The Saga of Grammy Lisa S.1, I.1, Outgrowing Fairytales?

 The Saga of Grammy Lisa: “Good Witch” and Hearer of the Unheard

Outgrowing Fairytales?

Season 1, Installment 1

        Moments like this were what made her wonder.  She laughed to herself, shaking her head in disbelief at her thoughts, her wavy auburn hair cascading over her black t-shirt.  There were a decent handful of whites and grays in it now, strands of starlight as she liked to call them.  Unlike so many who dyed them away, to her, they were simply new details, new strokes of color on the canvas of her life.  

The cause of her musings today was an interesting “conversation” she had just had with two crows who frequented her yard.  One had cawed at her three times and she replied with three clicks, the same sound she used when she fed them peanuts.  The other bird cawed four times, the first copied it, and then she clicked four in response as well.  To her surprise, the first bird then responded with five in a row, perfectly in sync with her pondering if they would repeat back five.  Lisa went over it again in her head, definitely five times so she clicked back the same.  Suddenly they flew away.

The rational part of her knew that as smart as they were, crows didn’t have words nor did they know how to count or converse back and forth, but still it seemed too deliberate to be a coincidence.  Either way, it did remind her that she should start putting peanuts out for them again.  They seemed to only want them seasonally and it was about that time again.  Kicking the dragging ends of her slightly too long, purple, unicorn PJ pants out of the way so as to not trip on them, Lisa carefully stood up from the ratty, old, green porch swing.  Although nothing hurt much today, care had become a habit made necessary more days than not by chronic pain.

There had been enough moments like this over her life that she trusted the “talk” with the crows had happened though.  It hadn’t been a hallucination, just a weird coincidence.  Her brow furrowed slightly.  No, she wasn’t going to start worrying about the decision to go off of her meds.  Once in her adult life, she wanted to not have to take pills every day.  She’d cleaned up her diet and was biking every day.  Mental health and physical health, especially gut health, were related after all.  Damian and the kids had made her promise to go back on the meds if anything went wrong with trying alternative options, but she was so hopeful she would be able to function without them.  She hadn’t had any symptoms in years after all, not since she was young.  Even her doctor thought it was safe enough to try a run without them as long as she had support.

She managed to tug the stubborn sliding door open after a couple of tries and headed inside to get dinner started.  Before she got started, she put some peanuts on the counter by her little coffee maker to remind her to put them out tomorrow morning.  The crows certainly weren’t going to eat them in the dark so there was no point in doing it while the sunset was starting to stain the sky, but if she didn’t put them where she would see them she would probably forget tomorrow.  Once the peanuts were on the counter, her “talk” with the crows faded to the back of her mind as more immediate real-life concerns like dinner took over.

A few days later, elbow-deep weeding lavender, working peacefully beside dozens of clumsily buzzing bumbles Lisa found herself humming along absently.  The scent of lavender was heavy in the air, like she was soaking in it.  All of a sudden the tune took shape in the air around her and she followed the notes with her humming,  The bumblebees harmonized together, the specific words just beyond her understanding leaving her feeling if she could just focus harder she would be able to make them out.  The song strummed through all of her senses of the warmth of summer sun and the sweetness of nectar, but the more effort she put into hearing it the more it escaped her.

The notes slipped away dissolving down into disorganized buzzing.  Yet again she shook her head at how silly she was being.  While bees did communicate with one another, it wasn’t in harmonizing harvesting songs.  She knew that and besides, the notes were already fading, too ephemeral to hold on to.  By the time the last weeds were pulled from the bed her moment of harmony with the bees had become just a deeply mindful moment, nothing more than letting herself get lost focusing on nature and plant care. Human brains are too good at finding patterns and shoving things around so they are familiar.  Bees don’t sing.  Gathering her tools up, she went back inside to figure out the next project that needed doing.  The bees’ song was completely forgotten as she considered whether to tackle the rats in the attic or something less complicated.

Curled up on the couch, wrapped up in a blanket with her fluffy tux cat Charlie purring on her lap, Lisa was buried in a book, whiling away the rainy day.  She normally devoured books although today she was more lost in thought than functionally reading.  Fantasy was her favorite, but science fiction was a close second.  Being lost in the images in the words and the magic of creating and sharing the worlds that evolved in the authors’ minds had always been her happy place.  That or drawing, or crocheting, or painting, or cooking, or, or, or so many different things!  Creativity was her passion, either letting her imagination out to play or basking in the work of others, it didn’t matter to her.

When she was little there was so much more.  Imaginary friends, magical adventures, lifetimes spent lost in her own mind.  When all of her friends grew past playing pretend and got their feet firmly planted and their thoughts caught up with celebrities, makeup, and boys, Lisa still doodled the escapades of her imaginary friends and wrote stories in her mind to fall asleep.  While all her friends grew up, she was left behind although it hadn’t felt that way to her..

That was what had led to the trips to specialists and trials of different medications.  After a seemingly unending list of drugs and side effects and years of talk therapy, the doctors and therapists eventually “fixed” her.  She had known she would have to grow up eventually, but it wounded her deeply to lose those friends in her mind, the ones only she could talk to.  Her parents had been so proud of her for getting focused and working to become a responsible adult.  It had felt good to finally make them proud and to take away their fears about how she would manage the adult world.

Lisa had done well for herself, all things told.  She had a wonderfully supportive husband who ran his own carpentry business, two charming, well-adjusted children, and her dear grandbaby, Severin, whose toddler chortles lit her heart up and whom she was blessed to be able to care for several days a week.  Due to several lucky twists of fate, she didn’t have to work full-time, although she did enjoy her part-time job at The Rainbow’s End, the local New Age-y pagan store downtown, as much as you could call a couple of blocks of a two-lane road a downtown, and it was always her joy to be able to officiate weddings as a pagan minister through the Universal Life Church.  It would have been hard for her to pull off full-time work at this point anyway since the fibromyalgia symptoms made her abilities vary widely day by day.  Yes, she was definitely a lucky woman even with the challenges she faced.

Paganism had drawn her in young, a big issue in her Catholic family.  She resonated with the connection to nature and had never felt comfortable with people who claimed to follow Jesus behaving the unChristlike way so many preachers and people who called themselves “Christian” did.  Her parents hadn’t been happy at first, insisting it was a phase, but when she told them she had become a minister her mom had been surprisingly pleased.  It could have gone so much worse.  Paganism and New Age practices had been so alluring because they allowed people to believe in magic even if. for the most part, they knew what they practiced wasn’t real in a scientifically measurable way at least not with the current technology.  Still, it allowed her to keep magic in her life, just like her fantasy novels did.  As much as she was supposed to be a responsible grown-up, and even though she played one well enough to pass, she was still in many ways the daydreaming kid with her head stuck in the clouds.

A robocall momentarily jerked her out of her reverie, and as the rain droned on she felt herself nodding off.  Charlie was kneading the soft rainbow blanket she was cocooned in, purring loud enough to wake the dead as usual.  Something about his purr made her feel safe and cared for, although she knew it was irrational.  He was just a cat after all.  Even half-asleep she made sure the book was safely cradled on top of the blanket as she drifted off, pondering what would happen if people didn’t have to outgrow fairytales.

Considering all of that, it is not like she ought to have been surprised the next day when, lost in her thoughts, she absently tripped over Charlie and he yelped, “Hey, watch it!”  

Startled at having tripped on him, and his words not having completely registered, she immediately apologized, “Oh, I’m sorry Charlie!  I should have been watching where I was going.”  

Now, talking to the pets was completely normal for her, but the pet in question talking back was quite unexpected so she was completely taken aback when, as he figure-eighted through her legs, he replied, “Meh, you’re a clumsy human.  It’s to be expected.”

Stopping in mid-step, she nearly fell over in shock causing him to dart out of the way and settle down on the hardwood a few feet away.  She grabbed the sofa for balance and stared at Charlie, blinking hard and shaking her head as though it would settle reality back into place.  The cat simply blinked back at her enigmatically.

Lisa didn’t know what to think.  Cats don’t talk, at least not like that they don’t!  Well, they aren’t supposed to at any rate.  She took a deep shaky breath, her heart pounding from the adrenaline and her back twinging from having saved herself from falling.  She considered for a moment maybe going off her meds was a bad idea after all. Or maybe it was early-onset dementia?  Her mom had been showing signs by this age. 

“You know you look very silly standing there gaping at me like a fish,” Charlie gently chided.

Sitting down hard on the arm of the couch, she managed to haul her jaw off the floor.  Long-buried memories stirring, she muttered to herself, “This isn’t real.  It can’t be.”

The cat held up a paw and examined it carefully before giving an itch a good hard gnaw, then blinked up at her amused, responding dryly, “I’m pretty certain I am indeed real.”

Completely thrown by her current situation, Lisa absently responded, “Yes, you are real, Charlie.  I meant you talking to me.  That can’t be real.  I’m having a hallucination or a delusion or I don’t know what, but this isn’t actually happening.”

“And why are you so sure about that, you silly human?” was his reply.  Lisa noted she didn’t see his mouth move at all, but she clearly heard his words in her ears not just in her mind.  Oddly enough he sounded familiar like she always imagined he would, but of course he would since this was just her imagination playing tricks.  

Already in the habit of talking to herself and to the pets, she replied as though having a conversation with her cat was as normal as buying bananas at the store, “Because cats don’t talk like people do.”

“I’m not talking like people do.  That would be beneath me.  I am a cat after all.”  He sounded mildly insulted and she swore that if he could have made air quotes around, “like people do,” he would have.

She knew the tricks to use on an unruly brain and, once she got her racing heart under control, she was growing more curious than freaked out, “Well fine then, how are you talking if it’s not like people do?”

His eyes twinkled, “Magic, obviously.  Don’t you remember?”

 

Index

Season 1, Installment 2 From the Mouths of Babes

 

All content has my intellectual copyright and I reserve all rights to it.  People are welcome to link to the story, however, unless you get my permission in writing ahead of time none of the Grammy Lisa Saga may be copied, sold, or otherwise used.

Explanation and Installment list of "The Saga of Grammy Lisa: "Good Witch" and Hearer of the Unheard"

 Hi all!  As many of you know I am an author (internationally published even!).  I am currently working on a new project that I would like to share with you.  It isn't exactly a novel, or a series of short stories, or a script.  It is more of a book in TV series format.  Each "installment" is intended to be relatively complete, but part of a greater whole, similar to an episode in a TV series.  A "season" will be approximately the equivalent of a novel in a series.  I am HOPING (very much emphasizing hoping) that there will be at least one installment a month, preferably every other week or even sooner if words flow smoothly.  Obviously, the current insanity of life might monkey-wrench that at times so don't hold me to that!

I am completely open to constructive criticism in the comments and installments might be lightly edited after posting based on comments I receive.  If this goes well I might eventually compile it all together and make a book with an audio version, but that is a far-future possibility.

Needless to say, all content has my intellectual copyright and I reserve all rights to it.  People are welcome to link to the story, however, unless you get my permission in writing ahead of time none of the Grammy Lisa Saga may be copied, sold, or otherwise used.

Hang on and enjoy the ride!

Season 1, Installment 1:  Outgrowing Fairytales?

Season 1, Installment 2:  From the Mouths of Babes

Season 1, Installment 3: Pixies and Tomten and Wards, Oh My!

Equating the Abused with the Abuser

Recently I have been seeing some conservatives online equating the race protests (and a few riots) with the insurrectionist attack on the capitol building.  They talk about Kaepernick, quote him, and go, "Aren't these two things the same?"

They both started with protests and there was some level of violence in each case.  That is exactly where any similarities end.

There were plans for violence at the capitol and there are people still planning more violence.  They stormed, vandalized, and defaced the Capitol Building.  They killed a policeman.  There were people who went planning to take hostages.  There were people there who discussed hanging the sitting Vice President for doing his Constitutionally mandated duty (much like they planned to do with a governor a few months back, but were caught and stopped in time).  They wanted to disenfranchise the entire country and instate Trump as ruler.  All of this was done with the support of Trump after he deluded his followers into thinking he had won the election with solely his lies to back up that allegation.  If there was any proof at all, any proof AT ALL, they would have been plastering it on every media platform available.  Anyone who says differently is trying to sell you a lemon.

The race protests were almost all peaceful.  Less than 10% got violent and a good bit of that violence was shown to have been instigated by people on the opposing side to try to make the movement look bad.  (The opposing side, you know, the ones who stormed the capitol looking for blood?)  The protests were because people of color were being killed in cold blood by authority figures who were facing no more than a slap on the wrist, if that, for their crimes.

Consider a family where there is an abuser.  The abused spouse puts up with the abuse (including ER visits and excuses to doctors) because they have a child and they do not feel they would be capable of leaving safely with that child and surviving (due to years of abuse warping their sense of self and self-esteem to the point that standing up to the abuser seems impossible),  

The abuser goes for the child in a fit of rage.  The abused spouse finally finds the courage to stand up to the abuser to protect their child, hits the raging abuser with a pan, and flees the house with the child, calling on friends and the social safety net for support.  One headline reads, "Terrified parent bravely stops abuser from harming child."  Another reads, "Spouse hits partner with a pan, injuring them, kidnapping child."  While both generally describe the situation, which is more true to the actual facts of the story?

In another version, the abuser thinks the abused is cheating on them with no evidence other than a drunken hunch.  The abuser riles up some drunken buddies, destroys their spouse's most beloved possessions, smearing them with feces and blood, breaks the spouse's car windows, slashes the tires, and then goes hunting for the abused spouse intending to beat them to a pulp for daring to "cheat."  The headlines this time are, "Cheating spouse gets what's coming to them," and "Abused spouse fears for their life after coming home to drunken destruction."

An abuse victim standing up to their abuser is brave.  Other people helping the abuse victim and saying, "Hey, abusing people is bad!" is a reasonable (and should be the expected) response.  While no one wants or condones violence for violence's sake, hitting your abuser in the head with a pan to escape with your child is, in that situation, a reasonable choice.

An abuser claiming to be a victim to escape from the consequences of their violent actions and to twist the narrative and garner sympathy is gaslighting, manipulative, and in my opinion, evil.  It is violence for the sake of intimidation.  It is violence used to abuse and manipulate people through fear.  They are not a victim.  They are the abuser and anything they say about the abused is immediately suspect.

Do not equate the abused with the abuser.  Look at what is actually happening.  Look at why choices are being made and what the end goal is.  Look at the intent.  If you put forth the effort to actually deconstruct what information you are being fed it is not hard to figure out the truth.

Invisible disabilites, or "Walk a mile in my body"

     I have a disability placard, two canes, and a walker.  I have a pain doctor I see every couple of months, at least six prescriptions involving pain (four of which are opioid-related), three supplements specifically dealing with pain, a medical marijuana card, a TENS unit, heat packs, multiple braces, CBD topicals and edibles, physical therapy treatments, and several otc medications I use as well.

    Yet, most people have no idea how much pain I am in on a daily basis.  I only use the disabled placard when I feel my level of disability on any particular day necessitates its use if I want to get everything done that day.  Even on the days I use the placard, it is unlikely you will see me using my cane or walker even though I may badly need them.  I look like an able-bodied person to most people.

    Why on earth won't I use my mobility aids if I need them?  It seems counter-productive. doesn't it?  However, when I use a cane or a walker, I am putting weight and stress on my wrists, elbows, shoulders, arms, and neck.  I had double cervical disc replacement surgery two years ago and I have carpal tunnel in both wrists.  While the surgery means I still have the use of my arms, it also means that certain types of stress and pressure to my arms or wrists cause me pain.  To use my mobility devices to prevent pain, I have to cause myself pain.

    My physical therapists have warned me about using my braces too often or for too long.  On one hand, they will lessen the muscle strength I need to keep my joints stable to counteract the damage my hypermobility syndrome causes.  On the other, they will reduce flexibility and motion in my hands, but they do help with pain and stability if used as prescribed.  

    The other thing the physical therapists have pounded into my head is NEVER limp. Ever.  Limping causes so many long term problems, so even when the pain is bad, my goal is to not limp because while it might help ease the pain now, I will absolutely pay for it later.  Even when my pain numbers are well above 5, I still try to do my physical therapy exercises every day through the pain because if I don't I won't be able to do anything very quickly.

    All of the pain medications come with side effects.  ALL of them have noticeable side effects that impact my daily life functions.  I have prescriptions to deal with the side effects of some of my pain meds.  Most of them impact my ability to drive safely which makes dosing medications dictated by my (and the children's) day's schedule more than by my pain levels.  

    What it comes down to is that on any given day at any given point you are seeing me at between a 2 and 7 on the pain scale.  I am never not in pain.  I am rarely not in pain that actively affects me even if I am on multiple medications for it.  The pain makes me tired.  I am also never not tired.

    The thing is, I am just one person whose story you haven't personally experienced, simply one person who, from a glance, seems able-bodied and healthy.  Any person you meet could be me.  Any person you meet could have dramatic, life-affecting situations they are dealing with while smiling at you and chatting about the weather.  Be kind.

Why Saying "Not All X" Makes the Problem Worse

For people who wonder why saying "X isn't all bad" (ie. "Not all Cops" or "Not all Men") is an issue, maybe this will help.

Let's say you live in a neighborhood and there is a fire. Several houses are on fire, but not all of them. The firefighters come and start spraying down all the houses, on fire or not. Some people whose houses are not on fire are very adamant about getting an equal spray down for their houses, even as the ones on fire aren’t getting enough water to slow the infernos. This seems silly, right?

The houses that need the water are ON FIRE, the others aren't benefiting from it and might actually be being harmed (water damage). In addition since the firefighters are not all focusing on the houses on fire, the fire could grow and spread and take out the entire neighborhood. Obviously the people whose houses are actively burning down are going to be upset in this situation. After all, it's their houses burning down, but it isn't just an issue just for the houses that are on fire either though. No matter how you look at it the entire neighborhood is at risk if the fires in those particular houses that are actually on fire aren't put out quickly, efficiently, and permanently.

Basically by saying "X isn't all bad" you are being the firefighter shooting water at a house that isn't on fire or, if you are being completely insensitive, one of the short-sighted and selfish home owners who insists on their house being sprayed even though it isn’t on fire. You are turning the focus away from the very obvious issue (houses are on fire). In addition you are actively harming the X's that aren't doing the bad things by making it seem like the innocent X's are against addressing the issue and dealing with the non-innocent X's obvious problems. Yes, not all "X’s" are generally never ALL bad, although exceptions to rules always exist. Generalizations are generalizations after all. However when specific houses are on fire it really doesn't matter that others aren't, you know? Everything could end up burning down if you don't actively work together to solve the problem while it is still manageable.

Masks and Manliness

I've been thinking about "manliness" and the whole "hold my beer!" mindset. I see fewer men than women wearing masks properly (or at all) in public. I've seen enough commentary to know that some guys think (in a very paraphrased for public consumption way) that wearing masks isn't "manly." This hurt my brain for a bit.

I think I get it now though. I think it's part of how toxic masculinity is affecting our men. They've been taught that to be "manly" you cannot show fear even in the face of terrifying things. You need to be able to work an 80 hr work week, pay all the bills, gun down all the baddies, chug a 12 pack, burp the alphabet backwards and then face down a charging lion, assured by your own male superiority that you WILL WIN! NO FEAR!!!


If you were raised steeped in this toxic stew of fear, even healthy respectful fear, equating to weakness then it makes sense to not wear a mask. It makes sense to want to reopen before safety measures are in place. You are the bread winner. You are the protector. You HAVE to be safe and prevail because any other option means you are weak and you can't be a guy and be weak...

It's so sad how much damage our culture has done to our men.

Sitting with Fear: Covid-19

Fear.

Fear is a thing most people rarely have to sit with.

Fear is a thing people avoid. They run from it. They close their eyes and pray it will go away.

Sometimes fear doesn't go away. Sometimes it is there to stay and nothing you do or say will convince it to leave.

Fear makes people want to lash out, to find a scapegoat, to find something, anything to blame and punish that might possibly make the fear go away so they no longer have be there, soaking in it, marinated by tears and anxiety and what ifs.

Fear is an unknown. It is about the unknown. It is about lack of answers, lack of stability, lack of safety.

Fear is that moment when you were little when you lost your parent in the store and had no idea where they were and if you would ever find them again. But then you did and all was well. That can't happen right now.

Right now we have to live with our fear, hold it's hand, comfort it like we would the little child crying because they lost their parent.

The thing is, it will get better. It might also get worse. It will very likely do both and possibly at the same time. That's a hard thing to digest, much the less accept.

Change happens. Change is scary. The unknown is scary. But Time also happens. Things change. You never step in the same river twice.

This isn't where we want to be. This isn't the life we want to be living, but it is the one we were dealt. We get to choose the cards to play, make the best of a bad hand and do our best to find some little bits of good among the fear.

Like with a chronic illness, it's not about what you've lost. It's about what you are still able to do. Mourn your losses and then focus on your strengths. Focus on what you CAN, not what you can't.

You have the choice every single moment of every single day to choose good. You aren't perfect. You won't get it right all the time and that's ok. Just try to choose the good over the bad as often as you can.

Learn to live with your fear, to comfort it when it cries out in terror at our current world. Know that you aren't alone. We are all here in this together. The world will get though this and will keep on turning.

Mantra

I will remain true to the person I know I am.
I will honor myself by not allowing myself to be pulled into drama.
Although the unpredictability and cruelty of the world may hurt,
I will not allow myself to be pulled down by it.
I will remain a kind, loyal, and supportive person throughout it all.

The universe made me who I am.
There is only one me.
I matter.

Is insecurity really a character flaw?

This world equates attractiveness with confidence and independence.  There is a constant disparaging of insecurity.  People call it being clingy and needy, a character flaw that needs to be "fixed" and anyone who cannot "fix" it or at the very least hide it semi-successfully is a failure on top of the crime of being insecure.  This concept is no more than a hold over from when mental health care was electroshock therapy and real men didn't cry.

Lets break down the word itself.  Insecure means "not secure" and secure in this instance means "not subject to threats, certain to remain safe and unharmed, stable, and free from anxiety."  So basically being insecure means you do not feel safe, stable, and free from threat.

Say you are walking along and suddenly, with no warning at all, the ground gives out as you place your weight on it.  You fall.  It hurts.  You try to figure out what happened so you can avoid falling next time.  You pick yourself up and go on with a shrug.  A while later, it happens again.  Then at another point, again.  And again.  It gets to the point you never know which step will give out.

There is no pattern you can discern.  You just know that every time you walk there is a chance you will end up losing your footing this way.  Over time you learn to adapt somewhat.  You figure out how to catch yourself up short when you feel the ground give way.  You learn to walk more carefully, more slowly, always testing the ground.  You see other people running freely without a care in the world because the ground never gives way for them, and you are envious and at the same time glad they have safe footing even if you do not.

Now you know what it is like to be insecure.  You do not feel stable, or free from threats.  You never know if the next step is safe or not.  It does not make you a bad person.  It does not make you less than or not good enough.  It simply means that you are not in a space where you feel safe.

People with anxiety are by definition insecure.  Anxiety is a glitch in the brain, an over active fight/flight response, which in many cases is caused by a history of trauma.  You can move past insecurity (and anxiety) with time and patience, but it involves learning to trust that the ground will not give way without warning.  That is a hard thing to do when the ground keeps randomly giving way.  Think about the levels of courage and trust it takes someone to keep taking that next step knowing each time that it may be the one that drops them to the ground in pain again.

Many people can get from a place of insecurity to a place they feel secure if they work on it and if they have help and support, but insecurity is more often than not a symptom of lack of safety and stability in a person's life or past, not a character flaw and should be treated as such, not demeaned by the people who do not bother to understand it.

Why is one person's passion "less" simply due to level of education required?

Somethings about our world make no sense.

Everyone knocks fast food workers, but most people eat fast food. What if someone truly loved working in fast food? What if it was the job that gave them true fulfillment? They would be told it's an entry level job, that they need to spend tons of money and go to college to earn a degree in a field that is not nearly as fulfilling to them to get a job they hate just to make more money.  They would be looked down on for fulfilling their passion, all the while treated as less then, and likely as unintelligent, simply due to their method of earning income.

On the other hand, what if that is the only job someone can hold?  What if that is where their skills lie and even with training and patience they will never be successful in another career?  What about the people who went to trade schools instead of college?  Those who work with their hands instead of their brains?  And what about the people who simply do not care, the people who simply want to be service drones, put in their hours then go home and live their lives?

Why shouldn't someone be able to support themselves working in a job they truly love, even if it's one that isn't "good enough" in the eyes of society? Why do we honor people's passions with paychecks they can live on only if those passions need degrees from four year universities?  Why does it require a college degree to earn enough money to support yourself "respectably"?  Why would anyone think that there should be full time jobs that do not pay enough to support a person working diligently at them?  We are not talking getting rich flipping burgers, simply able to pay for food, bills, medical care, and a roof over your head.

Everyone agrees that basic fast food work should not pay as much as a four (or more) year degree trained field, there is something to be said about rewarding the extra work, effort, expense, training, and skill involved after all, but why are the people who can and want to put in the extra time and money the only people who deserve to be treated respectably by the rest of society?  Why are they the only ones who deserve the most basic of financial stability?  Why are their passions the only ones society values?  Why do we link income and education level to worthiness?  Stop and think about it.