Tommy, can you hear me . . .

Today I was eavesdropping on a conversation in which one person was talking about their fears about the future. The other person listened gravely, and then said, "I hear you."

I assume the person was trying to be sympathetic and supportive, but I hate that phrase. When I am pouring my heart and soul out to you, for Crandell's sake don't go and say "you hear me." My cats hear me. Birds hear me. On some level insects hear me. I don't want someone to hear me. What I want is someone to understand me, or at least try to.

The problem with the statement, "I hear you," is that it effectively ends the conversation. There is really nothing to say in response. They heard your original statement and the implication is that anything further would be a waste of the listener's time. Perhaps it is indicative of how uncaring people have really become. They no longer feel the need to even pretend they care enough to try and understand your problems, but consider having heard your cry of anguish to be sufficient. "Yes, yes. I heard you say you're afraid of losing your job, now consider yourself loved. I usually don't even listen."

And while we're at it:

Don't say you want to share something with me, and then tell me about it. If you describe to me the wonderful flavors of the perfectly-normal-beast sandwich you had the other day you are not sharing it with me. Sharing means you give me a portion of the sandwich. Then we can share the experience. If you tell me about it the best I can do is empathize with you. So if you want to share with me the sunset over the Inland Sea you bloody well better have airline tickets and a hotel reservation, otherwise you're just going to describe it to me.

But then I'm old and stodgy enough to still think 'gay' means lively or bright.

Doctor, Doctor! Mr M D . . .

Todai hospital also turned new mom away : National : DAILY YOMIURI ONLINE (The Daily Yomiuri)

I have always known that Japan was more hide bound about following the rules than the Chairwoman of a Methodist Church flower committee. Everyone in a school or corporation dresses alike, and they all change from winter uniforms to summer uniforms on the same day, and damn the weather. But this article about a woman dying because hospitals seemed to think that the number of beds their policy manual states they will have is more important than the number of people who are actually in critical need really takes the cake.

I like bread and butter . . .

The sister-in-law, Kim, who lives up in Washington (and is a writer of some accomplishment—her last book is Ruby's Imagine) posted a tentative first chapter the other day for The Cookie Club. Reading it got me to thinking about my father, and working with him in the bakery.

My father was a baker, my two older brothers were bakers and I discovered that my great grandfather, my father's paternal grandfather, was also a baker before he enlisted in the Union Army during the Civil War. When I was in high school I would work with Dad in the summer when his assistant didn't show up which seemed to be at least twice a week.

I would like to apologize for my friend here . . .

Aside from the sister-in-law who lives in Michigan, it seems that the majority of the people wandering onto this blog are algebra students. At least I think they are algebra students. The reason I am not a retired architect instead of a retired bookseller is that my math abilities are comparable to my ability to fly. That is, largely a matter for my dreams. They could be physics or chemistry students for all I know, but the phrasing of their searches leads me to believe they are struggling with a math problem; and since algebra is the branch of mathematics I understand least, I assume that's the kind of math.

Anyway, these poor souls are doing Google searches for "missing factor" or some similar phrase, and Google obligingly directs them here. I imagine it can be quite frustrating to be desperately searching for the answer to a homework problem or help preparing for a test and suddenly find yourself looking at the ramblings of some old geezer.

For this I sincerely apologize. I hope the exam goes well, and that you do find an answer to your missing factor problem

If it is any help, the missing factor in my life has always been 9.