And then, during my ten minutes scrolling Facebook, I encountered these questions. “If AI writes your book, designs your cover, shapes your ideas, and polishes your voice… are you still the author? We are calling it ‘writing,’ but in reality, are we witnessing the slow death of originality in publishing? Technology has always helped writers—but this new wave feels different. Where exactly do we draw the line between assisted writing and fake authorship?”

At first glance, making toast and writing books seem unrelated. But both questions force us to examine the assumptions hidden inside the words we use.

My schedule for today doesn’t leave time to overthink this, but it does leave enough time to connect the two items.

First, when teaching, we must be conscious of our assumptions. Learning should be fun, and life is the best teacher. Those who claim to teach are just here to help. We think things are obvious, but to some, they are not. When we are teaching, we need to be aware of the automatic judgment calls we’re making.

Second, vocabulary must be considered both in teaching and making those judgment calls. If you have a sophisticated toaster and use presliced bread, can you claim to be a toastmaker? Perhaps more accurately, you are a toast assembler. I remember a colleague who often said, “Words don’t mean; people give words meaning.” Vocabulary is not only important when speaking and writing. It’s important when thinking.

Hopefully, we discover that this may be a time when the questions are more important than the answers. In the Facebook post, the poster has revealed his perception or, more accurately, his bias. I don’t know if it’s intentional, but he seems to be looking for support and agreement. Most social media posters are. It’s just one reason for the lack of meaningful dialogue and the basis for keyboard wars.

Meaningful dialogue isn’t complicated, but it can be difficult. During my consulting years, I experienced this firsthand. I was working in a food processing plant, interviewing a line worker. When I asked her about her likes and dislikes, she hated how cold it was in the plant. I asked her what she did with leftovers from dinner at home. She looked incredulous but replied, “I put them in the fridge.” After making the comparison to handling food in the plant, she sincerely said, “Is that why it’s cold? I thought you kept it cold so we would work faster.”

The best learning is exploration and discovery. We don’t have to suspend judgment, but we do need to be conscious of making it.

Whether we are making toast or authoring books, core principles must be maintained. Some fundamentals must remain if we are going to produce good, edible toast and good, readable books. We may take shortcuts to get there, but the shortcut shouldn’t diminish the fact that we’re doing something worthwhile.

A friend drove home the reality of perspectives by noting, “Fishing is relaxing unless you are a worm.” It’s more than a good quote.

We don’t get to choose whether we’re the worm or the fisherperson. There are realities that can’t be ignored. But let’s not miss the opportunity of simplicity. If you want to be more relaxed, going fishing isn’t a good choice if you’re a worm.

I’ll mix my metaphors to point out that I’ve previously written you can’t become a butterfly unless you’re willing to give up being a caterpillar. That’s also more than a great quote.

A few years ago, I was gifted a kids’ book after meeting the author. Unfortunately, I gave it to the school’s library and no longer have it[i]. ”My Magic Glasses” teaches kids emotional control as the heroine has a pair of magic glasses. When she puts them on, she sees different things and sees things differently. She chooses to put them on to help her make choices. The book is pure genius.

No matter what I’m wearing for glasses, my lawn is currently looking unkept. I’d like to attribute it to “No Mow May,” but that’s less than honest. Ultimately, my lawn’s appearance is the result of some decisions I made (or didn’t make). I could offer many reasonable explanations or excuses, but there’s an overriding question of “Why should I?”

“Do it yourself” is a choice we make with at least two assumptions. One involves enjoyment and relaxation.  “I like being outside and doing yardwork.” The other is that we tend to think of ourselves as cheap and convenient labor. We don’t do a cost/benefit analysis. (Unless, like me, you occasionally enjoy overthinking things.) We’re approaching life through rationalization — something fundamentally different from assertive decision-making.

Magic glasses help us answer the simple question: “Why am I doing this?” They help us distinguish between things that need our attention and things that merely demand it. Some days, the lawn needs mowing. Other days, the lawn can wait while we go fishing—assuming, of course, that we’re not the worm.

[i] Gray, V. B. (2012). My Magic glasses. Balboa Press. Digital copies are available from Barnes & Noble and Amazon.

This article appeared in the June Issue of The Guilford Register.

A small gaggle of middle school girls approached me at first somewhat shyly. They know whining isn’t allowed in my classroom when I substitute, but we weren’t at school; we were at the Piscataquis River Festival. I suspect they also would have claimed what they were doing was actually begging, not whining.

For those who don’t know, the Guilford River Festival is a truly awesome annual event that’s extremely family and kid-friendly. The girls were offering a competition based on a game we sometimes play at school. “Are you smarter than a PCMS student?” They were having trouble getting contestants and begged me to visit their setup and play. Violating yet another school rule, they grabbed me by the hands and dragged and pushed me to their setup.

When I arrived, the girls and their game host immediately disappeared to “strategize,” triggering a certain amount of suspicion in my mind. Upon returning, they all had a noticeable “cat that swallowed the canary” look.

The game host explained the rules and process carefully and quickly. I think I heard him say that the game was “only slightly rigged.” I would be competing against the girls, but I had the first chance to answer the questions. If I answered the question wrong, they could “take the point” by answering correctly, proving they were smarter.

The questions were of a historical nature and not too difficult, but my suspicions were at an all-time high, so I thought long and hard before answering. I could almost hear the clock ticking and the music playing. The first question required a date for an answer. When I answered, the game host called “Wrong! and the girls huddled. After some whispering, they shouted an answer in unison. “Billy Bob!”

“Correct!” Since the audience was small, the girls provided most of the applause for their nonsensical achievement.

The second question required a person’s name for an answer, and I admitted I was tempted to answer “Billy Bob,” but went with what I was sure was correct. Again, my answer was declared wrong. Again, after huddling, the girls answered nonsensically, and the host declared them correct.

I suppose some would have felt cheated, but I found myself laughing and having fun. Maybe it wasn’t just about the contest questions. Remember, the original question was “Are you smarter than a PCMS student?” It was becoming clear that I was not–they were outsmarting me and reminding me that some things aren’t to be taken seriously.

The process continued with the girls winning all the points and me being skunked. It was at that point that the game show host indicated I shouldn’t go away empty-handed and presented me with a t-shirt from the sponsoring local business. My response was genuine: “This is definitely worth losing for.”

I may be risking over-analysis, but the experience left me not only laughing but also thinking. Winning and losing are words. People give meaning to words–it’s not the other way around. Sometimes we win when we lose. I knew I’d enjoy that shirt and the memory of losing to a gaggle of giggling girls who did, in fact, outsmart me. So, thanks to the girls and their sponsor for hosting the contest I won by losing.

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I’m fond of saying, “The only thing I can’t tolerate is intolerance.” But it’s not quite true, and I feel a need to rant.

Let’s start by noting that any arbitrary generality about the Amish is wrong. When people say, “They don’t like to be photographed,” there’s a good chance it’s true. While this is going to be about the Amish, it also isn’t. Are you confused yet?

Personally, I do not photograph people who might qualify as “Amish,” even in public places where the law might allow it. To me, the law is not the deciding factor. Just because something is legal doesn’t mean it should be done.

If we keep this simple, the odds are good that most Amish would prefer not being photographed. If one takes the time to understand the Amish mindset, it makes sense. (They aren’t worried about their souls being stolen, by the way.) One of my favorite encounters with the subject happened with an Amish man telling a group of tourists who were visiting their farm, “If you ask my permission, I’m obligated to refuse. My family definitely cannot pose. But we also won’t stop you as long as you’re discreet and respectful.”

Unfortunately, the Amish mindset and lifestyle make them photogenic and easy to exploit. A lot of people take advantage of that on social media. I don’t particularly like it, but I get it. Or at least I mostly tolerate it.

There is a Facebook User in Lancaster, Pennsylvania, who has obviously purchased a pair of Meta AI Glasses. These glasses allow her to video record her interactions with people (almost exclusively Amish in farm markets and businesses) and then post the recordings freely on Facebook. I’m angry enough not to bother raising questions about Facebook’s almost non-existent “Community Standards.”

Do we really need rules and laws to prevent what is abusive, disrespectful, and exploitive? (I know the answer is “yes,” but I want to believe there is still some level of decency in today’s society. There’s not much left on social media.) If she did this with a non-Amish kid, some parent might track her down and smash her glasses. (I’m not suggesting that, but there would be consequences.) The Amish aren’t like that, and the people who exploit them know it. I’m not sure what I will do if I encounter her the next time I’m in the Lancaster area.

But I do know this. Pennsylvania has a two-party consent law, and she is in clear violation of it. In addition, from the recordings, it is obvious she is also recording minors without consent. She has been told this with comments; she simply deletes the comments and blocks the user. A few of us are angry enough to start a grassroots movement. Properly directed public pressure can be very effective. You can also reach out to Lancaster County Crime Stoppers. They allow you to report anonymously.

Update: At least one very detailed report has been filed with the Lancaster County District Attorney’s Office by a Lancaster County Citizen. I haven’t seen anything concrete yet but it’s rumored that the e-newspaper Lancaster Online has “developed an interest.” The wheels of justice may be turning, however slowly.

A good friend surprised me yesterday by announcing he would be retiring soon. Since it was a surprise, I couldn’t resist probing why. His answer was “I have things I want to do.” I felt reassured that he was on a good track because he was focused on the beginning.

I’m a self-proclaimed expert on the subject of retirement, having “retired” quite a few times. The word itself has an interesting etymology, tracing back to Middle French and Latin, meaning “to draw back” or “to withdraw.”

When I retired from practicing and teaching real estate, I remember well the moment I inactivated my broker’s license. When I clicked the submit button, not much happened. The heavens didn’t open. There was no clap of thunder or bolt of lightning. I’d made a simple life change — an end and a beginning.

On that same day, I left for Bangor. I stopped at the mailbox to pick up a big envelope of thank-you notes from some third-graders I’d recently spent time with. They weren’t interested in real estate. I also stopped to visit with a 94-year-old fellow in hospice. We didn’t discuss real estate. We had a great visit, and I enjoyed his smile.

As the day progressed, I seemed to have one positive experience after another. I had some canning jars to drop off at my Amish friend’s farm stand. It was another happy visit. I usually bring books for her sons, and their enthusiasm for them is both rewarding and encouraging. We don’t discuss real estate.

I know that our “worldview” tends to influence what we see and how we interpret it, but I had to admit that a lot of good stuff seemed to be coming my way on this both eventful and uneventful day. We can attribute it to Karma, fate, or the planets being aligned, but my last stop on the way home was the grocery store for a gallon of milk. When the fellow ahead of me was given his amount due, he jerked a thumb my way and said, “I want to pay for his milk.”

A day that started with an ending included lots of new beginnings. Or maybe just one. I was seeing the world a little differently. My good friend and colleague, Jack Falvey, kept telling me to stop using the word “retirement.” Jack’s wisdom was that I was actually repotting and would be growing in a different place.

I saw Jack’s truth at the mailbox, in a hospice facility, on an Amish farm, and in the local grocery store.

I may no longer be an official real estate broker, but new beginnings are more important than endings. We have a lot of control over how we see ourselves and the world. I’m just going to thrive, grow, laugh, and enjoy in different places. I didn’t retire. I repotted. I’ll bet I do it again.

It’s Memorial Day, and it’s raining. As I consider the impact of that, one thing that comes to mind is that I probably won’t be hanging out the flag. The U.S. Flag Code recommends against it, unless the flag is a designated “all-weather” flag. Mine isn’t.

I have been teased in the past over the importance I place on displaying my flag on Memorial Day. Since my gravel road is a dead-end, there’s not much traffic. “Who’s going to see it?” My reply has always been, “I will.”

The rain does affect things. Social media is announcing the cancellation of many events this morning. I suppose I could announce that there will be no flag flying at the end of the driveway due to inclement weather. That’s certainly not as significant as the cancellation of a parade or cookout. The absence of a flag may not even be worth noting to most. I will notice.

It took some time and effort, but I succeeded in getting my book, Memorials, Monuments, and Memories, published in time for the holiday. I’ll confess that the idea of standing in the rain this year to honor those who served was not appealing at first. Haven’t I done enough?

No, I haven’t. As interest in and support for the true meaning of Memorial Day dwindle, we should feel called to do more. When I realize that thousands of 17-year-olds made the ultimate sacrifice, standing in the rain for 20 minutes doesn’t feel like much of a hardship by comparison. I might even enjoy the fact that I can have that honor.

The weather may influence what we do, but that doesn’t mean we should allow it to dictate our mood. Somber is not a synonym for sad. My hometown announced that the traditional ceremony has been moved inside the town hall. Those who wish will then parade to the cemetery to honor the fallen. (You can’t fire the gun salute inside the town hall!) We must explore what it truly means to honor the fallen, keep faith with the past, and celebrate our shared humanity.

Today, it’s not about the rain. It’s about love, legacy, and the living obligations we carry forward. Bring your umbrella.

For those who don’t know, a turkey that was either dumb or destructive flew into the front of my truck, damaging the grill. (One of the best jokes was about having grilled turkey.) Shortly thereafter, my check engine light came on.

My friend Mary was suggesting some “do-it-yourself” repairs. When I noted the glowing light was a complication, she responded that it was in line with neuroplasticity. (Neuroplasticity is the brain’s amazing ability to change, reorganize, and adapt its structure and function throughout life in response to new experiences, learning, or injuries.) We do have some interesting dialogues.

She’s correct. The check engine light may be focused on the memory. The truck’s simply saying, “Ow! I got hit, and it hurt!”

Some quick research indicates that without an OBD scanner, the best way to reset the check engine light is to disconnect the battery for 20-30 minutes. We might call that electroshock therapy, now called electroconvulsive therapy (ECT), and still used today, with a claimed 60% to 80% success rate with people. (I’m not sure what the rate is with cars.

It also sounds a bit like Windows Software. When things stop working, simply turn it off and back on. It’s interesting that this hard reset also has a 60% to 80% success rate of fixing minor glitches, performance lags, and system unresponsiveness.

We might be on to something. We are already thinking of AI programs as if they were people. “I’ll ask Claude! (ClaudeGPT).” To what extent are people (at least in some respects) like AI programs?

A “hard reset” could change the way we’re thinking. Problem-solving could be just that simple.

A recent social media post in anticipation of Mother’s Day showed a husband interrupting his wife while doing dishes. He told her she shouldn’t be doing them since it was Mother’s Day. She glowed. After a short pause, he added, “Just leave them until tomorrow.”

I’m among the many who enjoyed a good laugh.

I also found it ironic that I’m about to release my next book, Memorials, Monuments, and Memories. It includes a thanks to my Dad and some “sort of” Dads. The release was aimed at Memorial Day, not Mother’s Day.

But here we are, faced with a holiday meant to celebrate mothers. It should mean more than flowers and a day off from doing dishes. And it should apply to “sort of” Moms.

Wikipedia explains that Mother’s Day is an annual holiday celebrated in many parts of the world to honor mothers, maternal bonds, and mothers’ influence in society. In the United States, it is observed on the second Sunday in May and typically involves giving gifts, cards, flowers, and spending time with family to show appreciation.

Mother’s Day was established in 1908 by Anna Jarvis to honor her deceased mother. The common traditions (brunch, breakfast in bed, giving red or white carnations, and spending time with family) are a challenge for those whose mothers are not around. And what about the instances where, for assorted reasons, fathers are attempting to fulfill the role?

We could watch the 1983 movie “Mr. Mom” as an annual tradition. After he’s suddenly laid off, a husband switches roles with his wife. She returns to the workforce, and he becomes a stay-at-home dad, and he must take care of three young children, a job he has no clue how to do. It’s a funny movie. Since it was produced over forty years ago, there might be an interesting discussion about how parenting roles have changed over four decades. According to at least one study, the number of single fathers has doubled.

I’m not advocating breakfast in bed for single fathers. On a more serious note, I am suggesting we go a little deeper on Mother’s Day to celebrate the role of mothers and motherhood in our lives. Let’s not simply appreciate a person, but also their contribution.

Thanks, Mom, for who you are as well as what you do.