As many of my readers know, my dog, Gus, is my muse.

One of the things that never ceases to amaze me is how Gus is over-the-moon excited to begin each day. He waits for any movement (often around 4 a.m.) and starts to get excited. If I am not ready, he tries to wait.

He tries.

But it is hard for him, because, he knows, he just knows, that today is going to be the most awesome day, ever.

Once I awaken, he can no longer contain his excitement, twirling rapidly, running around, often in circles, going up and down the stairs (even with his heart condition); just so excited that today has finally arrived.

For Gus, life is joy.

And that joy is meant to be shared. On our walks, Gus encounters each stranger with the assumption that the stranger wants to pet him. He hovers for a few minutes, giving them every chance to take advantage of his affectionate nature. Sometimes they do and sometimes they don’t, but he waits patiently in front of them, until they decide.

Because Gus sees humanity in every human.

Including the homeless. It doesn’t matter how dirty, angry, unkempt, or hirsute they are. Some homeless use their appearance and expressions to keep us away.

But all Gus sees is a person who might need some affection. And many actually do. A pat on the head to Gus almost always elicits a smile. Gus stays until they are done and then walks back. The stranger, a stranger no more, smiles. His hidden humanity exposed.

One of the most profound demonstrations of Gus’s capability was at the dog park in Key West. A homeless man chose to spend every day at the dog park, sitting on a bench. He sported a long dirty beard to match his unkempt appearance. He scowled as we entered the park and kept his head down, muttering.

Gus would have none of that. He went over the bench and waited patiently by the man’s side. It took less than a week before the man reached down to pet the 12-pound fluffy white dog. Gus snuggled with him until the man was done and trotted back to me. Every day, Gus came over and as the days progressed their time together grew longer. The man would call Gus as soon as he saw him. It took only a couple of weeks before the man was talking to everyone. Other dogs started to come over and people began to share a smile or a commence a light conversation. Within a couple of months, he was clean shaven, washed, and every morning he waited for that little soft fluffy white dog to come over and gaze at him with his soft doe-eyes. When I returned to Key West the next year, the man was gone; I hope he found a home.

It happened again recently. A man who walked with this head down was no match for Gus. After Gus weaved his magic, we now smile and greet each other.

Last week I was in the supermarket when I noticed an elderly woman having difficulty with her groceries. I came to her aid. It took no longer than a couple of minutes to help her; and afterwards, I felt a euphoria. It is called the Helper’s high. And it is an amazing feeling.

I may have stumbled upon one of Gus’s secrets.

Angela Rieck, a Caroline County native, received her PhD in Mathematical Psychology from the University of Maryland and worked as a scientist at Bell Labs, and other high-tech companies in New Jersey before retiring as a corporate executive. Angela and her dogs divide their time between St Michaels and Key West Florida. Her daughter lives and works in New York City.

I vowed not to watch the Congressional hearings about January 6th. I had watched the original insurrection and fallout for a full week and believed that I had heard enough.

But I relented.

I am glad I did.

One of last week’s hearings focused on the VP, Mike Pence, and the repercussions he was faced for doing his job. Listening to this harrowing tale, I was surprised how real the danger was. And I saw something that I did not expect.

Fear.

I remembered the fear on the faces of the Capitol police as they put their lives on the line to protect Congress and our Constitution. I saw fear on the faces of Congressmen and Congresswomen as they hid in the chamber and were ushered to safety.

I also remembered courage. The brave Capitol police protected our leaders with their lives. I saw videos of hand-to-hand combat. I saw the courage of a policeman who risked his life to lure the thugs away. (I still am not able to call these insurrectionists humans, I continue to pray for empathy and compassion, but as of yet, I cannot.)

I also realized that courage is not always about facing a life or death situation.

Tyler Schultz and Erika Chung were alarmed by what they saw at Theranos (a startup company that was trying to build medical testing devices). The executives of Theranos lied to investors and were willing to conduct inaccurate blood tests on patients. Chung and Schultz quit their jobs on moral grounds. It could have ended there. But they were concerned about patient safety. At great personal cost, they took another step. Chung notified the Centers for Medicare and Medicaid Services (CMS). As required by law, CMS investigated Theranos and shut it down for 2 years deeming there was significant risk to patients. Schultz risked his career and his relationship with his famous grandfather, George Schultz, by whistleblowing to a Wall Street Journal reporter. The story in the Wall Street Journal was the beginning of the end for this fraudulent company. No longer able to con investors or get revenues from inaccurate medical tests, the company dissolved. Before its dissolution, Chung and Schultz spent almost a year sued, harassed, and spied on by private detectives, and yet remained resolute in their desire to expose the danger. They no doubt saved lives.

But all they really did was quit a job and notify others about the inner workings of the company. That’s all, they made a phone call or wrote an email.

In Mike Pence’s case, he was simply doing his job.

I carry no water for Pence. I have contempt for people who decide that their religion and piety must be forced upon everyone. Their religious beliefs compel them to abrogate women’s rights and the rights of anyone who deviates from their moral view.

Yet, Pence is courageous. Despite the extraordinary bullying that Pence endured and the threat to his safety, Pence did his job. His advisors were convinced that his life was in danger and remain fearful that without Congressional safeguards this could happen again if Trump runs for office.

Mike Pence showed courage in performing the simple ceremonial role of certifying the election. And that was all he did, in the face of withering persecution, he did his job.

Courage comes in many forms. It can be the courage that soldiers display on the battlefield or the Capitol police in protecting our Constitution.

Courage can be making an extra phone call, as Chung and Schultz did.

And sometimes courage is just as simple as doing your job.

Angela Rieck, a Caroline County native, received her PhD in Mathematical Psychology from the University of Maryland and worked as a scientist at Bell Labs, and other high-tech companies in New Jersey before retiring as a corporate executive. Angela and her dogs divide their time between St Michaels and Key West Florida. Her daughter lives and works in New York City.

It doesn’t matter how hot it gets; I sleep with the window open. If not, I would miss my morning songbird symphony. And the Eastern Shore is blessed with a lot of songbirds.

The largest group of musicians in my neighborhood are robins…who have wisely chosen to build their second nest high in a tree. Robins may warble the prettiest scores, so I am grateful that this section of the orchestra is so densely populated.

Cardinals like to pitch in. They compensate for their less melodic tones by being very loud and cheerful. Then there are  sparrows that contribute their beautiful voices. Add some Carolina wrens and a few finches and every morning, I am awakened to a joyous serenade. Because every crowd has an offkey player, the blue jays and blackbirds are relegated to the percussion section.

Why do songbirds sing? Basically, they sing to impress or defend. Most singing is done by males and the sounds they make depend on the circumstances. Danger sounds are frequently less melodic, more chirpy…and their beautiful songs are probably reserved to charm their mates.

Not only am I delighted by these pint-sized, joyous creatures, I am also impressed. Did you know that some can simultaneously produce two notes? They can create their own harmonies. How do they do it? Songbirds have a specialized larynx called a syrinx, which puts them in a league of their own.

But most songbirds aren’t born with their repertoire. Like all classical performers, they must practice and learn from their parent teachers. Songbirds begin learning their songs while still in the nest. After leaving it, they try to reproduce these songs, practicing until they have mastered them. Some songbirds, such as the catbirds, thrashers, and mockingbirds, learn to mimic other species—frogs, cats, and even apparently car alarms (a skill that they should unlearn).

Every morning, every day, this chorus welcomes me to the summer, spring, and early fall dawns. It is hard to think of a world without them.

Songbird serenades are so beloved that I suspect this is one of the reasons that Rachel Carson’s book had such an impact. Its title, Silent Spring, offered a sensory description of what we would lose if we continued the path that we were on. The idea of a Silent Spring, without our native orchestra was more than we could bear.

On a nature walk, I hear these familiar voices and other species including bluebirds, thrushes, and the indomitable indigo bunting. Despite his diminutive size, he likes to rest high in a tree and loudly serenade me in a whispery voice that reminds me of a rusty old music box. If he is on a lower branch and spies me, he sings even louder…clearly a lesser voice who aspires to be soloist. It turns out that many birds, such as the indigo bunting have local accents, allowing experts to identify where they are from.

Some ornithologists argue that the wood thrush has the most beautiful voice. He is easy to recognize as he pierces the air with a song somewhat like a lower octave piccolo, so distinctive, and so melodic. He is the soloist in every choir.

While their voices are most active in the mornings, our birds practice all day. Many rest during the hottest part of the day, but with the exception of a downpour, there is rarely a moment when a feathered warbler isn’t warbling his trade. At dusk, most of the members of the chorus return.

This morning, my feathered musicians commenced singing at 3:15 AM. I didn’t mind. The robin’s spectacular melodies were the predominant theme; although I did hear a chickadee calling his lady (“hey sweetie”); and some sparrows and cardinals showcasing their vocal strength.

Listening to their symphonies reminded me of the lyrics from a Joni Mitchell song, For Free. In the song, she described a lone clarinetist playing on a street corner virtually unnoticed while she contrasted it with her sold-out venues. The theme of the song was that he “he was playing real good, for free.”

And that is how I perceive these little feathered guys, they are playing real good, for free; and all we have to do is listen.

Angela Rieck, a Caroline County native, received her PhD in Mathematical Psychology from the University of Maryland and worked as a scientist at Bell Labs, and other high-tech companies in New Jersey before retiring as a corporate executive. Angela and her dogs divide their time between St Michaels and Key West Florida. Her daughter lives and works in New York City.

Crossing the covered bridge on the St. Michaels nature trail my friend and I heard splashing from all directions in the San Domingo Creek. Normally it is a quiet, calm river, but that day we observed a number of animals appearing briefly on the surface and splashing. It took us almost 45 minutes to problem solve and identify the source to be cownose rays mating. Long thought to be a major threat to oysters and crabs, Chesapeake Bay biologists have determined that they are merely opportunistic feeders. Recognizing their value to the Chesapeake Bay ecosystem and its tributaries, in 2017, Maryland imposed a ban on cownose ray mass killings.

An onlooker would have been amused by our observations as we tried to solve the mystery of the multiple splashes, spying a skin here, a fin there. We generated a number of hypotheses before we finally “solved” the puzzle.

While we thoroughly enjoyed observing and finally solving our mystery, we knew that someone raised with the Internet would have consulted their phone and quickly solved it.

My brother refers to our “problem-solving” conversation as: “Old people wondering about stuff.”

Indeed, my generation uses its memory and experience to problem solve first. We typically go to our phone after we are flummoxed or to confirm a hypothesis.

Our children’s generation just quickly solves the riddle by looking it up on the Internet.

So I was musing and wondering if anything has been lost by a generation that uses the Internet for problem solving. My generation didn’t have immediate access to information, and we learned to problem solve by searching for clues, and using our memories and logic to answer a question (not always correctly).

So I looked it up. (On the Internet!) To see if there was any research to assess the impact of the Internet on our problem solving capabilities. I could find little interest in that question.

Research in the education world has been focused on how to train students to use the Internet effectively and teach them how to recognize bogus vs. factual information. (Obviously this skill is needed, all one needs to do is remember the outrageous stories by Q-Anon and the damage that it caused on January 6th.)

At Bell Laboratories, I researched allocation of the human/computer interface. Computers have infinite, therefore, better memories than humans; but humans were better at problem solving than early computers. For that reason, we allocated problem solving and critical thinking skills to humans and memory to computers.

But, even then, we recognized that allocating memory functions to computers would cause our memory skills to atrophy.

An article in the Atlantic by Jonathan Zittrain, a law professor and computer-science professor at Harvard, posed the issue of the “rotting” Internet. Since information on the Internet is de-centrally sourced by multiple contributors, the data on the Internet can become outdated and there is no mechanism for removing it on a timely basis.

Zittrain brought up the issue of problem solving. He wrote about a teacher who asked his students a question about literature to inspire critical thinking. Instead, all of his students immediately went to Google the answer.

(Without any data to support it his proposal) Zittrain recommended that we teach students to spend 15 minutes problem solving before searching the Internet.

I don’t know the answer to the question that I posed; but I do know that the world changes. When we moved from an agrarian country to an industrialized nation, there was fear that a lot of agricultural and natural knowledge would be lost (it probably was, but a lot of that information became outdated and was no longer needed).

And so, we are changing. The next generation is relying on finding quick solutions in a fast changing world.

While our generation is content to problem solve and be “old people wondering about stuff.”

Is anything lost? Or is the tradeoff that we can rapidly solve the problem and move quickly to another?

I am not sure, let me look it up on the Internet.

Angela Rieck, a Caroline County native, received her PhD in Mathematical Psychology from the University of Maryland and worked as a scientist at Bell Labs, and other high-tech companies in New Jersey before retiring as a corporate executive. Angela and her dogs divide their time between St Michaels and Key West Florida. Her daughter lives and works in New York City.

Driving down MD 33 over Memorial Day weekend I spied a box turtle slowing crossing the road. He never changed his pace while he passed under my car and the car behind me. Keeping his slow, but steady stride, he headed into oncoming traffic from the other direction; somehow managing to make it to the other side. He picked the busiest time of year to cross, but he couldn’t help it, it is turtle mating season.

This is turtle-crossing time, so look out for that tiny lump in the road.

Last year, I watched a beautiful terrapin cross the nature trail, only to discover him later squashed after he ventured onto Mt Pleasant Road.

Yesterday, I saw a large, imposing, almost-prehistoric female snapping turtle crossing my street. She turned her head to stare down my dogs and me, and we were sufficiently cowed. While snapping turtles are considered pretty docile in the water, scientists and game wardens warn us to stay away from a female searching for a nest. This large lady was undoubtedly heading to lay her eggs. Sometimes snapping turtles can travel up to 10 miles to accomplish this task…but once she has made the perilous crossing and laid her eggs, her responsibilities are over…and the next day, she probably headed back to her creek. If all goes well, her eggs will hatch in about 2 ½ months and the hatchlings will instinctively head for water.

Terrapins are as beautiful as snapping turtles are ugly. They are actually named diamondback turtles, and are characterized by their distinctive shells, which are diamond-shaped and filled with concentric circles (like bullseye). Seeing a smashed terrapin was tragic for three reasons: first, they are endangered; second, they are the Maryland state reptile; and, finally, for those of us University of Maryland grads, they are the university’s mascot. The lucky terrapins live to 40 years and thrive in the Chesapeake Bay and its brackish tributaries. But they are endangered because they were the main ingredient in local turtle soup recipes. Although they have been protected since 2007; they have yet to make a comeback.

Box turtles, on the other hand, are not endangered. The lucky MD 33 crosser was probably a male, looking for action. Box turtles prefer fresh water and woodlands. Like their turtle cousins, the gender of the turtle is determined by the outside temperature while the eggs are developing. Warmer temperatures produce females, and the colder temperatures generate males. So that is one (and probably the only benefit) of a warm summer.

The Eastern box turtle that I saw last week had a very colorful shell, while most are yellow, his was a bright orange in hue. I see box turtles on the nature trail frequently; just like their lucky cousin on MD 33, they may stop to look, but never vary their stride.

So, for the next two months, keep on the lookout for a little moving lump on the road, because it is unlikely that that turtle will be as lucky as the one on Memorial Day.

Angela Rieck, a Caroline County native, received her PhD in Mathematical Psychology from the University of Maryland and worked as a scientist at Bell Labs, and other high-tech companies in New Jersey before retiring as a corporate executive. Angela and her dogs divide their time between St Michaels and Key West Florida. Her daughter lives and works in New York City.

A pair of robins decided to build their nest in my honeysuckle archway trellis. Actually, the female built it, but Mr. and Mrs. Robin look identical to me.

Long before I noticed the nest in mid-April, the pair of robins had been very busy. After overwintering with a large, nomadic flock, they split up and moved to the ground in search of bugs and earthworms and maybe some rotting fruit. They met and fell in love…or decided that they could make a go of it. Since robins only pair up for a single breeding season, they don’t have to be too particular. Mrs. Robin chose the location for her nest and her mate supplied her with twigs. She built the 6 inch diameter, round nest and lined it with feathers and anything that she could find to make it warm and comfortable for her brood.

She laid each of the three blue eggs on consecutive days and after she finished, and all had been laid; she commenced incubating them with her body and rotating them several times a day.

I wouldn’t have noticed all of their work, except that the arch trellis is right next to my back door and every time I went outside Mrs. Robin would “buzz” me.

My trellis serves as the entrance to a square brick patio that abuts to my house and is ringed with hosta, ferns, woodland flowers, a fountain for water, and my lawn. The honeysuckle was not yet in bloom when they chose their site, but the small, oval, bright green leaves sheltered it so well that the nest would have probably remained hidden, had she not brushed me every time I walked out the door. My dogs were also oblivious to her hard work.

In mid-April I discovered the three tiny eggs that she was keeping warm. Her mate was usually close by on the fence, just watching. He probably didn’t sit on the eggs often, since male robins rarely do, but I cannot tell them apart, so I can’t say for sure.

Over the next 10 days, she sat patiently, quietly, her back to me. And each day I climbed up on the chair to see if they had hatched. She refused to make eye contact.

Within 10 days her chicks emerged from their beautifully colored eggs. I wanted to save a shell, but Mrs. Robin devoured them all before I could take one. Her naked, reddish, fleshy, and blind newborn chicks were surprisingly quiet and although most moms leave the nest and tend to their newborn’s needs from a tree branch, Mrs. Robin chose to stay and keep them warm and dry. It was a cold, wet season.

Soon enough, Mr. Robin appeared, from his beak a wiggling earthworm. Mrs. Robin would search for her own earthworms, plentiful and tantalizing in the cold wet soil. While she was searching, he would feed them. They followed me around the garden because after I finished many earthworms became available for easy plucking. But they didn’t like me watching them feeding their whisper-silent, now downy chicks.

So we developed a code of sorts. When I saw both of them on the fence or garage roof with a wiggling morsel hanging from their beaks, I would go inside for an hour and let them feed their offspring without interference.

I delighted in watching those ugly, gawky, fleshy newborns grow their feathers, but they always looked scraggly. No one in the robin family had any interest in me and pretended not to see me when I peered in. And so it went for the next two weeks.

As you can tell from the title, it didn’t end well. After two weeks, I accidentally bumped the trellis while I was mowing, and one frightened, speckled fledgling jumped out of the nest and briskly hopped to the woodland underbrush. I tried to retrieve him, but he was well camouflaged. Two days later, while trimming the honeysuckle whose coral-colored, elongated blossoms had now enveloped the archway, both of the remaining fledglings hopped out in a panic heading in different directions, both Mr. and Mrs. Robin buzzed me for my misbehavior.

I tried to catch one with a towel and put him back, but both were too fast. Now there was an empty nest with very angry birds flying around it. Over the next week, I have continued to dig up earthworms and drop them where the young ones fled; but I have not seen any, nor a carcass.

I have since discovered that robins continue to feed their offspring even after they have abandoned the nest. Mr. Robin keeps them protected on a tree branch while the parents continue to feed them. So, I hope that Mr. and Mrs. Robin know where their teenagers are and are continuing to nurture and feed them.

It turns out that while robins are prolific breeders, their young chicks have a high mortality rate. Hopefully Mr. and Mrs. Robin will come back to lay their second set of eggs. I promise to do better next time.

Sadly, only 40% of their fledglings make it to adulthood.

Now we know why.

Angela Rieck, a Caroline County native, received her PhD in Mathematical Psychology from the University of Maryland and worked as a scientist at Bell Labs, and other high-tech companies in New Jersey before retiring as a corporate executive. Angela and her dogs divide their time between St Michaels and Key West Florida. Her daughter lives and works in New York City.

I live in two tourist towns…so I understand the trade-offs. In return for delightful restaurants and shops, we share our town with guests. It means that we have to remove refuse from our yards after every weekend, keep the sidewalks clean, tolerate noise and traffic, pay higher taxes, and maintain our homes. But it is an unspoken covenant that we are willing to enter.

However, the St. Michaels Running Festival is not a shared event. As you can see from the brochure that we received two days prior to the event, it is a takeover and St. Michaels residents and the neighboring communities are merely an annoyance to be tolerated.

St Michaels Running Festival Brochure:

THE RACE IS COMING TO TOWN. Saturday May 14^th 7AM to 12PM. Route 33 will be closed from 7 AM to 8AM…EXPECT PERIODIC DELAYS AND MINOR STOPS UNTIL 10:00 AM. Heavy foot traffic will occur (in most of St. Michaels and the surrounding area)…Please reduce your speed and watch for runners if you MUST travel during the event. We appreciate your support and patience as we welcome 2,000 runners and their families to our community.

As the brochure makes clear, this is an invasion. Allow me to paraphrase what really happens:

(Recommended) St. Michaels Running Festival Brochure:

The St Michaels Running Festival is coming to town. We are a for-profit business (that can be sold as any business); that generates substantial revenue from taking advantage of the facilities that you pay for. Please stay out of our way.

Response A: We don’t care.

• We will inconvenience thousands by shutting down the only road to the west. See Response A.
• We do not ask for your permission or appreciate your sacrifices. We are aware that we are taking advantage of your facilities paid for by your tax dollars to make our own profit. Please refer to Response A.
• We know that traffic and closures last long past 10 AM. See Response A.
• We know that a small town like St. Michaels cannot accommodate 2,000 racers and their families. Please refer to Response A.
• We prefer that you remain in your homes, so you will not be a burden to our event. Your little errands are of no concern to us. Please refer to Response A.
• If you thoughtlessly choose to venture out, understand that many of you will not be able to park next to your homes, or even get to them. Please refer to Response A.
• Do not use the nature trail, your sidewalks, or your streets for your trivial needs or to go the market. Do not ride your bike. Please see Response A.
• If you selfishly choose to use your town for your little lives, expect to be harassed by our employees. After all, you are an unwelcome nuisance. See Response A.
• We realize that we are taking over the nature trail that is heavily used by residents to enjoy nature and to walk their dogs. Get over it, it is only one morning. Consider boarding your dog or getting rid of the dog, which will solve future problems. See Response A.
• We know that we could offer this race on rural roads that are close to St. Michaels which would allow the merchants to get their revenues at less inconvenience to the thousands of impacted residents. Please see Response A.
• We could also pick an earlier time that is less inconvenient. But please see Response A.
• When we leave, please pick up the refuse in your yard…a dirty town is, well, a downer.
• And St. Michaels residents, continue to maintain your homes and sidewalks, because we will be back next year. You have no choice in the matter. See Response A.

An alternative viewpoint would be to appreciate the generosity and sacrifice of the community rather than treating them as a problem that must be contained. For example:

ALTERNATIVE St. Michaels Running Festival Brochure:

The St. Michaels Running Festival will occur on _________. We would like to take this opportunity to thank the generous residents of St. Michaels and the surrounding community. We realize that this is an imposition and would like to help you as much as possible. Please stop by the race start after 8 a.m.; we have a T-shirt for you (or gift card or tchotchke) to thank you for opening your town to us. We have posted a map of our route on our website (www.Iactuallycare) that shows where and when you can expect the heaviest foot traffic. Feel free to reach out to our race coordinators, they are there to make this as easy as we can for you. Thank you again for opening up your delightful community to us.

Or, see Response A.

Angela Rieck, a Caroline County native, received her PhD in Mathematical Psychology from the University of Maryland and worked as a scientist at Bell Labs, and other high-tech companies in New Jersey before retiring as a corporate executive. Angela and her dogs divide their time between St Michaels and Key West Florida. Her daughter lives and works in New York City.

I am in recovery from NTBR (Need to Be Right). Admittedly, this is my own diagnosis as the DSM 5 (Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders) has yet to catch up with this disorder. When I was a slave to NTBR, I needed to correct every error and wasted time searching for evidence to prove that I was right in every argument.

NTBR is particularly vicious because it requires that the other person be “less than” you. At its mildest, it reflects inflexibility. At its height, it manifests as dominance.

Collectively as a nation, we seem to be suffering from this disorder. It is an epidemic in the political landscape. Then there are those vicious comments on the Internet.

How did we get here?

Many psychologists and educators believe that much of it comes from our national identity. Our country is based on achievement, often at the expense of others.

Others believe that NTBR is rooted in our educational system. We have grades, rankings, debates, honors programs, and activities that reward correct answers and punish incorrect ones. Imagine if students were rewarded for asking the best questions, instead? It could teach better and more inclusive solutions.

Being right affirms and inflates our sense of self-worth. But it is ironically inconsistent with learning. We learn from our mistakes.

While my unwillingness to admit I am wrong may hurt people and make me less popular, people with more impactful careers can actually do serious damage.

I am thinking of two relatively recent examples. George Schultz had a distinguished career that included getting a President elected, ending the cold war, and befriending nations. At the end of his life, he was charmed by a con artist (Elizabeth Holmes) into believing that she was changing medical care and he opened many doors to get her financing and visibility. In his defense of her, he was even willing to break with his own family after his grandson tried to alert him to the dangers. After her deceit was discovered, Schultz recognized the courage of his grandson, but was never able to admit he was mistaken in his loyalty to her. His mistake caused people to lose money and subjected others to potential harm.

Another person in the news was Leah Askey, who prosecuted the wrong person (Russ Faria) despite the accused having a strong alibi and knowing there was solid evidence (that she successfully kept out of trial) that another person (Pam Hupp) committed the crime. The higher courts overturned the verdict and eventually exonerated Faria (with apologies) after he had spent 3 1/2 years in jail. Nevertheless, Askey is still unwilling to admit that she tried the wrong person.

For those who suffer from NTBR and want help, here are my steps to recovery.

• Admit I have a problem.
• Become curious. Before I “correct”, I try to ask open-ended questions and understand what that person is trying to say. By asking questions, it allows them to correct their mistake and makes it more likely that I will learn something.
• Practice kindness. When listening to a factual error, I ask myself: “Does it matter?”
• Practice empathy. For me to be right, the other person must be wrong. I know how unpleasant that feels.
• Be kind to myself. Just because I am wrong, it does not make me less than…it makes me human. After all, most of learning comes from failure.

For the past decade, I have been trying to work on this aspect of my personality. Here is last week’s scorecard:

• I didn’t correct a person who confused a shelter with a puppy mill. (He was telling a story about rescuing his dog…did it matter where the dog came from?)
• I didn’t correct a person who attributed a work of art to the wrong painter. (By asking her questions, it allowed her to correct herself and explain her confusion, which was a much more interesting story.)
• But yesterday I couldn’t stop myself from correcting someone who used the wrong term for a plant in my garden. (I shouldn’t have done it; that person wasn’t going to go out and buy that plant…she was merely giving me a compliment.)

Alas, I am in recovery…but I doubt that I will ever be cured.

Angela Rieck, a Caroline County native, received her PhD in Mathematical Psychology from the University of Maryland and worked as a scientist at Bell Labs, and other high-tech companies in New Jersey before retiring as a corporate executive. Angela and her dogs divide their time between St Michaels and Key West Florida. Her daughter lives and works in New York City.

This is the time when everything is covered in a fine yellow dust. Our walkways, cars, plants, and outdoor furniture look like a giant sifter in the sky has sprinkled yellow flour over the Eastern Shore. For those of us who love to open our windows to welcome in the fresh, spring air, this fine residue settles throughout our homes. We can even see it in the air.

It’s tree pollen season. So I went to the Internet to learn more about it. I discovered that most of the yellow powder that we are seeing is coming from pine trees. Scotch, loblolly, and cedar trees are working overtime to intersperse the air with a fine yellow dust.

Pollen is actually a plant’s male DNA that takes advantages of spring breezes to find a female part of the flower so that it can reproduce. The main job of pollen is to seed the next generation of trees and plants, but a new study from the University of Michigan and Texas A&M suggests that these grains might also seed clouds.

Pollen is not necessarily bad. It contains other nutrients and is a welcome addition to a compost pile. Bee pollen is being touted as a heathy supplement; but little scientific research supports this. Preliminary studies with very small sample sizes have shown benefits in PMS, prostate, and minimization of the effects of radiation on cancer patients.

For allergy sufferers, pollen is a not a welcome substance. But experts say that most of us are NOT allergic to our yellow powdery friend…instead we are allergic to the pollen that we don’t see. Our yellow dust is merely a marker for other nefarious pollens that like to mess with our immune system. Apparently, it is the oak trees, nut trees, and wax myrtles that are our real nemeses.

Airborne allergens have arrived early this year. And it suggests a long and unfortunate pollen allergy season. Tree pollen season usually ends by April, but the cool spring and mild winter are expected to prolong it into May.

More bad news. A recent article in Nature conclusively demonstrated that climate change will result in a significant increase in pollen.

So what to do? Pollen counts usually rise in the morning and reach their peak by midday or early afternoon. Weather forecasts provide pollen counts. AccuWeather predicts that May 2^nd is going to be a doozy.

So we need to close the windows to the sweet spring breezes, shower frequently, and for those of us who suffer from allergies, rely on our antihistamine pills, eye drops, and nasal sprays.

Based on pollen counts to date, scientists predict that it is going to be a long, sneezy spring, summer, and fall.

Angela Rieck, a Caroline County native, received her PhD in Mathematical Psychology from the University of Maryland and worked as a scientist at Bell Labs, and other high-tech companies in New Jersey before retiring as a corporate executive. Angela and her dogs divide their time between St Michaels and Key West Florida. Her daughter lives and works in New York City.