iQ, mEq, uQ, eQ, WeQ

While working on my website and emails today, a tweet popped up about college students and getting grades for their emotional intelligence.
I clicked on the link and read through the artical.  I reminded me of the book published in 1998 called “All I Really Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten.”

The question was whether college students should be given grades for emotional intelligence?    (the question)

Then I read a comment from a person who asked “give credit for breathing?”   That got me thinking — look out folks.   I’m back at it again, analyzing.   So, consider the fact that at age nine I started learning to play oboe.  My lungs not yet fully developed (that process is completed at age 12), and there I was holding an instrument in my hands in which I had to, ever so slowly, hold and control my breath.   hmmm, I think.  I became a professional oboist about 12 years later (getting paid to perform and/or teach).   Did I get “credit” for breathing or for controling my breath?   I sorta think so.   You can see my breath condensate (my science knowledge) on the inside of this oboe.  Does that makes my invisible breath real?

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At what point will we as humans, begin to accept that emotions ARE part of our existence.   They are as real (or unreal, sometimes) as our breath.  Emotions ARE real.  Ask the folks who lost a loved one in one of the countless, senseless shootings across this country and world.   What is the worst part of a death — not the loss of the body — but the loss of the spirit of the person, the personality, the air space the person occupied, the feelings that came WITH the person.   Emotions can not be replaced with things or money.   They ARE real.  They need to heal just as any other part of our body needs to heal after a “boo boo” or down right surgery.   Emotions are housed in our brains.

Subjective. Sure.  So is art, music, writing, reading, dance, sports, medicine, lanquage, science.  Lots of subjects are subjective.  What we need is a form of measurement like the mathmeticians have managed to get to work in their favor.   “It’s all about the numbers.”  — one of my very unfavorite comments in the last year.   There are SO many aspects of life that are “priceless” that have nothing to do with numbers.

iQ vs eQ (the difference)

Poder These:

iQ – intelligence quotient (answer)

eQ – emotional quotient (answer)

mEq – abbreviation for milliequivalent

hiQ – (answer)

uQ – university quotient — OK, this was odd

WeQ – wind erosion eQuation, worry emotionality questionaire, war event questionaire, work experience questionaire (check this out)

wiQ – Waring Intimacy Questionaire, Walking Impairment Questionaire, (huh?)

theyQ – alien emotions — just kiddin’ (or not?)

I scream. You scream. We all scream for ice cream. (answer)

Wonders of Work

There is nothing in the world other than art and oboe that I enjoy participating in more than WORK.  There are so many benefits to working that go beyond a paycheck.

I started my first job at age 17 at McDonalds.  I was assigned to the grill and made burgers, fries, milkshakes, egg McMuffins.   I had to clean floors and empty trash in the seating area.  Unless I had a rehearsal or concert, I worked exclusively on weekends. I was glad for the work and money. I never had the attitude that the “job” was beneath me or not appropriate to my future career. (Best employee 11/10/2012 – Kara)

 

By the time I was in college, I started working part-time as a tutor.  I tutored Music 101 students — non-music majors who needed assistance understanding the difference between the sounds of instruments and certain composers music.    I was a conscientious student. Though I was an art major, the music professors recommended I tutor students who needed help with their class.   I found ways to relate the student’s area of study to music and enjoyed working in an area related to my degree — education.

Before I graduated from college, I was hired for an official art teaching position.   I taught drawing, design & graphics, 9th grade general art, jewelry, pottery, art appreciation.   I formuled ideas, assignments, graded, displayed, prepared supplies, disciplined.   No one needed to monitor me.  I was self-motivated to do the best job possible.   After two years of temporary positions, I divided a paper into columns to mark the pros and cons of the current job, but decided to take a full-time position that required me to move. I retained the connection with music colleagues after the move.

 

I planned to remain in the school system for at least 10 years. I stayed 11.5 years. The entrepreneurial spirit that I exhibited since selling pewter jewelry at age 16 needed to be nurtured. I was 32 when I “retired.” The adventure of working every day had just begun.  I never needed someone to coach or prod me to work. I began building an amazing business that developed into a marvelous merging of art, and music. The final addition was a coffeehouse. A restaurant was not in the picture as I was growing up — definitely not a dream. But what a joy the inclusion of coffeehouse was to my art studio. Sometimes, it barely seemed like “work” even though I was on call about 98 hours a week.

  

I loved all my jobs that were destroyed by a hostile spousal takeover.  My pay was nothing to brag about, but the connection to my family of art, music and coffeehouse friends was “priceless.”

Coffee Conversation

Here at the big “….bucks” cafe, youth are in and out at a steady pace. I’m positioned in a corner spot to be unobtrusive and so I can study, write and observe. The music is a bit loud for my taste but a nice mix of tunes condusive to study. The air is refreshingly cool (a little chilly). The round faux-marble table with antique style base is the right height for me to type. The bench seat is surprisingly comfortable.

Three of my former employees who were forced out of our coffeehouse along with me last September, remarked this past July that they couldn’t go to any other coffee places. They couldn’t accept the formal presentation, almost sterile environment and mediocre drinks with no customization.   They were also trying to heal from what transpired only months earlier to their beloved place of employment.  I, however, don’t have a problem sitting in a different coffeeshop anymore. I know, without a doubt, that my establishment was truely the best ever — unique to the max. My “shop” was comfortable, charming, intriguing, powerful, expressive, spontaneous – – it absolutely radiated life.

My five lively businesses were  “put down” — verbally, spiritually, mentally and financially as had been going on behind the scenes for years.
My multiple life careers (all involving people, not machines) were killed – a pre-meditated act.  When the abusive spouse set out to destroy everything I created, worked to build, and successfully managed (personally AND financially), he was effective in terrorizing us out of OUR coffeeHOUSE with the aid of a vindictive “lawyer” neighbor.   Wow, Mr vO is really enjoying the parking lot my parents paid to pave for MY customers.

Be right back — have to open a space for another customer . . .

OK — got in my car and drove to another location — secluded for my serenity . . .

Check out this beautiful swan and cygnet cappuccino — a reminder of the artistic, creative preparation of drinks we prepared.

There I was in the *coffeeshop* with two college girls next to me chatting as if in a schoolyard playground about guys and their observations of them on campus.  It was certainly a much more open discussion than what transpired 30 years ago when I was a Co-ed.  Back then, we had our space — our sensibility — our subtle scrutiny.    We were in a public venue.

Now, we have pods for coffee — little packs of liquid and energy.      So many people want everything quick, easy, convienient.    The young ladies left in 20 minutes – probably the maximum level of concentration for an above average young adult.     Where are the filters — coffee or otherwise — that formally defined our conversations?