by Dr. Jeffrey Lant.

Author’s program note. Let’s be clear about something right from the start: the current scandal at the Internal Revenue Service is by no means the worst the agency has endured… yet at any rate. The IRS has a scrapbook full of more abashing moments and grim memories of things they shouldn’t have done… and got caught red-handed doing.

Item: In the1930s President Franklin Roosevelt used the IRS against a grab bag of political opponents, including mega-publisher William Randolph Hearst (think “Citizen Kane”), Louisiana Governor Huey Long, and controversial radio priest Charles Coughlin.

Item: In the 1940s and 1950s corruption and bribery were rife. Hundreds of (not so) shame-faced employees were dismissed, while President Harry Truman ordered a major reorganization. Employees were put under civil service guidelines to curb political influence.

Item: During the administration of President John Kennedy, the IRS created an “Ideological Organizations Audit Project”  that investigated conservative groups and challenged their tax-exempt status. The (apple-polishing) IRS started the project after Kennedy complained during a news conference about right-wing groups getting tax-exempt status. Targets included the American Enterprise Institute and Christian Anti-Communist Crusade.

Item: In the 1960s and 70s the Nixon administration created an IRS unit called the Special Services Staff, or SSS to target activists and political dissidents. The White House drafted the notorious  “enemies list” of political opponents to be targeted for IRS audits. Here, however, common sense (the most limited of commodities in the capital) intervened in the person of Treasury Secretary Donald Alexander who said he wouldn’t audit Nixon’s political enemies and ordered the SSS dissolved.

Then there’s the current scandal which apparently started in the IRS’ Cincinnati regional office. There someone had the bright idea of making it difficult, if not impossible, for conservative groups to get tax-exempt status. It could easily be done with computerized key-word searches, including overtly ideological searches for applicants seeking to “make America a better place to live” or “criticize how the country is being run”. Other key search words and phrases included “Tea Party” and “Patriots” .

Once started the culprits (who of course regarded themselves as the real patriots, the true-blue Americans) focused on groups “involved in limiting/expanding Government” and “educating on the Constitution and Bill of Rights.”

So, let’s review what was going on…

Some hot shot (as yet unidentified, although in due course that’ll come out in the wash) decided conservative Americans were anathema and needed to be reined in. That person recruited his best IRS buddies (the ones believing conservatives to be menaces needing curtailment and chastisement for their wrong-headed views). And they merrily started using their access to sensitive information to thwart the entirely legal activities of people who were entirely within their constitutional rights, a sobering fact which seems to have had no influence upon the nimble perpetrators who used their jobs to sabotage.

Cui bono?

To whose benefit were these shenanigans? The report by the Treasury inspector general for tax administration (released May 14, 2013) offered new, highly suggestive details.

Of the 296 applications for tax-exempt status reviewed by the inspector general, 108 were approved, 28 were withdrawn by the applicants (some perhaps because of excessive IRS requests for sensitive organizational details), and 160 were still open, some pending for up to 1,138 days. This necessitates a look at the dates and a worrying scenario.

A “sensitive case report” on Tea Party targeting was sent from Cincinnati to Lois Lerner, the head of the IRS’ division for tax-exempt organizations, and to another Washington official (as yet unnamed) on April 19, 2010. This suggests the illegal activities began far earlier than otherwise known, perhaps as early as mid-2009.

Now, add 1,138 days to, say, July 4, 2009 and you might easily draw  the conclusion that certain person or persons involved meant to hurt the conservatives (while helping their competitors) until well past the 2012 presidential election, thereby materially assisting in the re-election of the prime beneficiary, The Honorable Barrack Obama.

What would, of course, strengthen this case would be knowing which organizations were so thwarted… and whether theirs was a conservative slant. That, too, should come out in the wash. It’s sure to be a busy laundramat. Representative Dave Camp will see to that.

Criminal or merely inept, incompetent and “obnoxious”?

I’m guessing that Camp is going around his office whistling a happy tune. If so, it’s no wonder. In matters such as this, there are always (sometimes hidden) winners and losers. The president and a whole lot of senior IRS officials are taking it on the chin right now as they posture at their “grin-and- bear it” best. They are clear losers. Dave Camp, by contrast, must be in hog heaven.

Camp, you see, is chairman of one of the oldest and most powerful committees of the House of Representative, Ways and Means. An 11-term veteran, a handsome, toothy Michigander from Midland, his sprawling district meanders across fifteen counties of mid-  and northern Michigan, the very heart of the Great Republic. Camp is a popular figure back home, customarily winning in excess of 60 percent of the vote.

For good behavior and exemplary party loyalty, Camp was able to move up, join the GOP House leadership team and as Ways and Means chair deal with the crucial bread-and-butter issues that are so important to average Americans, tax policy, tariff and trade laws, Medicare, Social Security, welfare and unemployment programs.

Camp is the guy who’ll be presiding over House hearings on this matter… His task is plain: to grill every senior IRS official, then even more senior people in the Treasury Department.

Heads have, of course, already begun to fall on this matter, Camp will ensure there are others. President Obama moved fast to get rid of Steven Miller, acting IRS commissioner and a lesser administrator.

It is only the beginning.

The President’s objective is to get through this mess as quickly as possible. He wants us to believe the action was of short duration involving minimum people and that he can clear it all up, including apologizing to irate conservatives who are wailing here, there and everywhere, “See, we told you so.”

Chairman Camp hopes he won’t have to buy ex-commissioner Miller’s proposition that it all happened because the IRS was overwhelmed by new applications after the Supreme Court ruled in the 2010 Citizens United case which greatly expanded the ability of corporations, unions and other organizations to participate in election spending. Miller wants America to believe the IRS is a good guy, dim, muddled but well meaning, and that “Dude, it won’t happen again.

Of course Camp wants the opposite of all this; every subpoena he authorizes, every criminal charge made is a thrill for this man who probably went home May 17, 2013 (the first day of hearings) to find his wife and three kids holding crudely made “Camp for President” posters.

There is, however, one more secret loser in the proceedings… and that’s Rep. Paul Ryan of Wisconsin, Mitt Romney’s 2012 vice presidential selection. He, too, is on Ways and Means. He’s got the presidential bug and cannot afford to let Camp outmaneuver him. He’ll be working hard to ensure he doesn’t. Camp should check for trip wires and banana peels artfully positioned for maximum effect…

Meanwhile, GOP stalwarts of every kind are sending out unbelievable numbers of email, direct mail, and automated phone messages, every one alerting the good people of America, the conservative, God-fearing people to send in a few bucks… and so the stupid idea of a cell of left-leaning knuckleheads in Cincinnati is turned into the mother’s milk of politics, cash. Thus is one man’s scandal turned into another man’s success and this rapt commentator kept happily at his work.

Envoi.

Of all our recent presidents probably the first president George Bush ’41 understood nonprofit organizations best… for he genuinely believes in their necessary mission of improving the Great Republic. Thus it was no surprise to hear his encomium on these absolutely essential organizations of every kind.

It was written by crack speech writer Peggy Noonan and delivered in his acceptance speech for the 1988 Republican presidential nomination. It came to be called the “Thousand points of light” speech:

“I have spoken of a thousand points of light, of all the community organizations that are spread like stars throughout the Nation, doing good.”

For Bush this wasn’t just rhetoric. It was a core of his belief and he showed as much in 1990 when he spearheaded the creation of the Points of Light Foundation, the goal of which was to promote private, non-governmental, tax-exempt solutions to social issues.

Thus, for the music to accompany this article I have selected “Point of Light,”a tune written by Don Schlitz and Thom Schuyler. It was recorded by Randy Travis and is available in any search engine.

It isn’t a very good song; it doesn’t tug at your heart, though it should. Even so, it’s worth listening to: “All it takes is a point of light/A ray of hope in the darkest night/If you see what’s wrong and you try to make it right/You will be a point of light.” But, remember, if your application goes to the IRS in Cincinnati, you might have to wait a while…

About the Author

Harvard-educated Dr Jeffrey Lant is the author of 15 print books, 3 ebooks, and over one thousand articles on a variety of timely topics.

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by Dr. Jeffrey Lant

Author’s program note. Right from the start we were different, special, the apple of everyone’s eye. We were the Baby Boomers, by far the most important of people, examined, studied, displayed, coddled. Census takers wanted to count us. Researchers wanted to study us. Photographers wanted to take our pictures — and did — because the camera loved us, in every one of the (generally ground-breaking) positions in which we put ourselves, from the mud of Woodstock to the pomp and circumstance of the White House.

There had never been such a phenomenon before… and we were confident there would never be one again, ever again.

Some important facts.

Every story about the Boomers focuses first and foremost on our shear numbers, for this is the basis for our celebrity and puissance. There are, pure and simple, more of us. How many more? The demographics are staggering…

What are called the “Leading-Edge” Baby Boomers are individuals born between 1946 and 1955. The group represents slightly more than half of the generation, or roughly 38,002,000 people of all races. The other half of the generation was born between 1956 and 1964. Called “Late Boomers” or “Trailing-Edge Boomers,” this second cohort includes about 37,818,000 individuals, according to “Live Births by Age and Mother and Race 1933-98″ published by the Center for Disease Control’s National Center for Health Statistics.

They are omnipresent, omnipotent, and, they have always believed, omniscient. It is a stupendous, awe-inspiring and, for some, back-breaking, unnerving, oppressive burden to carry, not merely challenging but impossible for mere mortals. It is easy to see why…

Item: Baby Boomers control over 80 percent of personal finance assets.

Item: They account for more than half of all consumer spending.

Item: They buy at least 77 percent of all prescription drugs and 61 percent of over-the-counter drugs.

Item: They make 80 percent of all leisure travel.

These are astonishing numbers, which clearly indicate the extent of Boomer power and influence. No wonder they are called the “shockwave” or “the pig in the python.” They have since conception been treated as privileged beings… and they have gone through every stage of life expecting that privilege. One man more than any other is responsible for this situation. His name was Dr. Benjamin McLane Spock (1903-1998), and he literally wrote the book on how these massive numbers of Boomers should be treated.

“Baby and Child Care” (published in 1946).

What a man! What a book! And what an impact!

Born as I was in early 1947, my mother, like virtually every mother in the Great Republic had Spock’s epochal work at hand. For its first 52 years only the Holy Bible sold more copies. What’s more, she didn’t just have a copy, she used it; just how much was clear from its tattered and much thumbed pages. For her, as for good mothers everywhere Dr. Spock was not merely a pediatrician, he was the beloved and trusted Advisor-in-Chief to the nation and its largest and most important generation. Thus he experienced the greatest pleasure any writer can have: he was heeded and his every word and thought treated with the utmost regard and respect.

“You know more than you think you do.”

At root, Yale-educated Spock trusted women to be mothers. His was a fully natural approach to the very serious business of raising the children needed to maintain America’s number one post-war status. He advocated a flexible approach, treating each child as an individual, and always showing affection.

So long as he approached his high business as a clinician, his detractors and critics (for of course there were some) were insignificant but when he came out against the Vietnam war, they struck, blaming him and his cockamamie ideas for everything from rock-and-roll, to acid, anti-American behavior, and the explosive sexuality for which Boomers discovered an ardent predilection.

Spock had advocated “flexibility,” but the word “permissiveness” stuck. It came to characterize a restless, selfish, irresponsible, godless generation… hoydens without manners, mores or even a crumb of civic spiritedness. Such sentiments characterize them right to this day. Boomers do what they want, when they want, how they want, who cares what the neighbors think or the fact that they wrack up bills and dirty dishes for others to deal with, apre’s moi le de’luge being their first and most important principal, not the progressive, reformist, beneficial world-changing outlook for which they were once extolled, and rightly so.

Now a significant portion of the Boomers are killing themselves. The shocking facts…

To experts’ surprise more people died of suicide than in car accidents in 2010, the latest reporting period covered in the May 3, 2013 “Morbidity and Mortality Weekly Report,” 33,687 in motor vehicle accidents, 38,364 suicides. What’s going on?

>From 1999 to 2010, the suicide rate among Americans ages 35 to 64 rose by nearly 30 percent, to 17.6 deaths per 100,000 people, up from 13.7. “Although suicide rates are growing among both middle-aged men and women, far more men take their own lives. The suicide rate for middle-aged men was 27.3 deaths per 100,000, while for women it was 8.1 deaths per 100,000.”

Why did so many, particularly men, of the gilded generation take gun in hand (for it was usually by firearm) and end their lives prematurely? It is notoriously difficult to say with finality, but the best idea advanced is that these were Boomers who failed to achieve the success they expected and could not live with the ignominy and what they regarded as the disgrace of defeat… finally seeing only the grim facts of irrevocable failure from which they saw absolutely no escape but oblivion.

An urgent knock at the door.

It was early evening, and I was writing in my office when I heard the great knocker on the front door, an urgent, insistent knock. It proved to be a person I hardly knew. He was a teacher at a local school… bright, nice-looking, a Baby Boomer. “I need to talk to you,” he said. He looked thin, harried, and there was more than a whiff of desperation in his voice.

I had him sit down, drink some water and breathe deep. Then I put my total focus on this fellow traveler in distress and prepared to listen. “You remember, John?”, he said, then burst into tears. “He killed himself.” I got up, gave him a hug which was returned as if his life depended on it, as perhaps it did. His sobs were now deep, unstoppable, like a storm on the great Atlantic.

Doug and John were, it turned out, a certified couple, part of the very first batch married in Cambridge just minutes after midnight when the enabling law went into effect. Marriage, it seems, had proven more difficult than courtship, and they became one of the first same-sex couples to divorce. But just as marriage had failed to bring happiness and peace, so divorce had failed, too, for they loved each other and thus were entangled. On this particular evening they had quarreled. Doug had fallen asleep, only to wake up hours later to find every light in the house ablaze and the love of his life hanging from the dining room’s still circulating ceiling fan.

He called 911 which promptly arrived, cutting down the body, going about what they needed to do with stern efficiency. While they worked, after they took the body down, after they had left, and forever after he asked himself one sharp question, “Why?” And so in due course he came to me, a near stranger, because he sensed that here he could do what he needed to do without burden of explanation or judgement.

And so for two days I simply let it be, listening when listening was called for; otherwise silent and supportive, glad to hear or not as circumstances warranted. Thus without asking a single query I came to know the better part of “why?”; why one Baby Boomer took his life in the way guaranteeing maximum pain to his sometime partner….

In due course, my unexpected visitor got up, took a shower and went home to his memories. I followed up several times but he never returned a call. He was abashed, of course, that he had come at all and said anything; I was part of the single most searing incident of his life, an incident he wanted so desperately to forget, but could not.

I wanted a better, different ending. But Baby Boomers who fail and flounder want no one to know, especially if they have sobbed in the arms of a near stranger.

What would Dr. Spock have done; the “Bye Bye Birdie” cure.

I am by nature and profession a problem-solver. And so I did not lament what occurred but sought to understand and explain the phenomenon of Boomer suicide better. This article and my own experience with the matter are the result. Now here are my (very personal) conclusions.

1) Living will always be more important than success, and we must never lose sight of this essential insight which even Conrad Birdie got right in the 1960 Tony Award-winning production of “Bye Bye Birdie”, a show that just won’t let you leave unhappy.

“Oh, Life’s a ball/if only you know it/And it’s all just waiting for you/ You’re alive/ So come on and show it/We’ve got a lot of livin’/Such a lot of livin’/Got a lot of livin’ to do.”

2) Constant, honest communication is the key. Somehow I must believe that had Doug and John communicated better, especially when the demons were most present and oppressive, John would be alive today. Thus this last “Bye Bye Birdie” insight from a beautiful tune called “Baby Talk to Me”

“Talk to me, baby, won’t you talk to me?/ I don’t care what you say/ Baby, talk to me/ Must you be oh so far away from me/ It seems so wrong this way/Talk to me.”

Envoi

It is now 7:20 a.m. on a beautiful spring morning. I am going to my favorite search engine to listen to both these two tunes by Charles Strouse (music) and Lee Adams (lyrics). Then I shall put on my best blazer and walk along Tory Row on Brattle Street where the lilacs are in full bloom. Their wondrous colors and intoxicating scent will, I know, make me glad to be alive… and thankful for every gift, not least the wisdom and care of Dr. Benjamin Spock.

About the Author

Harvard-educated Dr. Jeffrey Lant is the author of 15 business and marketing related books, as well as 3 ebooks and over a thousand articles on a variety of controversial and newsworthy topics.

Republished with author’s permission.http://DynamicHomeBiz.com. ]]> http://askanitali.com/general/talk-to-me-baby-wont-you-talk-to-me-boomer-suicide-rate-alarms-dr-spock-never-prepared-us-for-this/feed/ 0 http://askanitali.com/general/talk-to-me-baby-wont-you-talk-to-me-boomer-suicide-rate-alarms-dr-spock-never-prepared-us-for-this/?utm_source=rss&utm_medium=rss&utm_campaign=talk-to-me-baby-wont-you-talk-to-me-boomer-suicide-rate-alarms-dr-spock-never-prepared-us-for-this http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/AskAnitalicom/~3/g7QJGO4lxE4/ http://askanitali.com/blogging/and-the-ladies-they-will-all-turn-out-how-war-came-to-main-street-enlisting-every-single-one-of-us-some-thoughts/#comments Wed, 01 May 2013 01:24:43 +0000 Anita http://askanitali.com/?p=1498 Continue reading →]]> Come and See Us Live   http://DynamicHomeBiz.com

by Dr. Jeffrey Lant.

Author’s program note. I was restless the evening of April 18 and so did what I almost never do, turning on the television for some light entertainment. This, however, was not destined to take place. Indeed, there was to be nothing light and no mirth at all for that day and the excruciatingly long day to come…

I saw the feature that so often distinguishes late night newscasts, video feed from a crime scene, the place usually being somewhere in the inner city no sensible person would ever go to, much less in dead of night. Sirens blared. The sharp reds and blues pierced the night. Police swaggered, made the kinds of adamant gestures which look so officious and ridiculous but which we card-carrying members of the middle class are glad at moments like this are on our side.

Yes, it was the usual late-night distraction that would be buried on page 8 or so in tomorrow’s paper. Nothing to do with me… not even the caption on the bottom of the screen: “MIT security officer killed.” But from then on, through the long night and the longer day that followed everything was direct, personal, everything to do with me.

The reporter noted the crime scene as Vassar Street, Cambridge while the on-screen video showed a great fortress-like structure that was a building well known to me. There the overflow of my pack-rat life is stored… copies of my books and articles, my father’s letters from the Pacific front in World War II, both sides of the voluminous correspondence when my mother and I were working out the rough patches in a relationship where loving each other did not keep us from saying the sharpest, often wounding of words, she in her copperplate hand, mine rushed and illegible.

Such things and so many others were the crucial artifacts of life, things to be stored in boxes now, to be considered at leisure, some day, I promise… It was all in the building behind the reporter… and I glanced at the time, just about 11 p.m. Life was about to change forever as the total war of our times swept me up, imperious, without thought of who I was, what I had been doing, no matter how important. My desires, wishes, priorities counted for nothing… and neither did yours.

“When Johnny Comes Marching Home.”

The lyrics to “When Johnny Comes Marching Home”‘ were written by the Irish-American band leader Patrick Gilmore. Its first sheet music publication was deposited in the Library of Congress on September 26,1863, with words and music credited to “Louis Lambert”, a pseudonym Gilmore unaccountably used instead of his own name. The copyright was retained by the publisher, Henry Tolman & Co., of Boston.

Determining who actually composed the music is much trickier. There is, for instance, a melodic resemblance to an earlier drinking song entitled “Johnny Fill Up the Bowl”. Someone named J. Durnal claimed credit for its arrangement, though not its composition. This in turn had a distinct melodic resemblance to a tune by Robert Burns, “John Anderson, my Jo”, which harked back to a tune of 1630 entitled “The Three Ravens,”… which harked back to… but you get the picture.

The important thing is how popular it became both with Confederate and Union troops. And no wonder… it’s a grand marching song… the music urging tired feet to go farther and never waver… while the lyrics remind them of the delights of home, theirs soon to savor and enjoy, just one more battle… just one. Before continuing, go to any search engine where you’ll find several fine versions. Listen carefully to lyrics which are now ironic and as far away as ancient Troy.

“The men will cheer and the boys will shout.”

This was how wars were fought in those days… and, until just the other day, in ours. We knew who the enemy was. We knew where he was. We knew what he was fighting for and we knew he had a martial code of honor which would (at least occasionally) cause him to think twice before doing the unspeakable. To be sure, it was a code more often honored in the breach… but it did exist, if only in one Geneva convention or another.

Thus did our much loved troops dress up in battle kit, self conscious about the last kiss to girlfriend or wife; these held back the tear that will surely fall when alone just minutes from now when the beloved is gone, perhaps forever. Fathers hugged the children they would not recognize when they returned; they grow so fast.

This was the war we knew… cheers on departure, certain victory for our cause was always right and our resort to warfare always reluctant and unwilling… then loud, sustained, enthusiastic cheers when Johnny comes marching home.

Now that kind of antediluvian warfare is only a thing of memory, resemblance, and wishful thinking… for now we do not go to war in full regalia, flags flying, the music brassy, suitable for the high affairs of the Great Republic. No indeed. For now we do not go to and return from the war. That war comes to us and confounds our lives more than even the greatest of battles… for we are all of us fully engaged in this new kind of undeclared, limitless war without any rules and procedures whatsoever, war where the first casualty may well be a child of 8, his life sundered and blown to bits by malefactors whose movements are secret, stealthy, and murderous, utterly without meaning, honor and the respect soldiers in the other wars might give their worthy opponents.

But this new kind of war is entirely different, insidious, taking prosaic objects and situations, turning them into the weapons of fear, anxiety and random death. This is a world where evil can lurk behind young and boyish faces and demeanors. Where there are no military helmets, but rather baseball caps, worn backwards in approved adolescent chic. This is a world where the element of deadly surprise always belongs to the attackers and thus can be wielded with merciless accuracy and acute precision.

This is a world where the elements for the bombs made to maim, dismember, and destroy are no further than your local hardware store, for amidst the waxes, sprays, paints and screws are the essential tools of pitiless catastrophe and the reverberating fear that paralyzes a great city whilst causing millions more worldwide to wonder if this could happen to them, knowing full well in their anxious hearts that these purveyors of death could already be about their cruel, selfish work; perhaps the surly young man who scowled when greeted today… worse, perhaps the handsome young man who smiled, offering a friendly quip or passing pleasantry. You see, the agent of mass pain and suffering can so easily wear the most amiable of faces.

These are the aspects of our new kind of war, the war, here now, here for the rest of our troubled, fretful lives.

“Stay in your house. Do not open your door.”

I had never received such a call before, but I feel sure I will get others like it in the years ahead. I had decided to go out and see what I could see. But I never got the chance because the Cambridge Police Department called to say I was to stay at home and to make sure I didn’t let any strangers in. They called this lockdown; it turned me, and hundreds of thousands of others, into a legion of the interned…

And so all of us, surrounded as we are by a plethora of communications devices, used them to feed our anxiety and disbelief. On the firing line as we were, we listened intently for each piece of often inaccurate, incomplete, and alarming detail. Like any good journalist, we examined, reviewed, made deductions, listened to more suppositions and soon-to-be-discarded “facts”… veering first one way, then another as events unfolded; our attention rapt and disbelieving that so much was happening, so close, so unaccountable, in my city, my neighborhood and on my very doorstep.

It was surreal, unforgettable, riveting, frightening, the new reality of our challenged, jittery, insecure times. And it can all take place anywhere at any time against any of the peoples of this Earth, people whose race, creed, color or disposition are deemed unsuitable by some “superior” group whose first target is killing the very idea of diversity. For in a world which must necessarily value, strive for, and cherish the diverse; they aim for just one truth, theirs, and as such are willing to go to any length, destabilize any society, engage in any barbarity to secure their way. These are the absolutists of world politics… the lordly thugs who hold the rest of us and everything we value at risk…. they offer hate, violence, an agenda of unmitigated evil and unrelenting malice.

Against such a litany of horrors all the good people of this planet must stand united for our credo, tolerance for all, acceptance, humanity, diversity, inclusion and always love, for without love there can be no lasting peace… and lasting peace is what we strive for. This way, the way of unity and community, is the only way. Otherwise random death and the awesome apparatus of response will be our portion… Thus to save our freedom we are forced to give up our freedom, losers whatever happens. We are already on this perilous road, right to be apprehensive and filled with grave foreboding and growing alarm.

“And let each one perform some part/ To fill with joy the warrior’s heart/ And we’ll all feel gay/ When Johnny comes marching home.”

PHOTO CREDIT: The Atlantic

About the Author

Harvard-educated Dr. Jeffrey Lant is a well known author of 15 books, 3 ebooks, and over a thousand of articles on a variety of topics.

Republished with author’s permission.http://DynamicHomeBiz.com.

Article advertising or article marketing can be the key to not only making money but having a successful business. If you have a product or service that you are trying to promote then one of the best and most cost effective ways is by using article advertising.

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Article marketing or article advertising is a great way to get attention to your products or services, if it is used correctly. Take some time to learn how to do it the right way or find a good ghost writer to do the work for you and you will find customers who are not only willing to buy from you, but trust that you are going to meet their needs and may come back to you for other purchases. Done correctly, article advertising can help you climb to the top and make you a success.

Republished with author’s permission.http://DynamicHomeBiz.com.

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by Dr. Jeffrey Lant.

Author’s program note. If you’re English or an aging subject in one of the great Dominions beyond the seas; if you’re, that is, one of the now fast dwindling number of World War II veterans, civil or military, from whatever piece of Earth on which the sun never set; if you are one of those who knows in your heart that Winston Churchill was right when he talked about the “finest hour” because you were there and lived it… then one song rendered by one singer who became in time an icon of England and its grit, tenacity, and grace under pressure is like a faucet for the involuntary tear. You hear it, you sing it, you are touched by it all over again… and the tears come… all over again.

The song was “I’ll be seeing you”; music by Sammy Fain, lyrics by Irving Kahal. It was first recorded by (now Dame) Vera Lynn in 1938, as if the principals somehow were preparing for the mayhem and sadness just around the corner. It was lovely, wistful, haunting and, of course, recorded by an avalanche of talented singers who felt the magic, but could never enhance the original.

“I’ll be seeing you in all the old familiar places/ That this heart of mine embraces all day through.”

Find it in any search engine in its pristine form and enjoy it thoroughly as your young and dance mad grandparents did… and before I’ve used its unforgettable tune and bitter sweet lyrics for an entirely different purpose!

Efficiency.

I don’t like admitting it, but I am a very busy fellow. What’s more, I was long ago programmed to set worthy goals; set meaningful objectives; and never stop achieving them. Frankly, I cannot imagine another kind of life, much less a life of sloth and excuse making. What’s more at 66 I am just too old and obstinate to change. Thus, you will always find me “doing something”, never bored.

In fact when the subject of boredom raises its ugly head, I instantly recall a marginal note penned by Her Majesty Queen Mary (once an impecunious and superbly efficient princess of Teck). In an unauthorized biography of this most industrious of sovereigns its incautious, uninformed author accused her of episodes of boredom, of all things.

The Queen’s trenchant, unanswerable comment, arresting in her copper plate hand, was stark, “The Queen is never bored!” Neither am I. And both for the same reason: there is just too much of interest and importance always awaiting those with a zest for education, amelioration, and improvement.

Choices

This doesn’t mean, don’t you know, that I do anything at hand, treating the small and insignificant with the same importance and resolution as the cosmic and Earth-changing. No indeed. Rather, I have developed an acute realization about what is truly significant and must be done by my own fair hand… and what must be done by others, and not just any others either, but by people who can do the delegated tasks (nearly) as well as I can, “nearly” because my grandmother, a paragon of unerring Prairie common sense, was always quick to proclaim “If you want something done right, do it yourself.” And so she did…

But I do not.

The key to efficiently and the well lived life is a determined and committed delegation. And so over the years as wealth and resolution made possible, I have shucked off tasks which were all necessary but which each in its way was impeding progress and the early realization of insistent goals deemed more valuable and critical.

And so bit by bit I gave up washing clothes (even folding them and putting them away); driving a car (I always thought a limousine so much the superior mode of transportation, not least because I rest easy during metropolitan grid lock, emerging equable and good natured, even jaunty from the comfortable state room on wheels en route to everywhere my inclinations and schemes necessitate, which could be anywhere at all.)

I gave up, too, trips to post office, bank, cleaners, all the must-have services we rely upon, services that are voracious in eating up time and emotional stability, delivering in my crowded urban area parking tickets and frequent demonstrations of rage and ungentlemanlike behavior. But I had a secret weapon and his name was Aime Joseph. Meeting him was one of the miracles of my life; a literal godsend and like all miracles it came when least expected… and most needed.

Mr. Joseph, as he is well known about Cambridge, was an ordinary taxi driver. which meant he was beset with such characteristic and unpleasant problems as abusive (even armed and dangerous) customers; a dismaying hackney system which was elaborately and expensively stacked against him, cut-throat competition and the feeling that the hurrier he worked, the behinder he got.

Then fate served us both, for when I hailed a cab outside the Sheraton- Commander Hotel, I got far more than another opportunity to show-off my practiced ability to shoe-horn myself into manifestly inadequate space. This therefore was a day of revolution, for we both got Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness, a way out and up indeed.

As things developed, his side of an increasingly happy arrangement turned into a black sleek limousine comme il faut, whilst mine meant I never had to think of where we were going, how to get there and the damage purportedly licensed and “responsible” drivers were doing to my (limited) good nature.

The drill.

Mr. Joseph calls me three minutes before he arrives chez moi; I make it a point never to keep him waiting overly long. As soon as he sees me in the lobby, he opens the door and we are on our way, my entire focus on what must be achieved with maximum efficiency, so much so that one very rainy day in Harvard Square, I opened a packet of important documents from my bank without considering the belligerent weather.

Mr. Joseph, unnoticed by me, had the broad golf umbrella opened over my wind swept graying locks. I was oblivious. Others did see, however, and one admiring wag of discernment shouted, “Where can I get someone like that?” Wherever one finds life rearranged by kismet, I would have said had I been paying attention. But that’s the point… I didn’t have to.

Another bright idea.

And so things waxed and waxed again… my subtly flavored asparagus cooked just so (though not the first time); a new cleaners found (half the price of the old); and the unforgettable evening Mr. Joseph and his sympatica wife Mercedes were the first people I called after a particularly nasty fall which opened a deep gash to my right temple. (I was adamant that he should not say ‘Wow’ while bathing the wound in alcohol. I also told him patients were opposed to care givers whispering about them in the kitchen. I told them to sit down and enjoy a fine bottle of my Veuve Clicquot instead. They did not demur and were louder (and less ominous) in their commentaries on my bloody head and bones no one but God has seen before.

Under the circumstances it was then I made the fateful suggestion that he go to Shaw’s Market in Porter Square… and that I’d call him there with what I wanted. And almost immediately we discovered the frustrations which can emerge when a man of precise words and equally precise directions tries to get his explicit wishes across to the conscientious, responsible helper eager to get the thing and only the very thing desired. And that is where the radish enters, for admit it, since you first saw the title, you’ve wondered.

Radish (Raphanus sativus) is an edible root vegetable of the Brassicacae family that was domesticated in Europe in pre-Roman times. I like a good sharp radish every once in a while… and so one particular day, me on my land line, Mr. Joseph on his cell, I asked him to pick up a bunch and was greeted with… incomprehension. “What is a radish?”, he asked. What indeed? Now try explaining it to a Haitian whose creole may be perfect but whose English is not; the best of a hundred attempts:

“It’s a friggin’ little red thing that is in the produce department, bunched and tied with a rubber band.”

Exasperated, I finally got the produce manager on the phone and the radishes were finally placed in the cart, a symbol of what happens to you when you don’t listen to your grannie and attempt to improve upon the folk wisdom of ages. But I haven’t given up yet. During a recent visit to Shaw’s (for, yes, I am going in person again) I placed a post it note where Mr. Joseph but no one else could find it… I expect it to facilitate the delivery of my radishes. I also taught Mr. Joseph a bit of Vera Lynn’s masterpiece, “Aisle be seeing you in all the old familiar places,” the aisle in question being number 1, where I learned just how difficult it is to achieve the perfect life when two people are entirely focused on making it happen. That’s what’s called a paradox and that’s why I go to the store with Mr. Joseph nowadays… where I’ll be seeing you.

About the Author

Dr. Jeffrey Lant is the author of 15 print books, 3 ebooks, and over one thousand articles on a variety of topics.

Republished with author’s permission.http://DynamicHomeBiz.com.

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by Dr. Jeffrey Lant

You can easily imagine Professor Anita Hill’s bafflement when she played back the messages on her answering machine the other day. That’s when she heard this gem purportedly left by Mrs. Virginia Thomas, wife of Supreme Court Associate Justice Clarence Thomas:

“Good morning, Anita Hill, it’s Ginny Thomas,” said the voice. “I just wanted to reach across the airwaves and the years and ask you to consider something. I would love you to consider an apology sometime and some full explanation of why you did what you did with my husband. So give it some thought and certainly pray about this and come to understand why you did what you did. OK, have a good day.”

Unsurprisingly, Hill thought it was a crank call, a prank. As such she alerted the Brandeis University campus police.to the matter. But Virginia Thomas quickly confirmed that she indeed had placed the call.

Hill’s unsurprising reaction:

“Even if it wasn’t a prank, it was in no way conciliatory for her to begin with the presumption that I did something wrong in 1991. I simply testified to the truth of my experience . For her to say otherwise is not extending an olive branch, it’s accusatory.”

Hill continued. “I don’t apologize. I have no intention of apologizing, and I stand by my testimony in 1991.”

Immediately there was a nationwide buzz about why, now, after 19 long years, Thomas had reopened what could only have been the most painful chapter in the lives of Clarence and Virginia Thomas and Anita Hill.

Some thought that Thomas, a well-known Washington lobbyist, wanted publicity for her firm. Surely,extending a supposed olive branch (generating massive publicity) could only burnish her credentials. Others laughingly suggested that with Christmas approaching Ginny was trying to help out her husband by delivering Anita Hill’s apology on a silver platter. That should have garnered quite a gift. Others, of a more cynical disposition, thought that Mrs. Thomas was trying to divert attention from Washington chatter about possible conflict of interest with hubby Clarence.

And there were even those who opined that Ginny Hill had this call bottled up inside for years; after all she was the 1 member of the triangle who had never had the chance to say her piece and one day just burst… and made the call.

However you slice it, though, the result made clear that hell will freeze over before the parties engage in even the barest greeting, much less an apology that would damn the person making it as one of history’s great liars. So, don’t expect that apology anytime soon.

Own up to your errors. Don’t ask others to own up to theirs.

The hardest words in the English language to utter are “I am sorry. I was wrong.” They are also the most necessary.

All of us, even the most perfect, are guilty of inflicting pain and sorrow; of being careless of hurtful language; of lashing out when we should have been comforting… of lying about things we clearly knew… and every other sin in the calendar.

When we do these things, we have two quite different courses of action to pursue.

1) we can say and do nothing.

2) or, we can attempt the more difficult course… the course of apologizing without any idea of personal benefit.

Most people, of course, take the first course. It is, after all, the easier. But to grow and gain serenity, you must take the latter.

Who have you injured? Keep a list.

In Mozart’s masterpiece “Don Giovanni”, his servant Leporello keeps a list (called, in the opera, a “catalog”) of his master’s romantic conquests. His duet with one of his master’s victims is one of the glories of music. Leporello, however, keeps this list out of pride and duty; you must draw up yours out of humility.

Select a time and a place where you can be alone with your thoughts and your purpose: to draw up a private list, for you and you alone, of sins venial and cardinal. Privacy and honesty are a must.

A superb time to do this is before the ending of any year; say about Thanksgiving time. Your first task is to create the list. Your second is to get a mailing address (preferably) or (less good) an email address.

These matters should NEVER be addressed in a telephone call. There both parties are likely to be nervous, awkward, saying too much or too little. The reason the Roman Emperor Augustus wrote letters to his wife, the Lady Livia, was so that both could say concisely and clearly what they wanted to say, without the burden of physical presence intruding. It’s an admirable insight.

Write the letters by hand

In our rushed society, so often alone amidst so many ways of communicating, so clueless on how to engage with people we care about… a written letter says volumes about the importance with which you regard this matter. It is significant, and so a hand-written letter is a must. Too, you must have personal stationery… yet another indication that you regard this matter as significant.

Keep your note short and sweet

The purpose of this message is not to remind your correspondent of an unhappy incident; it is to ask forgiveness…. so that both parties may shuck off a burden from the past and move on, the better for it.

It is to acknowledge the pain you have caused, no matter that it may have been inadvertent, and to ask for the most meaningful thing any human being can render: their understanding, their empathy, their forgiveness, and, perhaps, another (belated) chance.

Dig deep into yourself as you write this note. This is the best of you, and you are rendering a great gift which you have every reason to savor and cherish, for it is a gift long in the making.

Note: if you are doing this great deed of yours before Christmas arrange to drop these messages in the post, to arrive as close to December 25 as possible. These messages after all require the right time and place to be read… and that is the best time of all.

Now what about you, Virginia Thomas?

Virginia Thomas, take note. I have written these instructions for you. The phone call you made was not only ill-advised; it was selfish. You wanted what you were not prepared to give: an apology. As a result, what you did was unconscionable; to stir up poisonous embers without the slightest chance of lessoning the massive burden of events. For that, use what I have suggested and ask for the forgiveness you were not prepared to offer. That is the right thing to do.

Harvard-educated Dr. Jeffrey Lant is CEO of Worldprofit, Inc., where small and home-based businesses learn how to profit online through automation. Attend Dr. Lant’s live webcast TODAY and receive 50,000 free guaranteed visitors to the website of your choice! Dr. Lant is the Author of 18 books, a speaker, consultant and well known marketer.

Republished with author’s permission. http://DynamicHomeBiz.com.

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Republished with author’s permission.http://DynamicHomeBiz.com.

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