Yes, I Watch The Bachelorette!

Since this column is about this n’ that I am going to let you in on a few of my viewing secrets this week.

Yes, I watch the Bachelorette and I have to tell you I don’t know why I got hooked on the Bachelor and Bachelorette series. At first, I think it was out of boredom and curiosity. I didn’t understand why any woman or any man would think they could find a life long partner on a show such as this. My other thoughts wandered around as to why any woman would want to put herself in this position especially when it came to the Bachelor. I deduced it is the writer in me liking to study human behavior. These shows do seem to be addicting.

This week watching Rachel Lindsay choose hometown dates I was hit with the fact I am color blind in most instances. The moment happened when she asked one of her dates what his parents would think of him bringing home a black woman. I was shocked. I have long ceased seeing Rachel as a black woman. I see her as a beautiful independent and smart woman, but I haven’t seen color in spite of the hype.

My reaction was, “That’s right, I forgot there is still an issue of color with some people and I forgot Rachel was black. It was a shocking moment for me to realize I had made that transition somewhere in my life. It wasn’t always that way.

I wasn’t prejudiced, I just had never had any interaction with any other race except for mine growing up because I lived in a white community in rural Minnesota. I was curious.

There was a big hype about Rachel being the first black Bachelorette. The show has been deeply criticized for having all white Bachelors and Bachelorettes so far. I wish we would quit seeing race and see people in this country. It would be a better place for our children to grow up.

But back to the reason, the Bachelorette is on television. We still want to believe in love. Love seems to have fallen down the drain with divorce being more common than wedding anniversaries. Is it possible to find real love during a television season?

Arranged marriages were not uncommon in the earlier days of our country and in foreign countries. Some of them worked very well. Maybe parents did know something back in those days when they chose a spouse for their child.

On June 13, 1998, David Weinlick married Elizabeth Runze at the Mall of America in Minnesota. I remember this well since I live in Minnesota and remember thinking this was a crazy way to get married. Weinlick had told his friends he would get married on June 13, 1998, but the problem was he didn’t have a bride. So his friends ran a campaign to find him a qualified bride. His friends, after interviews of 28 people and in depth thought picked Elizabeth. David and Elizabeth got married after only a five-minute conversation the previous Monday. In 2008 and they were still together and had three children. This is according to the Today Show.  They still have a lasting marriage and I think one more child came along but David is now struggling with cancer. David Weinlick  I don’t know his status as of this posting. The point is this arranged marriage lasted through thick and thin.

So will the Bachelorette’s choice bring her a life-long marriage? We all know marriage is hard. We laugh, we rejoice, we struggle and we want to quit on occasion but commitment pulls people through. Remember the vows for better, for worse.

Some Bachelor Nation couples have made it through the hype and publicity and have remained married. Maybe the franchise has something we didn’t know or didn’t remember. Maybe the parents in the “olden days” knew something and we thought it was a silly and stupid and our strong wills tossed it aside. It takes more than sex and a few kisses for a lifelong commitment.

Who will Rachel choose? Maybe we should let the parents decide. That could be another reality show for ABC. And we should put blinders on the parents so they don’t see color just personality. What do you think ABC? Is it time to branch out to “Let The Parents Decide?”

 

Micromanager? Not Me!

Something About Nothing, by Julie Seedorf

Published the week of March 13, 2017 in the Albert Lea Tribune

This past week someone asked me if I would mind if they changed or tweaked an idea that was birthed from my brain. I, of course, answered, “No problem.” I actually meant that. A few years ago I probably would not have been so nonchalant about someone tweaking a vision I had for a venue.

 I no longer have the need to be in charge. In fact, I don’t like being in charge anymore. I no longer feel threatened if someone feels something could be made better by tweaking or adding their ideas to something I created. I now like collaboration. However, I will say when it comes to my books I don’t always agree with the tweaking, and I will fight tooth and nail in leaving a line or a word or something I feel I believe in and is necessary to a story, but it is not because I want to have the last word but because I want to put out the best work.

I must admit I am still a micromanager. Aren’t we all? We micromanage the little things in our life — that we possibly can control. That can lead to amusing conflicts in our households.

I am the drawer organizer in the kitchen — or at least I try to be the organizer. When the dishwasher gets unloaded, my husband is our dishwasher unloader person, I am the person who hand washes if we have pots and pans. This division of labor works well. I don’t mind washing dishes, but I dislike unloading the dishwasher for some unknown reason. He doesn’t like to wash dishes. This is where one area of micromanagement shows up in our relationship.

He rearranges the dishes I put in the dishwasher. I rearrange the dishes he puts back in the cupboard. He doesn’t understand why I don’t load the dishwasher right. I must admit I don’t understand his formula. I don’t understand why he can’t put things back correctly in the cupboard. My theory is that mixing blades should go with the mixer. Gadgets should go in the gadget drawer. We don’t get each other, and we constantly jockey for our way of arranging things.

When we had the wastebasket sitting in the kitchen, I felt it sat too close to the laundry room door, making me have to twist my body to open the door and squeeze in the laundry room. I would set it where I wanted it. A few hours later it would be moved a few inches to where he wanted it closer to the door.

Our cats get confused when I move their cat dishes where I think they should be, and he moves their cat dishes where he thinks they need to be.

When I fry bacon it is on a low flame and takes a little longer so grease doesn’t splatter all over the kitchen. When he fries bacon, the flame is high. When he is walking past the bacon frying while I am cooking, the flame sneakily gets turned up. I slink past the stove when he is frying bacon and turn down the flame. We micromanage and drive each other crazy with these little things.

Our life becomes a negotiation over the little things, and most of the time neither one of us realizes we are doing it.

I think the same is said for volunteer organizations and our church organizations or even our interactions with our friends. Many of us have a tendency to own what we do, and not give others the chance to help us make our environment or activity spectacular because of team input.

I realized the past few years I probably steamrolled over many people in my volunteer activities or work situations. I so protected my ideas and my vision that I couldn’t see others creative and constructive suggestions would make it better. It was my way or the highway.

A good manager values input, can sift out what will work and incorporate others’ ideas into their vision.

I rejected others’ input for a few reasons. One of those reasons was insecurity about myself and my ideas. It was a threat if anyone threw out an idea that didn’t jive with mine or told me something was wrong. That would make me more rigid in my managing skills. I wanted it my way. If someone rejected an idea, I would feel it was a rejection of me as much as what I had suggested or written. In order to keep that control, I was the one who had to be right.

I make mistakes, and this week I made some doozies on a script I wrote. I make mistakes because I am not really a detail person, and so I make detail goofs. I realized how far I had come when I took ribbing about, and was laughing right along, and able to own up to the fact that — yes, it was my mistake. Although I had made the changes, I didn’t save them so no matter which way you looked at it — I flubbed.

I haven’t grown up enough yet though to not be a micromanager in my house. I must admit it keeps things interesting because each of us never knows where something is going to be moved on any given day depending on our need to control for the day. I can’t control the big things but by gosh, my mixer blades will be in the right drawer.