Every candidate knows that the average adult attention span is 22 seconds

As a former political science major, I am a great believer in, and compulsive watcher of, political discussions and debates. But after some 22 Republican candidate debates, even I have grown weary. Forget the costs, which must be more than the yearly budget of many small Latin American countries; despite an almost quiz show-like suspense with rotating “winners” of each debate, as yet, I haven’t heard any realistic solutions to our country’s serious problems.

Some of the debates have called to mind that very old television program where a panel of experts tried to determine the “real Mr. So-and-so” from a group of other contestants with false identities. The Republicans, in a similar manner, have been searching for the “real conservative” candidate.

The ensuing back-and-forth between candidates with the “he said” and the, “what I really meant was” has served as a reminder to me of the importance of two skills which I fear are both declining: clarity of speech which involves choosing the right word to express your thoughts and the art of truly listening.

Words are powerful tools, and unfortunately texting and the use of computers, iPads and other devices does not encourage us to take the time to search for the word that best expresses precisely what we wish to convey. Sometimes, complex problems can’t be expressed briefly; but most of the time, we don’t really require a great many words to express our meaning; but we do need the best, specific choice of words to avoid being misunderstood.


Mark Twain, who could give a master class in brevity, said, “The difference between the right word and the almost-right word is the difference between lightning and a lightning bug.” One of the smallest but most powerful words in any language is the word, “if.”

Listening ... really openly listening means not only being free of other distractions, but also trying to momentarily suspend our own preconceived ideas and prejudices and view a new idea or thought from the speaker’s perspective.

I find this the hardest of the two skills to cultivate. As a writer, I am always conscious of trying to choose the most precise word to express my feelings. I often fail, however, to be a good listener. I have strong opinions on subjects that I feel passionate about and too often fail to really try to see things from a different perspective. We all make the mistake of confusing information with knowledge, but knowledge is the interpretation of information. That can only occur when we really listen.

The most common complaint between married couples is often, “You’re not listening to me!” When someone is upset, we are in such a hurry to reassure them that everything will be all right, we don’t fully listen. The makers of commercials know that the average attention span for an adult is 22 seconds, which is why they try to get their message across in that amount of time.

Snap judgments save time, but they are often incorrect. Many people, instead of listening to what is being said to them, are already listening to what they are going to say themselves. The world would be a better place if we all could reflect carefully before speaking, expressing ourselves clearly and succinctly. But more importantly, we need to give the gift of truly listening to those around us.

- Article by Jean Cherni, founder of the retirement advisory service, Senior Living Solutions. Contact her at jeancherni@sbcglobal.net or 15 The Ponds at Hotchkiss Grove, Branford 06405.

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Dearest Val, I couldn t have asked for a better husband

“Joy and sorrow are inseparable…— Kahlil Gibran

together they come and when one

sits alone with you, remember that the other

is a‘sleep upon your bed.”

It seems bittersweet, but appropriate, to use the name of Val’s favorite song; “The Last Farewell,” a seaman’s ballad by Roger Whittaker, to tell friends and readers that Val left my side and departed this world the morning of Feb. 18. He had been at Connecticut Hospice for exactly one week.

Quite by coincidence, I had written a column about Hospice at the end of January, but to write about it and actually experience Hospice care are entirely different matters. Words cannot fully express what a special place, staffed with extraordinary people and volunteers, this Hospice is. I can’t imagine a more beautiful, supportive atmosphere in which to say goodbye to a loved one.

Val (short for Vladimir) was born in Odessa, Russia, in 1920 and came to this country with his parents and brother Alex when he was just a toddler. Val’s father was a chef, and so they settled in New York City in an area with many other immigrants from Ukraine, moving to 13th Street so the boys could attend the outstanding Stuyvesant High School.

Upon graduating, Val applied and was accepted at Pratt Institute in Brooklyn, where he studied mechanical engineering. Not long after graduating, Val served in the Merchant Marine.

We first met when I was living in New York City and working as a publicist and one of my roommates, Bunny Brown, introduced us. She informed me that he was a lot of fun, but wouldn’t take you anywhere expensive (both true), and that he wasn’t the marrying kind since he had just broken up with a friend of hers.

I recall saying, “As for getting married, who would want to get stuck with a name like Vladimir Cherniachovsky?” (his full family name before a legal change). Continued...

In just two years, I happily changed my easy-to-pronounce maiden name of Bashore and now, after almost 60 years, am accustomed to Cherni.

Val and I have had a full life together with three children, moves to Chicago and Japan, where he was responsible for overseeing the building of several power plants, including one of the nuclear plants that was affected by the earthquake.

Although I don’t think any of today’s popular Internet dating services would have matched us, our differences seemed to complement one another. Where I was extroverted and impatient, Val was careful and meditative. In fact, like many engineers, you could age rapidly while waiting for him to reach a decision.

But like my father, he was honest and factual to a fault, had a strong moral compass and sense of fair play. Perhaps most of all, the glue that held our marriage firm in difficult moments was his offbeat and delightful sense of humor.

Now, learning to live alone and starting to deal with all the changes that accompany such a major loss feels like a seismic shock. I do know one thing for sure. A loved one is never replaced, but the only way to try to fill the empty space they leave is by reaching out and contributing in some small way to the well being of others. I shall try to do that. I know Val would expect it of me.

- Article by Jean Cherni, founder of the retirement advisory service, Senior Living Solutions. Contact her at jeancherni@sbcglobal.net or 15 The Ponds at Hotchkiss Grove, Branford 06405.

I'm reading: Dearest Val, I couldn t have asked for a better husband