162 Whither mental maps?

Whither mental maps?

Over 30 years ago I wrote an article in which I explored the psychological literature on cognitive (or mental) maps to help librarians design the best library floorplan maps (known in the literature as YAH, you-are-here maps). 


The idea was to help students develop cognitive maps as a way to help them find their way around a complex college library.

Having a cognitive map enables individuals to see themselves in a building or landscape and therefore be able to find their way easily through the environment.

Ziggy always expressed it in a more existential
manner!
 

So my question is: Will anyone in the future be able to develop mental maps?

Last summer I was in a small town in Florida and wanted to find an atlas of the Orlando road system for a trip to the hospital for which we had to be on time. I wanted to be able to find alternate routes if I40 became blocked. The town has a Walmart, multiple drug stores but no Staples or bookstore. No store had a map or atlas! The store clerks universally explained to me that all you need is GPS.

I went on Google Maps and Mapquest and was able to print out step by step directions but the maps were too small (or too many if enlarged) for me to envision the route.

We all have heard many stories of GPS leading folks astray. So we took the trip with trepidation and, aside for a little misdirection in the route, got there in plenty of time. But I have little knowledge of the geography we passed through except that Orlando is east of the interstate and Disney is to the west. (Even though I40 is an east/west road, it runs north/south through Orlando--important to know!)

I did a recent search for research on cognitive maps and found no recent literature. Everything I found on mapping, in general, was only about computer maps.

I recently took a Facebook quiz on geography. I could not believe how easy it was. Maybe it was that way so we will all feel good about our geographical knowledge, but I'm not sure. A 2015 U.S. News & World Report article stated that kids geographical knowledge was bad and is getting worse.

Since my dad was in the military, we traveled across the country a few times. I loved to follow the trip on a map. But I bet nowadays there are no maps in cars for most kids to follow.

Does it matter that our cognitive mapping and geographical skills are rapidly declining? I don't know. But I would like to think so.













But give me a map any day over GPS instructions!

                             Wanting to be geographically savvy, Trish

161 Hating summer

5 Very Valid Reasons I Hate Summer!

*Mosquitos
I checked on Google. There is little to show that mosquitos are actually an important part of the food chain. A recent NPR podcast said that we could actually do without mosquitos!

If there is a mosquito in on our farm, she will find me--little bloodsucker! Yep, I have even tried the “hack” of a dryer sheet in my pocket. HA!

*Fair Skin and Sun Tans
Okay! Neither of these pictures is the perfect healthy summer look. Seems resting beer cans on one’s chest in the sun is not a bright idea, nor am I as pale as this gal.

Even I get slightly browner than the redhead on the right--but not by much. My most beautifully tanned feature is my left hand and up to my elbow from driving with the window down. Otherwise, I must strip for anyone to tell I have been out in the sun. 

Here is a true story: One summer our family went on an Aegean cruise. It was one of those with lots of historic stops. When I got home and went back to work a couple of weeks later, the office secretary greeted me with: “oh, Glenne, did it rain the whole time?” No, I did not hit her but I did not give her a souvenir miniature Greek vase either.

*Humidity

If the humidity edges up to 70% or higher, my body feels it. I feel like a sponge and according to my doctor, I sort of am. I perspire very little so all that extra moisture in the air just settles in me. My arthritis is worse, my fingers and joints feel tight. If it is REALLY HOT along with the humidity, my stomach hurts. Really hurts. Not a nice feeling. And it gives me a headache.

I see so many things out my window I want and should do--prune the roses, cuts some dead branches off the lilacs, whack out a partially dead boxwood, and, generally, just pull weeds. Okay, 15 minutes at a time with a bottle of water. That’s it!! Break time!!

And when my two pals, the other Savvy Broads, want to go for a walk--I am like whom are you kidding? Have a nice time!! I appreciate nature; I just don’t much want to be in it.

*Summer Foods and Markets--doesn’t that sound appealing? 

Fresh fruits and vegetables from a local garden. Yeah, uh-huh! Who is going to wash them? Prepare them? Clean up the mess? Get rid of the trash so we don’t have ants or those little pesky fruit flies. 

OH, YES, corn on the cob is a tasty treat. But I only buy it from one little stand where they will shuck it and clean off the hairy strands before I bring it home. And our Schnauzers will play with corn cobs and bury them if they can manage to snag one. Frankly, a rediscovered once buried corn cob is disgusting looking…all brown, dirty, and shriveled. 

I really am not entranced with “from garden-to-table.” And that is a lie in itself. Garden grown, then buy, bag, put in fridge, take out of fridge, clean, prepare, serve, and clean up! Many restaurants have great salads and good local food! Garden-to-table – literally!? Wouldn’t that be a hoot!!

*Parties, Summer Weddings, Family Get-togethers

So you know I am basically a non-summer miserable human being, I am reminding my friends and family to PLEASE not expect me to attend all of their events – planned or impromptu. I like seeing friends and family. I do not – ironically - do not want to not be invited. Just please understand if I don’t stay long. Not if they are outdoors! My stomach does not to like eat al fresco. Then the bugs will come find me. The children will rip and race and squeal as children should do but it bothers me when it is 95 degrees and with a heat index of 104! If I disappear, I hope you understand!

Good old Maxine cartoons always seem to say it for me:

Stay COOL! I will be inside reading a “beach” book!

                                     Glenne

160 Many happy returns

Many happy returns

Ordering online has become way too easy! With a few clicks of my fingertips, tons of items can be delivered to my front door very, very quickly. It sometimes feels like magic. See an item, click on it, and before you know it, it is on the way.

While it is super convenient to shop this way, I find that I can be a little too quick on the draw. I don’t always take the time to analyze facts such as need, price, etc. That results in returns!!

Lately. it seems as if I am returning more than I keep. That is okay when the business has a local presence but not if it takes shipping the item back. The advantage of ordering from a store in our community is (you guessed it) returns can go back to the store to skip the hassle of mailing or shipping. 

Sometimes I am not even looking or shopping online when an item will just pop up. It looks like something I can’t live without. It can be a keeper or a dud--a recent example was a cute black portrait neckline top. I thought it was a sweater knit but it ended up being woven and more like a blouse. Sorry to say it wasn’t a keeper even though the price was great. The woven fabric was a disappointment. Luckily, it went back to a store that has a physical presence in the area. It was a bargain but not at all what I wanted.

I do like to go to the actual stores and browse to see what I like. But I have found I can order if they don’t have my size. This results in free shipping since the store did not have what I needed.

Recently I had purchased sandals for a granddaughter. Somehow, we bought the wrong size. When we went to the store and they didn’t have what we needed, they gladly ordered it and had it sent to the house with no shipping cost. Makes life much easier.

I have to be careful though with the timing. Often we are headed out of town when a package is on its way. I sometimes even forget I ordered an item when it will suddenly appear on the front porch. I am trying to do better, but it usually works out especially with the help of my neighbors and cleaning lady who will stop by.

Another avenue of shopping has been an online auction site that offers amazing bargains around the clock. The app is on my cell phone, and I can take part in the auction at any time. I do pace myself so I won’t be in over my head. There are many items I am not interested in, but often the jewelry is enticing. The site will ask you to review the item, and if you are not satisfied, then they refund the money and tell you to keep it or they provide return shipping and packaging.

I have always loved shopping but now it is at a new level. If someone in the family has a birthday, I can look for the item I want to send or one that has been requested and have it shipped to his or her home in a matter of days.

I remember the days when the Sear and Roebuck catalog would come out, and the excitement was overwhelming. In the Sears Archives, the 1943 Sears News Graphic wrote that the catalog “serves as a mirror of our times, recording for future historians today’s desires, habits, customs, and mode of living.” This is certainly true. Kits to build houses were even sold through the catalog.

My mother was not a fan of ordering. She preferred going to the local department store and buying what was available. I talked her into ordering one year and it was a disappointment. The dress didn’t look at all like the photo in the huge catalog. Also, it was time-consuming to order and write a check (no credit cards at that time), and it took forever or so it seemed. Plus, returns were painful and also were as slow as a snail’s pace.

The wish book was the Christmas catalog where toys were displayed in enticing photos and made us all dream for every one of them. Of course, we got nowhere near the amount we wanted.

Later on, stores such as Sears and JC Penney offered catalog counters in the stores to order and pick up. Now there are no catalogs or counters for orders. I guess this online ordering has replaced all those practices.

Not sure where all of this will end. We have seen the evolution of catalog to online shopping. There probably won’t be any catalogs in a few years. It is exciting to think of what will be next. Drone deliveries seem to be on the horizon!

But no matter what happens, the consumer will always get that certain thrill when a package arrives on the doorstep whether he or she remembers what was ordered!!

    Savvy Shopper/Returner Frances

159 Jeans saga

Jeans Saga

It all started when I bought a nice pair of jeans at a thrift store. The jeans retained the original sales tag, so they had never been worn. The tag said $124; I bought them for $2.50. They are nice, but not THAT nice. You might be able to tell that they are not wrinkle-free!

When did jeans become so expensive and sport designer-labels?

I remember my mother telling me that my sister and I could not wear "dungarees" except for camping trips and the like. I think she felt they were for the laboring classes, not nice middle-class girls. 

When I searched for images of dungarees, the most common images were of bib overalls, but I know dungarees were often pants without the bib. Incidentally, dungarees have been around since the 17th century and the cloth came from a village near Bombay, India, Dongri. The Hindu name of the cloth, which was often blue, was dungri.

Genovese sailors were known
 for their blue jeans

Denin was also known in the 17th century. The cloth was made in southern France in Nîmes--it was known as de Nîmes, meaning "from Nîmes". The de Nîmes fabric was made into pants in Genoa, Italy. When French soldiers entered the town in 1800, a merchant sold them blue pants from Genoa or "bleu de Genes." Levi Strauss and Jacob Davis, of San Francisco, are much better known for their contribution--the mass production of work pants with rivets that reinforced the pockets and the fly of the jeans. (Thanks, Wikipedia, for this brief history.)

My mother probably associated dungarees and jeans with the Beatnik movement of the 1950s.  Or bad boys such as Marlon Brando and James Dean.

By the time of the hippies, I think she gave up! These movements did a lot to popularize the blue jean. Remember tie-dying your jeans? Mine never looked that good!

Sometime after, Army-Navy surplus stories, Sears & Roebuck, Montgomery Wards and the similar stores were no longer the only source for jeans. In the 1960s $200 jeans started to appear along with acid-washed denim. Now jeans, both new and vintage, can go for thousands. 

And, the diversification in blue jeans matches many other consumer goods in our current society. I believe, however, that there are more jeans styles than Oreo flavors (That was a different blog!). As with many other products that have gotten too complicated for me to want to figure out, I stick to one product--Gloria Vanderbilt's Amanda jeans. She designed them in the 1970s to be jeans that fit and they do!

And I can find her jeans in thrift shops too!

Now for another blog: when are you too old to wear blue jeans? There is some survey that says 53. What!?

Savvily clad?--Trish                

158 My She Shed

What every woman needs!

My life, dear readers, has been a bit frenzied since the first of the year. Husband Ridge is without a gallbladder since January, a second operation for a stent in the bile duct in May, and a new spine (yep, rod and screws–three incisions in June) and no driving until September. 


OH, ME!! My choices, I figured, are martyrdom or a bit of selfishness. Most days, I have chosen the later.

Friend and head archivist at our regional library said, “You need a ‘she shed'!” 

Huh? Where have I been? After she explained the concept and some ideas, I was sold! Smart woman, that Becky! She has taught me so much about organization and presentation. I thought I was Type A, but she makes it look easy with her gentle demeanor. Thank you, Becky, for bringing me into the archive fold.

As usual, as soon as I got home from the archives [where I am lucky enough to be employed a few hours a week; I moved up from volunteer--yes, I am bragging!], I hit Google. My pal Google found some 2 million hits for “she sheds.” She sheds can be simple or complex. One does not really have to follow suggested blueprint instructions or purchase advertised items for a hideaway. 

You need not build an addition or a small shed to have the female equivalent--and might I add--the luxury of a man cave. The female version of the man cave is what SHE WANTS IN HER OWN SHE SHED. That is all that it is about!

Just as men say that they need their caves to de-stress, we women need our sheds for the same reason men need their caves: to unwind, to think without interruption, to read, to putter, to do and to be--alone!

I have always known I needed someplace where I could zone out--not answer the phone or emails or worry about grocery lists or errands. Just for an hour or two a day. Often, it was just surfing on the computer. One friend said her shed is her bathtub. No, thanks, I would look like an oversized prune or have dropped a library book in the water. Another has her own home office. Yet another, a sewing room (oh, my – that would stress me out – she who was asked to drop home economics in the 8th grade.)

Suddenly, eureka moment! I have a she shed and didn’t realize it. Working three or four hours several times a week in the archives in the basement of our beautiful beaux arts library is my shed. I work in the archives back room, surrounded by files, boxes, photos, and drawers of maps and oversized documents. With ever-changing technology, my computer and I are updating, accessioning, transcribing old manuscripts, and whatever other tasks might be needed. (Yes, I can read this now.)

The temperature is perfect – mid-60s, low 50s humidity. My kind of weather. The room is QUIET!!

Sometimes I am alone in an area among all these rare and fragile histories and manuscripts. Sometimes there are several of us, but each at our own tasks with our own little bit of space and with minimal talk. I love it. 

The hours go by. I am so engrossed in capturing the necessary information in a structured format for the public to use for their research that should a phone ring or someone knocks, I am startled. This is my SHE SHED and I didn’t know I had one!

My latest task--and fascinating it was--got completed it this week. Goal: update and check the records of the 69 family Bible records held in the archives. Here are Bibles from the 1700s to modern day and many years in between. Sometimes there are beautifully colored original pages, sometimes photocopies. Mostly, the surnames are ones many of us here in the area know or have a recall of seeing that name before. Here are the lists of marriages, births, and deaths. 

The handwriting may be beautiful manuscript or poorly spelled pencil notes. It’s all important. 

I wonder about those wives who had 13 children in 20 years and then the second wife who had another set. You can see the poor baby listed who died after just a few days and the giving of that same name to a subsequent child. There are ephemera from different periods--notes from soldiers, photographs, and random objects like a pair of old glasses or a lock of hair from a deceased loved one.

Thanks to our archivist, a very learned and gracious lady, I have gleaned so much more local history as well. Some of the genealogy of James Wood (Glen Burnie Estate) family, Belle Grove farm receipts, and photos of past Apple Blossom Festivals are highlights with which I have been trusted. 

Yes, the archives area has provided me with a shed in which I am surrounded by priceless stories and photos and memorabilia. I thank the archives for making my life a little easier. Thanks, too, for making me use my brain. Thank you for providing me a she shed that needed no hammer and nails. Thank you, Rebecca Ebert!

My final thought for the week is: Visit your archives; research your family history. Who knows what treasures and what stories you may find! And you can stay cool, too.

Savvy Broad Glenne         

157 50 Years!

50 years--but who’s counting!

Fifty years ago, we weren’t thinking about reaching our wedding anniversary that would mark half a century.

But here we are--June 22, 1968 to June 22, 2018. We never talked about longevity or survival but somehow and some way we made it. Two children and four grandchildren later we are retired and still together.

There have been years of non-stop life events with never a dull moment. Certain things were a given and non-negotiable – college educations, church attendance, family obligations, and more.

We have been supportive, tolerant, and loving through the years. When I recently asked him why we survived he said he always does what I want --- not true. Then he recanted and said we both have done what we wanted but with respect to each other.

There were commonalities as far as values but also some differences. He introduced me to the world of athletic competition. I had always enjoyed school sports events but never competed. When we started dating in college, I learned the ins and outs of a scholarship athlete at the university level. I even ate with him in the assigned cafeteria for athletes - often not a pretty picture!

He became a part of my world as we spent most evenings at the school library studying for upcoming exams. We were a fixture on the campus at Marshall University trekking to the library each evening.

Also, years of coaching took us to state championships and many, many sports dinners and banquets. I got him back when I was a school administrator and would drag him to events and then to newspaper awards dinners when I took a job at the local newspaper. We both went along for the other with a small amount of complaining.

Our further discussions on the longevity of our marriage brought us no closer to any resolution. We really don’t know for sure, but we have never really worried about it. Maybe that is the answer--we just take each day as it comes and face it together.

We both concluded we have a mutual agreement that each one gives the other space and room to follow his or her dreams and interests without making the other follow unless needed.

Oh sure, there are disagreements (we tell our grandchildren it is bickering not fighting), but when it comes down to it, we wouldn’t have it any other way.

There isn’t much else to say except we hope we have many more years to come!!

Frances

156 Never Start!

Never Start!

I recently saw a sign that proclaimed:

It made me consider why I never started . . . and why my parents did.

I was a senior in high when the Surgeon General's report on smoking was issued in 1964. Research generally supports the fact that peer pressure was and still is the most important factor in adolescents beginning to smoke. People who start in adolescence become the most severely hooked in adulthood.

I was a loner in high school, mostly because I skipped my sophomore year of high school and moved to a new school in a new state for my junior year. I had friends at school but the only kids I hung out with was those who were on the swim team. No smokers there--we were in the water all the time.

I also started wearing contact lens when I was 14 and smoke bothered my eyes a lot. It was difficult to be around my parents and to go to most public spaces since everyone was smoking indoors in those days.

But I think the main reason I had no desire to start was one of my assigned housekeeping tasks at home--cleaning ashtrays. The smell of wet ashes was so offensive to me that it made me gag. So my parents found the best preventative!

They were both lifetime smokers. Although they tried to quit many times, they stopped only when my mother became ill (eventually fatally) with throat cancer. My dad died a few years later, mostly from COPD.

In the twenties and thirties, some still felt smoking had health benefits. And certainly until the Surgeon General's report and subsequent legislation, smoking was seen as modern and glamorous.

Print and media ads and motion pictures showed beautiful men and women smoking. Doesn't it seem odd now to see everyone smoking in those old movies?                                                                                                                         My father was in the Navy from when he joined at age 17 until he retired in 1969. Just as tobacco companies pushed smoking among the general public, the companies also concentrated on a huge captive audience in the military.                                                                                                 In World War I, cigarettes were part of the standard ration kit for all allied soldiers. FDR made tobacco a protected crop during World War II. A claim that I cannot verify states that cigarette smoking increased 75% from 1940 to 1945.

When I worked in the base PX in the mid-1960s, cigarettes were quite cheap compared to regular store prices (I recall 20 cents per pack and $2 per case.). Even today, although the military no longer encourages smoking, cigarette use is much higher among military compared to the general population.

It is hard to remember the days when restaurants had ashtrays on every table and a haze of smoke filled the room. There was the intermediate step of non-smoking rooms in restaurants that were not that effective in separating people from the smoke. Now when I see one or two people standing outside a restaurant smoking, I feel sorry that they are hooked but happy they are outside.

The fifty-year anniversary of the Surgeon General's report was 2014. The 2014 report noted that smoking was down from 42% of the population in 1965 to 18% in 2012. However, the report pointed out that one-half million people in the U.S. die prematurely because of smoking. With the opioid epidemic grabbing so much attention, smoking does not command much attention. But Americans and others worldwide continue to pay the price for smoking.

Just lucky, I guess, Trish

155 Directionally challenged

Directionally Challenged

Likely the day will come when Savvy Frances and Savvy Trish toss me out of Three Savvy Broads! I have NO sense of direction. North is up, south is down, west is left, and right is east. 

That is all there is to it. 

HA! This cluelessness about directions has nothing to do with getting older. I have always been this way! I must have north in front of me!

I need and want simple directions. Turn right, go one light. Turn left. The building is on the northeast corner. OH, FOR HEAVEN SAKE. Which corner is the northeast corner? I have NO CLUE. Give me a landmark. It’s the old brick building with the four white columns across from the gas station. Give me something. I have no innate sense of how to get to where I need to be without landmarks. 

Yes, it is I who loves to drive in New York City. NYC is laid out in a grid. Streets are east and west. Avenues are north and south. Central Park is hard to miss. The East River is on the EAST SIDE of the island! So, the Hudson must be on the west side. Areas are called sensible names like midtown, upper eastside, westside, etc. 

I can give tourists directions in NYC, but I can also try to leave a large department store and realize it’s not where I entered. I have to tell myself things like I came in by the perfume counter or I may have to rewalk the entire first floor of the store.

Ah, and here we are - luckily living only 70 miles from our nation’s capital. An easy hour and a half drive if one avoids rush hour. Out-of-town visitors often answer when asked what they would like to do, “go to D.C.” Okay, that’s fine. 

I can get into the city. I even know where some good parking spots are – usually, I park at Union Station. HOWEVER, I cannot get out of the Union Station parking garage in Washington, D.C. to get back to Virginia without getting lost two or three times. As I drive in circles down the parking ramps to wind my way to the station exit, I have lost any sense of direction I had. There used to be REAL HUMANS at the toll booths that would help you out. No more! Stick that credit card in the slot and go. 

And, good grief, PLEASE NO requests that take one around a circle. Absolutely no circles. This is DuPont Circle around which I can go many times before I find where I need to be. D.C. looks so pretty on a map with its star of avenues, but it is extraordinarily difficult for me to maneuver. I always allow an extra half hour for “being lost” time.

Okay, here is my latest adventure. My sweet husband had to have emergency surgery at Johns Hopkins University Medical Center in Baltimore. One of the best rated medical institutions on the east coast. 

HOWEVER, from Winchester, there are a number of routes to get there. Seems it didn’t matter which route was chosen, I still had to get on Interstate 695 and take exit something or other (I think 11) and head towards the Inner Harbor of Baltimore. Well, folks, there is MUCH construction happening on 695 and a detour when I took the (YES, the correct) exit according to Google and Waze. Then the directions, I kid you not, said “head northeast.” OKAY, that’s it! Pull over and try not to have an anxiety attack. Yep, I am lost. 

Keep in mind, too, all the rain we have had in the past month. There are lots of trees in Baltimore. More than I had considered. Could I see the street signs? Some streets signs I never found. The leaves and branches hung over many of the signs.

Johns Hopkins is on the east side of the city. Somehow I ended up on the far west side in a neighborhood that did not look like a major medical center would be anywhere around. I pulled off in a “no parking” slot on a street and waited for a policeman. He was very nice, but he told me to reverse everything I had done and that would get to the east side of the city. THANKS, HEAPS! Betting he laughed all the way back to his station. Okay, I don’t even SEE my exit on this map with the title Baltimore & Johns Hopkins Hospital.

Both Google maps and Waze had given me the directions but it seems my Bluetooth in the car is synced with my phone and directions can get interrupted by phone calls and text messages. I had no idea this would happen. Call me naïve. Call me dumb. But, finally, 40 minutes later, now heading east (I hoped), I saw a hospital drop off circle that said “NO PARKING OR WAITING AT ANY TIME.” I crossed traffic lanes, with flashers on and a toot on the horn, received some unpleasant hand signals and horns from other drivers, and, yes, I pulled in and parked.

Poor husband, after three days in the hospital, was eager to get home. HOWEVER, seems the aide who took him from his room to the exit did NOT use the same exit I was given by phone of where to pick him up. Thank goodness for cell phones. After he and I talked, a security guard gave him directions of how to get where I was. HE GOT OUT HIS WHEELCHAIR and HE walked to meet me! [Had he passed out or fallen, I believe a lawsuit might have been in the works.]

Now here’s the rub! I turn out of the parking lot and start looking for the cross street that we were told would lead us to 70 West to come home. I have yet to find the street! However, dear husband, whose sense of direction is quite good, calmly says, “just keep 

driving, you will run into Route 40 and we can take 81 home.” Well, he was correct. And we did get home and I finally peeled my fingers off the steering wheel in my driveway. 

One last admission to my directional ineptness: if directions take me outside of the 22601 city zip code of our hometown, I can still get lost. Yep, right here at home. No winding streets, please!!

OH, give me NYC grids!!

Not Very Savvy Glenne