this probably being better since they were well versed in the court proceedings and having this permanent job and all instead of a judgment coming from people off of the street who had many other things to do and think about.

She was worried that the classes she taught in High School would go substitutes which would of course lead to disaster for the inner city students who would take advantage.

A strong wind suddenly came up and she began o topple her down the steps, for she was of slight build, but I caught her, dropping all of my books in the process. We talked some more during lunch and then went back to court, of course emptying all our pockets of metal and lint yet again.

For the thousandth’s time, the judge asked any of the newly seated potential jurors to raise their hands if they could not answer yes to a long list of questions that he’d posed on the first day during a long sleepy speech that he made, including his trip to England to discuss court practices there.

Many hands went up, mine among them, but I of course had to wait for several ice ages to arrive and retreat to get onto my sidebar with the happy judge. It was my obligation to tell of anything that I’d heard about the case,, in case that was stuff that was not to be brought up in the trial.

As usual, the judge leaned over the side of his wooden bench throne, almost falling out of it, into the circle of the 6 lawyers and a court reporter to hear my concern and hang on every word. I first told him that I read a lot, even in the courtroom, he smiling at this because of the recent reading ban that had been imposed, and that I’d read in the newspapers about the escapades in Peekskill. Of course, I had to expand on this as he wanted to hear more, so I related about how the news was only of the drug aspect. He asked if I’d heard any names on the news report and of course I truthfully had to say that I didn’t, plus it wasn’t a news report of things heard but of things read. He requested more and so I told of how the newspaper showed it to be to me of a definite happening of a crime, with pictures and a long gloriful write-up. He wanted more so I said, that while this story appeared several months ago and perhaps blended into others, it seemed to me to be of the nature of what was called a sting operation. Actually, I had paused a bit trying to recollect the right word of ‘sting’ as the court reporter stared at me as if the short silence was unbearable.

Some centuries later after taking my seat, the judge read the numbers of those excused. I heard #40. The two friends with whom I could have known some more in a different reality of me becoming a juror gave me a glance as I whispered to them to ‘carry on’. Some lady from the row behind leaned over and asked me what I told the judge. I said that I read the newspaper. Meanwhile the judge asked for some jurors who seemed to have no questions to come forward, my seat 39 detective-wise friend included. He wondered what the judge wanted to see him for. I said “I don’t know. I didn’t say anything. Maybe its because you are from Peekskill.” Well, I never found out, for by then the judge’s speedy messenger guy had come over and was saying, almost on the edge of being firm, “You are excused now, #40” and handed me a card to turn in downstairs.

I floated up to the parking coliseum and was soon back on the Taconic, noting the leaves from last fall swirling onto and across the road. I thought that one day I might send an e-mail to my book friend, for I’d noted his name when he was called to a seat, and find out if his home town of Peekskill had been ridded of its evil. If I could read the future, I’d say that he’d probably send me the new Nelson Demille book when he finishes it. That’s the kind of wonderful guy he was.

I started my ipod up again, driving inches away from the stone wall containing large rocks of various shapes and sizes that I leisurely inspected, heading home to the back country where one could park anywhere anytime for free.

[labelwench]

It is thought by some that women can connect anything to anything. Originally posted by austintorn

......and so it is, Austin, as everything is connected.

For that astute observation on your part, I give you credit.