You Can't Digitize Poop

Despite the popular emoji 💩,  you just can’t digitize poop.  This statement came tumbling out of my orifice recently when discussing a local news story on our morning run.

It’s true! There isn’t a “send” button on your touchscreen that sends that unmentionable brown matter into cyberspace where you no longer have to deal with it.  At this moment you’re thinking, “Flush handle…DUH!”  You’d be correct in that the handle acts as a message SEND button, and may as well give you the reassuring feedback message, “Your poop has been sent!”  But to where?  Mind you, it was not simply translated into computer code and transferred as a nanobyte of information to The Cloud , an odorless invisible infinite place that we can ignore.

In the real world, poop takes up space and has weight (and a smidgen of odor). In other words, poop has mass.  Mass cannot be created or destroyed - Law of Conservation, baby!  Did you know that there are four bags of astronaut poop on the moon, left behind by Neil Armstrong on his Apollo mission?  Poop is basically forever.  What I do know is that I bag my pooches’ poo every day and it certainly adds up over a short period of time…and it doesn’t go away until the garbage truck comes. And I have been on plenty of school field trips as a mom and a teacher to the local sewage treatment plant.  I’ll avoid graphic descriptions.   Just take my word - it does NOT simply disappear.

According to the book The Truth About Poop, people produce one ounce of poop for each 12 pounds of their body weight.  For the average man that is almost one pound per day!!  (Many of us may have the urge to deny that amount…and we smell like roses, no doubt.)

Add that up.  For the average life span of the male human species of 70 years, that means over 25,000 pounds of excrement!  Do you want that piling up around you?  ‘Course not.  And you don’t have to live with that. WHY?  Not because of high-tech fiber-optics or itty-bitty computer chips (although they help) or solely due to brain-geek-created binomial code.

Plumbing is our REAL hero here.  And plumbers, and folks who understand the workings of the massive invisible infrastructure that lays beneath our feet.  Without that infrastructure, and the people who have spent their lives as students, apprentices and professionals, that POOP might be what is beneath our precious little feet.

A recent local news article lamented the coming shortage of plumbers and other hands-on trade workers that keep our quality of life moving, literally.  Apparently the older generation of those who keep electricity running to our homes and water moving in and flushing out is nearing retirement and the new generation doesn’t seem to appreciate their importance.  Everyone is scrambling to learn the computer-based skills…and if you talk to any young teen these days many will tell you that they plan to become incredibly successful video game developers and testers, with their bums taking the permanent shape of the recliners in which they reside.  There is a fear that there will be a shortage of non-digital trade workers.  If this happens and all of the youth do do the technology thing (oops - did I just say“doo-doo”??) we could theoretically end up knee deep in our own 💩.

Reality is if those young-uns want to succeed, a bunch of them would take a look at the technical schools and apprentice opportunities. Because soon enough we are all going to be paying top dollar to ensure our poop leaves the premises in a timely manner…as well as receiving electricity to our homes and sound, structural roofs over our heads.  

And schools might well bring back an emphasis on mechanics, wood shop, automotive repair and real world, hands-on experiences.  We ought to give those areas of study the level of respect they deserve!  We don't call it the porcelain throne for nothin'.

Tina Fey - Schmeena Fey

The young Tina

It cracks me up when I see that “inspirational” list of folks who are now famous yet had humble beginnings.  The point of it, I think, is that you, too, can be rich and famous - just follow your dreams, work hard and soon you will be lifted to the heights of wealth and celebrity.  You may recognize it: the list usually starts with the statement, “At age 23, Tina Fey worked at a YMCA.”  And then goes on to list well-known, successful personalities and how they started out.

Well, here I am at the age of…well…let’s just say I’m more than double the age of that wide-eyed Tina Fey and just recently landed a full-time position at our local YMCA — and it is my DREAM job!  I will be co-coordinating the youth running programs for the county, which I have been doing part-time for the last two years.  I can’t think of anything I’d rather do.  You see, my professional background is in elementary education and my favorite pass-time and social outlet is running.  Although I am passionate about working for and with children, I found the bureaucracy and stress in the education system stifling as a family member and partner (my husband being a dedicated educator - one of us has to stay sane for the kids).  And I’m simply not fast or talented enough to make a profession out of training for and running races.

Never had I imagined, when I was a young and inexperienced 23 year-old, that there was a job description that included running, inspiring young people to love running and nature, educating girls to love themselves the way they are, promoting healthy habits, sharing an office with like-minded and fun people, and working for an organization that puts the well-being of our community above all else.  Yep, dream job.

I work with so many cause-driven, passionate people who would give you their own lunch if you were hungry.  In fact, I’ve seen them do it.  Our CEO was a grand success in the grocery business before retiring early. He was lured out of retirement by the Y values of caring, honesty, respect and responsibility. He found the cause-driven philosophy so compelling that he now works in a 100-year old building that offers showers to the homeless and scholarships for children’s swim lessons to struggling families, among many other wonderful things.

Yes, I am fortunate.  I have a stable family life with a professional spouse and have very few worries.  We live within our means - call us simple if you will, but we don’t need a whole lot. 

Working a modest job doesn’t always mean you have failed, or that you have settled for something less.  Sometimes it means that you have simply found your place in the world. You see, not all people measure their life’s success by dollars or name recognition.  There are folks that don't aspire to have their name in lights or to own multiple vacation homes. There are plenty of folks out there who wouldn’t give up their modest jobs for all the luxuries and privilege that Tina Fey and her cohorts have, because they know they are making a difference in their own, small world.  I know, because I work with a big bunch of them.  And I’ll bet you wouldn’t recognize a single one of their names.

My very first live concert was The Village People.
Do you think that was an omen?
Everybody sing it now, "Y-M-C-A!"

Fear and Love...and Family

Uncle Mike was beloved by his many nieces and nephews, yet there was always a little bit of fear when he walked into the room.  I can relate, as I was his baby sister by 8 years and several inches.

He was a fascinating big brother.  Strong, well-liked by his peers and unpredictable, he was fun to watch, but you also had to watch your back.  The younger siblings never knew when the threat of a “whirly” would finally come to pass (picture head in toilet - FLUSH - instant soaking wet bee-hive hairdo).  Food fights were not uncommon. One time I remember hair full of sticky raw egg, and a face full of cupcake frosting on another occasion.  We had to hide our personal candy stash from him - he never pretended to eat it, he simply ate.  We had one locking door in the house - the bathroom.  If you were chased, you had to have enough of a lead to slam and lock the door before he reached it.  Otherwise you braced yourself against the sink with both feet pressing on the door while his arm, caught in the door, flailed wildly in search of its human target.

When we all grew up, if you can call it that, his teasing shifted to the next generation.  Every niece and nephew was christened by having their infant bodies pressed to the ceiling by his long, strong arms while the mother (one of Mike’s sisters) pleaded for him to stop.  Only baby Noah had the distinction of stopping the ceiling fan with his small skull.

When Gramma bought the oldest nieces their first barbie dolls for Christmas, it didn’t take long for Mike to behead them and proceed with a game of keep-away with another uncle.  Doll heads bounced over the support beams in the rec room to the sound of screaming 5 year-olds.

My favorite memory of Mike with my little Delaney was when he convinced her that if she allowed him to draw all over her face in sharpie, then he would let her do the same to him.  I’ll never forget his devilish laughter as she chased him, face thoroughly decorated in thick black lines, yelling, “Not FAIR!  It’s MY turn!!”  He placed the marker up high, out of anyone else’s reach and that was that.  It was days before that marker completely faded away.

Ella was only a toddler when she learned where to find her shoes when Mike was around.  He always took her black patten leather shoes, filled them with ice and hid them in the freezer.  At first we would actually LOOK for them around the house, but it wasn’t long before we knew where to find them and she would have to put the stiff, frozen shoes on her tiny feet.

He was also wonderful with all of the kids.  He took them sailing, rowing, skiing and mountain climbing.  He wanted them to be adventurous and free, like him.  If one of them showed fear he would push them even further until they realized that there was nothing to fear.  Or if there was, to be very, very careful.

I am sad that we lost Mike when my girls were still young.  The older cousins had more time to learn from him and appreciate what he had to share.  And to conquer their fears.  My fear, when he died, was that he would be forgotten.  Thankfully he lives on in his nieces, nephews and other loved ones, in their adventurous spirits and priceless memories.

Happy Birthday, Big Brother.  Wish you were here.

(at top - picture of Mike with the prize octopus he caught scuba-diving in front of our childhood home.  A scared young Sharon sits safely up in the kitchen window)