My job takes up about 20 hours of my week, so I'm home during the day not infrequently. That being said, I don't watch daytime television. I find daytime programming to be pretty pedestrian, and I figure I watch too much prime time TV as it is, so not watching from morning to evening is not much of a hardship.
Lately, however, I've stumbled upon a late afternoon showing of "All in the Family", that classic 1970s show that deftly dealt with a man, Archie Bunker, facing a changing world--and doing it kicking, screaming, and always political incorrect.
While Archie was the engine of the show, the soul was his wife, Edith. She was an optimistic, loving, simple woman, happy with her lot in life, which was not very much. Archie was the Alpha dog and king of his castle; Edith was the little woman who seemed to know her place. Lucky for the show's fans, Edith had an innate wisdom and kindness that gave us all hope for Archie; when mixed with her uncomplicated view of life and utter honesty, her words always made us think . . . and laugh.
I watch the show while I cook dinner, and I'm always surprised at how much I remember 30 years later. Last week the episode where Archie's insensitivity goes so far as to make Edith ask for an apology came up, and I knew there was a delicious ending coming my way . . . I just couldn't remember what it was.
The apology when it came was in the form of a gift. The small wrapped box Archie gave Edith could have held any treasure, and the prospect was as exciting as it was rare and unexpected.
"Go ahead, Edith; open it."
Edith opens the box, and her eyes grow wide.
"Oh, Archie! A Lady Gillette!"
Archie beams. "Do you like it?"
Thrilled to her very marrow, Edith exclaims,"Who wouldn't!"
I hadn't remembered what the gift was, but once Edith revealed her prize, it all came back, especially those last two lines. Brilliantly written, heartfelt while being funny, it was a bulls eye. Aah, to write like that!
I've got a show in rehearsal now, and it's going well and is pretty funny. Watching shows like "All in the Family" inspire me to keep writing. Thanks, Norman Lear! You done good.
Sunday, January 30, 2011
Friday, January 21, 2011
Appreciation
I interviewed a man recently who told me he'd been working for the same company for 32 years.
"Wow," I said. "I don't talk to many people anymore who have such a long history with one company. Congratulations."
There was silence on the other end of the phone before he responded. I thought we'd been disconnected before I finally heard him speak.
"Do you know: You're the first person who's ever said that to me."
"Really?"
"In 32 years, no one's ever said anything about it. Not my family. Certainly not anyone I work for."
32 years is a long career, and I found his words shocking.
"Don't get me wrong," he quickly added. "I like my job. This is a good company to work for. But even on my 25th anniversary, no one said a thing."
This gentleman was in a supervisory role in a hard scrabble, blue collar business. He'd come up through the ranks from a Laborer position and earned his manager role because he worked hard, had good people skills, and was smart. Much of his work had been outdoors, which when you work in Wisconsin can be half Heaven and half Hell. He went on to tell me that in advocating for the people who worked for him, he'd often told his bosses that they had the power to create strong company loyalty.
"Say something nice to them, I told them. Tell them they do a good job or they make you proud. They will fight for you, die for you, if you do that, and it won't cost you a penny."
"And did it make a difference. Did they listen?"
Without any rancor, he admitted, "Not so I noticed."
I don't know if it was thoughtless, careless, or company policy to not recognize a man with such longevity in a job, but I did know it was wrong. The bigger lesson for me, though, was the man's resolution. After 32 years, he's probably not too far away from retirement, and his calm acceptance of his lot in life will serve him well. Hopefully all the time he put in will bear some rewards and he'll see a decent pension check in the monthly mail. But even more importantly, he seemed unlikely to leave his career behind with anything less than serenity.
To me, that ability to accept one's lot in life without bitterness, to ignore or diminish the slights we all encounter from day to day, that is a gift. The grudges we bear, the anger we feel, these are the norms of most people's lives. How freeing it would be to not go to the dark side when we are injured, to not carry around that baggage.
It was one of my lucky days when I had the good fortune to interview that man. He was one of those "bigger persons" you come across from time to time in life, the one's who teach you a lesson without even trying, and for that I am grateful.
"Wow," I said. "I don't talk to many people anymore who have such a long history with one company. Congratulations."
There was silence on the other end of the phone before he responded. I thought we'd been disconnected before I finally heard him speak.
"Do you know: You're the first person who's ever said that to me."
"Really?"
"In 32 years, no one's ever said anything about it. Not my family. Certainly not anyone I work for."
32 years is a long career, and I found his words shocking.
"Don't get me wrong," he quickly added. "I like my job. This is a good company to work for. But even on my 25th anniversary, no one said a thing."
This gentleman was in a supervisory role in a hard scrabble, blue collar business. He'd come up through the ranks from a Laborer position and earned his manager role because he worked hard, had good people skills, and was smart. Much of his work had been outdoors, which when you work in Wisconsin can be half Heaven and half Hell. He went on to tell me that in advocating for the people who worked for him, he'd often told his bosses that they had the power to create strong company loyalty.
"Say something nice to them, I told them. Tell them they do a good job or they make you proud. They will fight for you, die for you, if you do that, and it won't cost you a penny."
"And did it make a difference. Did they listen?"
Without any rancor, he admitted, "Not so I noticed."
I don't know if it was thoughtless, careless, or company policy to not recognize a man with such longevity in a job, but I did know it was wrong. The bigger lesson for me, though, was the man's resolution. After 32 years, he's probably not too far away from retirement, and his calm acceptance of his lot in life will serve him well. Hopefully all the time he put in will bear some rewards and he'll see a decent pension check in the monthly mail. But even more importantly, he seemed unlikely to leave his career behind with anything less than serenity.
To me, that ability to accept one's lot in life without bitterness, to ignore or diminish the slights we all encounter from day to day, that is a gift. The grudges we bear, the anger we feel, these are the norms of most people's lives. How freeing it would be to not go to the dark side when we are injured, to not carry around that baggage.
It was one of my lucky days when I had the good fortune to interview that man. He was one of those "bigger persons" you come across from time to time in life, the one's who teach you a lesson without even trying, and for that I am grateful.
Friday, December 31, 2010
Catching Up With Technology
I've fought the idea of getting a Kindle for a long time now. Even when my sister got one and raved about it; even when I had to eighty-six a pair of comfortable shoes to make room for my reading material as we set out for the Pacific Northwest, (the hell with blisterless feet . . . who cares about how heavy my carry-on is . . .); even when Ben, my oldest, came home with his Kindle and showed me the ways it made reading easier and more fun for him.
You see, I'm not unlike many others of my generation who have declined to go there . . . to the technical side, with its seductions of brighter, faster, lighter, easier, cooler. Books have their seductions, too, I argued: Their feel, their heft, so substantial, so familiar; the way we tend to hold them, referentially and close to the heart; the fact that I can buy them for a quarter at rummage sales or take them out for free from the library.
A Kindle, I maintained, would place certain demands on me--like learning how to use it; like learning not to lose it; like having to use PayPal or my debit card to make it work. The last one, that paying business, seems to be something technology is really good at. There's the cable TV, the cell phones, the Internet--all things that show no respect for my frugal ways, which cuts me deeply!
So, imagine my surprise when I opened up a Kindle on Christmas Day. No, I take that back: Imagine my surprise at my delight when I opened up a Kindle on Christmas Day.
It was a thing of beauty . . .
Okay, so I've only downloaded a copy of Anne of Green Gables, which was free (of course). . . and, the first time I sat down to read I couldn't figure out how to turn the page . . . and, I've been afraid to take it out of the house. . .
Still, I love the possibilities. No more adding my name to long waiting lists at the library. No more sighs of anticipation for a new book some reviewer has dangled in front of me. No more fears of being without a book when I travel. And the feature I love best: No more stopping to look up an unfamiliar word in the dictionary. (You see, I love words and the Kindle will give you a definition instantly! No more delayed gratification for this gal, no sirree!)
All I gotta do now is figure out what button to push or arrow to press to make that happen. As soon as I find my way to page two of Anne of Green Gables, I'll do just that. Just watch me!
You see, I'm not unlike many others of my generation who have declined to go there . . . to the technical side, with its seductions of brighter, faster, lighter, easier, cooler. Books have their seductions, too, I argued: Their feel, their heft, so substantial, so familiar; the way we tend to hold them, referentially and close to the heart; the fact that I can buy them for a quarter at rummage sales or take them out for free from the library.
A Kindle, I maintained, would place certain demands on me--like learning how to use it; like learning not to lose it; like having to use PayPal or my debit card to make it work. The last one, that paying business, seems to be something technology is really good at. There's the cable TV, the cell phones, the Internet--all things that show no respect for my frugal ways, which cuts me deeply!
So, imagine my surprise when I opened up a Kindle on Christmas Day. No, I take that back: Imagine my surprise at my delight when I opened up a Kindle on Christmas Day.
It was a thing of beauty . . .
Okay, so I've only downloaded a copy of Anne of Green Gables, which was free (of course). . . and, the first time I sat down to read I couldn't figure out how to turn the page . . . and, I've been afraid to take it out of the house. . .
Still, I love the possibilities. No more adding my name to long waiting lists at the library. No more sighs of anticipation for a new book some reviewer has dangled in front of me. No more fears of being without a book when I travel. And the feature I love best: No more stopping to look up an unfamiliar word in the dictionary. (You see, I love words and the Kindle will give you a definition instantly! No more delayed gratification for this gal, no sirree!)
All I gotta do now is figure out what button to push or arrow to press to make that happen. As soon as I find my way to page two of Anne of Green Gables, I'll do just that. Just watch me!
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
Medical Records
"The breasts are symmetrical in size, shape and architecture."
Well, who knew? I shared this little tidbit with Katz this morning over breakfast, quoting information my doctor had noted in my medical records during an annual breast exam 10 years back.
The notes from a routine physical were also interesting: "The patient denies skin rashes or itching. Denies slurred speech, double vision, imbalance or headache. Denies feeling blue, depressive symptoms, sleep loss or psychiatric hospitalization." There are also denials about my GI tract, joints, eyes, mouth and heart. After reading this summation, I felt more like I'd been through a criminal investigation than through a check up. Oh, I know questions were asked and answered, it all just felt more conversational and less like a cross examination than the records indicate.
I also found records of a pelvic ultrasound I never had revealing cysts I never had. My records indicate the procedure was conducted on the same day I had a mammogram. My name is on the results of both procedures, but the date of birth is wrong for the ultrasound.
All in all, between interesting word choices and the inclusion of someone else's information, it was an interesting read. It was made all the more interesting because my medical records were almost lost forever.
With the advent of electronic records, more and more paper records are being destroyed daily. A trip to a new ENT who wanted more information on my thyroid cancer from 10 years ago revealed that my old records were missing. With no pathology report or surgeon's notes and recommendations to support my assertion that surgery removed the cancer and resulted in a complete cure, this new doctor suggested I have a MRI.
I balked. I've decided recently it's important in these times of rampant medical tests and out of control costs to challenge physicians on why a test is being ordered, how necessary it is, and what are the physical and financial ramifications of having the test done. Turns out, she told me, if she had my records, she wouldn't need the MRI.
So, four weeks and multiple phone calls later and after some interference from Katz (who happens to work for my health care provider), my records were found. After insisting that pertinent information regarding my cancer history be entered into my electronic record, Katz and I both got our own copies of our records.
So, moral of the story: Don't let flattery distract you (Symmetrical shape and architecture? You sweet talker, you!). Call your doctor and find out how far back your medical history goes and if it doesn't go back far enough, make some noise.
Well, who knew? I shared this little tidbit with Katz this morning over breakfast, quoting information my doctor had noted in my medical records during an annual breast exam 10 years back.
The notes from a routine physical were also interesting: "The patient denies skin rashes or itching. Denies slurred speech, double vision, imbalance or headache. Denies feeling blue, depressive symptoms, sleep loss or psychiatric hospitalization." There are also denials about my GI tract, joints, eyes, mouth and heart. After reading this summation, I felt more like I'd been through a criminal investigation than through a check up. Oh, I know questions were asked and answered, it all just felt more conversational and less like a cross examination than the records indicate.
I also found records of a pelvic ultrasound I never had revealing cysts I never had. My records indicate the procedure was conducted on the same day I had a mammogram. My name is on the results of both procedures, but the date of birth is wrong for the ultrasound.
All in all, between interesting word choices and the inclusion of someone else's information, it was an interesting read. It was made all the more interesting because my medical records were almost lost forever.
With the advent of electronic records, more and more paper records are being destroyed daily. A trip to a new ENT who wanted more information on my thyroid cancer from 10 years ago revealed that my old records were missing. With no pathology report or surgeon's notes and recommendations to support my assertion that surgery removed the cancer and resulted in a complete cure, this new doctor suggested I have a MRI.
I balked. I've decided recently it's important in these times of rampant medical tests and out of control costs to challenge physicians on why a test is being ordered, how necessary it is, and what are the physical and financial ramifications of having the test done. Turns out, she told me, if she had my records, she wouldn't need the MRI.
So, four weeks and multiple phone calls later and after some interference from Katz (who happens to work for my health care provider), my records were found. After insisting that pertinent information regarding my cancer history be entered into my electronic record, Katz and I both got our own copies of our records.
So, moral of the story: Don't let flattery distract you (Symmetrical shape and architecture? You sweet talker, you!). Call your doctor and find out how far back your medical history goes and if it doesn't go back far enough, make some noise.
Saturday, December 4, 2010
Green or Gross?
I like to think I have a pretty decent environmental bent. When my now grown kids were little, long before communities picked up recycling, I organized neighborhood teams to collect recyclables and deliver them to the local recycling center. Every 6 weeks, it was our turn to go around to half-a-dozen houses and pick up their weekly recycling. BJ and Josh helped, which made me think I was raising little environmental ambassadors for the future. Today, they're pretty good . . . but not as good as their mother.
These days, some people might say I take things a little far, so I'll let you decide. Besides recycling everything I possibly can--including digging in our trash to retrieve items my less environmentally pure husband tosses out--here are some of my green practices. Weigh in and tell me 1) Way to go! or, 2) Way too far!
1) Composting in a blender - I bought an extra blender at a rummage sale years ago, and my vegetable scraps, fruit rinds and such go in there to be blended with water and added to the compost heap. This compost soup doesn't take long to turn into rich, black dirt once it hits my compost bin, and when it is eventually incorporated into my garden, my plants bow their little flower heads in appreciation. The container goes back under the sink, rinsed occasionally but rarely washed, ready to blend more green debris another day.
2) Paper towels (1) - I use rags or dishcloths a lot where others would use paper towels--that's a no-brainer in my opinion--but I can't swear off paper towels altogether. Still, throwing them away after one use when they haven't been used on a dirty floor or a puddle of grease seems extravagant to me. So, the towels I use to soak up the water from my washed fruit get draped on the clean dishes in the drainer, to be used to pat dry that next washed raspberry or green bean. I'm guessing my reuse factor for draining clean fruit is 1 x 6. Even when I've decided to move on to a new square of toweling, the old one will get one final use to spot clean a drip on the floor before finding it's way into the trash.
3) Paper towels (2) - Despite being chairperson of the environmental impact team at work for two years, we still have bathrooms with paper towels instead of the environmentally preferable air dryers. I need two pieces of toweling to dry my hands sufficiently after a thorough scrubbing, and I have been known to take those towels (dampened only with water from my clean hands, mind you!) back to my desk. They do end up in the trash soon thereafter, but only after they've helped remove a layer of dust from my computer and desk.
4) Paper towels (3) - I've pulled a hunk of toweling from the roll in the produce department of my local grocer, patted dry a cabbage head or too-wet bunch of green onions, then found another use for it. Usually, it travels home with me, gets tossed under the kitchen sink to be used for a future cleaning assignment.
5) Sanitizing wipes - The whole flu thing last year kicked the use of sanitizers way up, and I always grab one of the wipes from the dispenser at the Y when I arrive for my daily workout. I use it to wipe the screen and handles of my favorite treadmill, then I store it behind my water bottle so that it doesn't dry out while I go through my 40 minute routine. When I'm done, I wipe down the machine again with my still moist towelette. Some days I even take the now twice used wipe with me to the car, where I use it to dust my dash.
Quirky? Yes, of course. Frugal? No doubt. Environmentally sound thinking? That's an affirmative. But for the germ-phobic out there, the pristine, the highly sanitized, there might just be a "yuck" factor to consider. So, what do you think? "Way to go" or "Way too far"? Go ahead an "way" in!
These days, some people might say I take things a little far, so I'll let you decide. Besides recycling everything I possibly can--including digging in our trash to retrieve items my less environmentally pure husband tosses out--here are some of my green practices. Weigh in and tell me 1) Way to go! or, 2) Way too far!
1) Composting in a blender - I bought an extra blender at a rummage sale years ago, and my vegetable scraps, fruit rinds and such go in there to be blended with water and added to the compost heap. This compost soup doesn't take long to turn into rich, black dirt once it hits my compost bin, and when it is eventually incorporated into my garden, my plants bow their little flower heads in appreciation. The container goes back under the sink, rinsed occasionally but rarely washed, ready to blend more green debris another day.
2) Paper towels (1) - I use rags or dishcloths a lot where others would use paper towels--that's a no-brainer in my opinion--but I can't swear off paper towels altogether. Still, throwing them away after one use when they haven't been used on a dirty floor or a puddle of grease seems extravagant to me. So, the towels I use to soak up the water from my washed fruit get draped on the clean dishes in the drainer, to be used to pat dry that next washed raspberry or green bean. I'm guessing my reuse factor for draining clean fruit is 1 x 6. Even when I've decided to move on to a new square of toweling, the old one will get one final use to spot clean a drip on the floor before finding it's way into the trash.
3) Paper towels (2) - Despite being chairperson of the environmental impact team at work for two years, we still have bathrooms with paper towels instead of the environmentally preferable air dryers. I need two pieces of toweling to dry my hands sufficiently after a thorough scrubbing, and I have been known to take those towels (dampened only with water from my clean hands, mind you!) back to my desk. They do end up in the trash soon thereafter, but only after they've helped remove a layer of dust from my computer and desk.
4) Paper towels (3) - I've pulled a hunk of toweling from the roll in the produce department of my local grocer, patted dry a cabbage head or too-wet bunch of green onions, then found another use for it. Usually, it travels home with me, gets tossed under the kitchen sink to be used for a future cleaning assignment.
5) Sanitizing wipes - The whole flu thing last year kicked the use of sanitizers way up, and I always grab one of the wipes from the dispenser at the Y when I arrive for my daily workout. I use it to wipe the screen and handles of my favorite treadmill, then I store it behind my water bottle so that it doesn't dry out while I go through my 40 minute routine. When I'm done, I wipe down the machine again with my still moist towelette. Some days I even take the now twice used wipe with me to the car, where I use it to dust my dash.
Quirky? Yes, of course. Frugal? No doubt. Environmentally sound thinking? That's an affirmative. But for the germ-phobic out there, the pristine, the highly sanitized, there might just be a "yuck" factor to consider. So, what do you think? "Way to go" or "Way too far"? Go ahead an "way" in!
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Getting Back on the Horse
Obviously, I am still battling a too full schedule . . . at least it's obvious if you are a regular follower of this blog and can do basic math (November 23 - November 2 = 3 damn weeks). So, quickly, I have several subject ideas percolating in my head, and here are the reasons you should understand why I haven't been blogging and feel sorry for me because my life is so full:
1) A writing deadline (not my book, not my blog) was hanging over my head. As of 2 days ago, I am in pretty good shape with a rewrite of my play "Winging It", which will start rehearsals in January.
2) The basement (see earlier postings). I am two weeks away from my last Tilex application to kill any lingering mold spores, then the painter comes, and then I can put the place back together before a) the neighborhood holiday party, and b) 30+ people arrive for Christmas dinner.
3) The garden. Yee-gods, will this garden never let go of me? It's 20 degrees outside, for heavens sake! Have I finally put away the last garden gnome and added the requisite two inches of compost over the asparagus bed? I hope so.
4) Tomatoes. Tons of green tomatoes were picked before the first frost and have been ripening in the basement. I don't know how to can and don't have the time to learn, so I've been making tomato soup and pasta sauce and delivering ripe tomatoes to friends in need.
5) Sick friends. Dear, funny, good Aggie gets to go home today after suffering a brain bleed due to a fall and spending weeks in ICU and rehab. Generous, no-nonsense, frightened Lynne started chemo yesterday for breast cancer. Sick friends are scary, which proves very distracting.
6) Friends on my mind. These are the ones I haven't been caring for like I should. My friend Jane, on the long road to recovery after losing dear Joe so suddenly early last summer. And there's the old high school friend feeling a little lost after retiring who I promised to get back to and get together with, but haven't. Sharon who is going through a divorce has been on my mental radar but, except for an occasional e-mail, I haven't done my part to be there for her.
7) Work. I work less than 25 hours a week, so I shouldn't complain, but I've taken on a role that means I work two to eight hours 6 days a week, and many of those days the work arrives without much warning and needs immediate attention. It's hard to get a writing rhythm going when you can be and are interrupted frequently.
So, all that being said, I know I shouldn't be complaining. So many people have it worse (see Jane, Lynne and Aggie, above). At least I don't have young children to care for or an unemployed husband. At least I have a sister who lets me bitch to her and a date every Saturday night with the man of my dreams (Yes, Katz, that's you!) At least I have fresh tomatoes to eat and friends who understand when I don't call, a basement of my own to fix and children who seem happy. And, believe it or not, I have people who tell me they like my blog and are waiting for my next posting; people who encourage me to write. What a gift!
Truth be told, Thanksgiving couldn't have come at a better time. Life may be a bit out of control, but it is good nonetheless, and I have tons . . . tons . . . to be thankful for. So, Happy Thanksgiving to you all. And thanks for being there for me on this journey.
1) A writing deadline (not my book, not my blog) was hanging over my head. As of 2 days ago, I am in pretty good shape with a rewrite of my play "Winging It", which will start rehearsals in January.
2) The basement (see earlier postings). I am two weeks away from my last Tilex application to kill any lingering mold spores, then the painter comes, and then I can put the place back together before a) the neighborhood holiday party, and b) 30+ people arrive for Christmas dinner.
3) The garden. Yee-gods, will this garden never let go of me? It's 20 degrees outside, for heavens sake! Have I finally put away the last garden gnome and added the requisite two inches of compost over the asparagus bed? I hope so.
4) Tomatoes. Tons of green tomatoes were picked before the first frost and have been ripening in the basement. I don't know how to can and don't have the time to learn, so I've been making tomato soup and pasta sauce and delivering ripe tomatoes to friends in need.
5) Sick friends. Dear, funny, good Aggie gets to go home today after suffering a brain bleed due to a fall and spending weeks in ICU and rehab. Generous, no-nonsense, frightened Lynne started chemo yesterday for breast cancer. Sick friends are scary, which proves very distracting.
6) Friends on my mind. These are the ones I haven't been caring for like I should. My friend Jane, on the long road to recovery after losing dear Joe so suddenly early last summer. And there's the old high school friend feeling a little lost after retiring who I promised to get back to and get together with, but haven't. Sharon who is going through a divorce has been on my mental radar but, except for an occasional e-mail, I haven't done my part to be there for her.
7) Work. I work less than 25 hours a week, so I shouldn't complain, but I've taken on a role that means I work two to eight hours 6 days a week, and many of those days the work arrives without much warning and needs immediate attention. It's hard to get a writing rhythm going when you can be and are interrupted frequently.
So, all that being said, I know I shouldn't be complaining. So many people have it worse (see Jane, Lynne and Aggie, above). At least I don't have young children to care for or an unemployed husband. At least I have a sister who lets me bitch to her and a date every Saturday night with the man of my dreams (Yes, Katz, that's you!) At least I have fresh tomatoes to eat and friends who understand when I don't call, a basement of my own to fix and children who seem happy. And, believe it or not, I have people who tell me they like my blog and are waiting for my next posting; people who encourage me to write. What a gift!
Truth be told, Thanksgiving couldn't have come at a better time. Life may be a bit out of control, but it is good nonetheless, and I have tons . . . tons . . . to be thankful for. So, Happy Thanksgiving to you all. And thanks for being there for me on this journey.
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
Election Day
Thank God! No more phone calls, no more TV ads.
That being said, please vote before joining me in putting this election and the bad taste it's left in our mouths behind us.
My hope is that, come November 3, whoever is elected will show a willingness to talk to each other, that they will show a serious interest in seeing a return to civility. We need to see some sanity surface in the politics of this country, an interest in finding common ground and being reasonable, recognizing those issues that unite us instead of only the issues that pit us against each other.
As we go forward, it's good to think about what that wise, old sage Jon Stewart said:
“We live now in hard times, not end times.”
Amen.
That being said, please vote before joining me in putting this election and the bad taste it's left in our mouths behind us.
My hope is that, come November 3, whoever is elected will show a willingness to talk to each other, that they will show a serious interest in seeing a return to civility. We need to see some sanity surface in the politics of this country, an interest in finding common ground and being reasonable, recognizing those issues that unite us instead of only the issues that pit us against each other.
As we go forward, it's good to think about what that wise, old sage Jon Stewart said:
“We live now in hard times, not end times.”
Amen.
Sunday, October 24, 2010
The Joy of Cleaning
My house is filthy--no really; it's filthy!
That's because we've been under construction for two days--inside and out--having the house waterproofed. Now that the workers have packed up and left, along with a significant amount of our savings, there is dust and grit ev-er-y-wheeeeere. I'm cleaning rooms from top to bottom, extracting remnants of our basement from nooks and crannies that haven't seen a dust rag in awhile, and I've only polished off a couple of rooms all told.
It's Sunday, and I figure I'll be back at it again for the whole day.
So how come I enjoyed myself so much yesterday? How come I'm looking forward to grabbing that bucket of water and my Dyson and digging in again today? Part of it is that cleaning up this mess means my house is getting that thorough, the Pope-is-coming-to-visit cleaning that should get done at least twice a year but only seems to get done once a decade. Part of it is I'm not willing to chew food sprinkled with pulverized stone, nor do I like the feeling of living 24-7 on a beach. But while on my hands and knees wringing out the black (yes black) water from my sponge as I wiped down the hallway that had seen hundreds of buckets of busted concrete and fresh cement travel through, it occur ed to me that I was happy because of what I couldn't do instead.
I couldn't write.
In a world where we are always prioritizing, writing should be right up there for me. I've told everyone--family, friends, neighbors, business associates, the attendant at the Y, small town law enforcement officers--that I am writing a book and I want to finish it in a year. I've started my own accountability blog so others can hold my feet to the fire. I've done everything but set my computer up on the sidewalk to draw attention to my quest in hopes that such attention will spur me on to completion and shame me when I falter.
Unfortunately, none of that accountability hoo-haa has worked like I thought it would. I'm dealing with time issues and I've got a healthy dose of writer's block, true, but I'm also a somewhat self-indulgent person who doesn't want to give up a paycheck, gardening, reading, cooking, dates with Katz, dinner out with the girls, and a prime time TV addiction, so writing often gets short shrift.
What the accountability hoo-haa has done is given me a load of guilt to carry around. It has taken all those things I love to do from being a natural, normal part of my day and turned them into conscious choices I must make. When I choose to do something I love to do, I am often left with that you-are-not-a-very-good-person taste in my mouth because I don't choose to write. But, cleaning my house--well, it's not a choice right now, it's a must do or Katz will move out and the health department will slap a Dirty Dining sticker on my front door.
I just can't write today. I just can't.
What a relief.
That's because we've been under construction for two days--inside and out--having the house waterproofed. Now that the workers have packed up and left, along with a significant amount of our savings, there is dust and grit ev-er-y-wheeeeere. I'm cleaning rooms from top to bottom, extracting remnants of our basement from nooks and crannies that haven't seen a dust rag in awhile, and I've only polished off a couple of rooms all told.
It's Sunday, and I figure I'll be back at it again for the whole day.
So how come I enjoyed myself so much yesterday? How come I'm looking forward to grabbing that bucket of water and my Dyson and digging in again today? Part of it is that cleaning up this mess means my house is getting that thorough, the Pope-is-coming-to-visit cleaning that should get done at least twice a year but only seems to get done once a decade. Part of it is I'm not willing to chew food sprinkled with pulverized stone, nor do I like the feeling of living 24-7 on a beach. But while on my hands and knees wringing out the black (yes black) water from my sponge as I wiped down the hallway that had seen hundreds of buckets of busted concrete and fresh cement travel through, it occur ed to me that I was happy because of what I couldn't do instead.
I couldn't write.
In a world where we are always prioritizing, writing should be right up there for me. I've told everyone--family, friends, neighbors, business associates, the attendant at the Y, small town law enforcement officers--that I am writing a book and I want to finish it in a year. I've started my own accountability blog so others can hold my feet to the fire. I've done everything but set my computer up on the sidewalk to draw attention to my quest in hopes that such attention will spur me on to completion and shame me when I falter.
Unfortunately, none of that accountability hoo-haa has worked like I thought it would. I'm dealing with time issues and I've got a healthy dose of writer's block, true, but I'm also a somewhat self-indulgent person who doesn't want to give up a paycheck, gardening, reading, cooking, dates with Katz, dinner out with the girls, and a prime time TV addiction, so writing often gets short shrift.
What the accountability hoo-haa has done is given me a load of guilt to carry around. It has taken all those things I love to do from being a natural, normal part of my day and turned them into conscious choices I must make. When I choose to do something I love to do, I am often left with that you-are-not-a-very-good-person taste in my mouth because I don't choose to write. But, cleaning my house--well, it's not a choice right now, it's a must do or Katz will move out and the health department will slap a Dirty Dining sticker on my front door.
I just can't write today. I just can't.
What a relief.
Thursday, October 14, 2010
The Kindness of Strangers
I'm one of those huggy sort of people. I probably drive some folks a little crazy, but that's the way it is. I'm a bonder. I connect with folks quickly over big things, little things--it doesn't much matter. For people who don't like to be touched or hugged, I should probably come with a warning. Got something in common with me? Better not mention it or you might get hugged. Find yourself too close to me in an emotional situation, say in Central Park mulling over John Lennon's absence from this earth at Strawberry Fields and, whoa baby, better not come too close. Do something nice for me? Watch out. And don't even think about being sad or vulnerable, 'cause I'll be on you like white on rice.
So it shouldn't surprise anyone that yesterday found me leaning through a car window in the middle of the Pick 'N Save parking lot hugging a woman who, two minutes earlier, had been a complete stranger.
I was returning to my car after delivering my cart to the store when I spotted a woman jockeying her car into a parking space next to mine. As I hopped into the driver's seat, she caught my eye. She rolled down her window and motioned to me, and I remember thinking (not so nicely), "What now?" I'd just finished shopping for the week and, as Katz will tell you, I'm a chop-chop sort of person--shop, get home (driving slightly over the speed limit), put those groceries away, and move on to the other dozen things on my to-do list for the day. Did I want to take time to talk to some unknown, middle-aged black woman in a parking lot? No, but of course, just like anybody else would, I did.
"You're missing the cap to your tire valve."
"Really?"
"Your air could leak out and you could have a flat tire."
"I had no idea. Thank you for saying something."
"Do you want one?"
"What?"
"Do you want a cap?"
"You have a spare cap? Really?"
"My tire had the same problem last week, so I bought a pack."
In the end, I got a cap for my tire, she got hugged by a crazy lady from the suburbs, and we both, I think, went on to have a better day.
So it shouldn't surprise anyone that yesterday found me leaning through a car window in the middle of the Pick 'N Save parking lot hugging a woman who, two minutes earlier, had been a complete stranger.
I was returning to my car after delivering my cart to the store when I spotted a woman jockeying her car into a parking space next to mine. As I hopped into the driver's seat, she caught my eye. She rolled down her window and motioned to me, and I remember thinking (not so nicely), "What now?" I'd just finished shopping for the week and, as Katz will tell you, I'm a chop-chop sort of person--shop, get home (driving slightly over the speed limit), put those groceries away, and move on to the other dozen things on my to-do list for the day. Did I want to take time to talk to some unknown, middle-aged black woman in a parking lot? No, but of course, just like anybody else would, I did.
"You're missing the cap to your tire valve."
"Really?"
"Your air could leak out and you could have a flat tire."
"I had no idea. Thank you for saying something."
"Do you want one?"
"What?"
"Do you want a cap?"
"You have a spare cap? Really?"
"My tire had the same problem last week, so I bought a pack."
In the end, I got a cap for my tire, she got hugged by a crazy lady from the suburbs, and we both, I think, went on to have a better day.
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
And They Danced . . .
It was a great wedding on many levels--a very personal service with a sense of heart, humor and an impromptu nod to Broadway; a reception hall dripping with history, with beauty to spare; old friends to reconnect with; music, music, music. There was a lot to enjoy, but the dancing, ahh, the dancing was what made the evening.
The bride and groom both love to dance, and they’re darn good. It was a blast to watch the groom dance. Ian's got talent and style, and he danced with attitude. Still, as I reflect on that evening in September, it’s the memory of the bride that makes me smile.
Maggie danced in heels a mile high, and she danced in bare feet. She shimmied, she moved her hips, she danced high, she danced low. She hit the dance floor with her new husband, her dad, her friends, the African Dance Troupe she performs with—-she even sought out the DJ and danced with him. She oozed happiness and the guests could hardly take their eyes off of her.
As I watched her, what touched my heart was her freedom and her joy; she was unabashed and danced with abandon. She was just plain fun to watch.
I love the idea of “abandon,” that ability to yield without restraint and moderation. The way I see it, in life these days there’s an awful lot holding us down, weighing on us. People are angrier and more uptight than ever before, there’s no patience and too little faith. I'm pretty sure a sense of abandon would seriously interfere with all the shouting and despair. It would definitely cut in to all the time people spend texting instead of connecting, and it would probably put a damper on certain people’s concern with appearances.
So, let’s all take up where Maggie left off. Let’s all dance more, laugh harder, seek out the joy in a fall Wisconsin day, carve a crazy pumpkin, jump in a pile of leaves, hug a friend, sing out loud, share a joke, and in general just experience life with abandon. What could be bad about that?
The bride and groom both love to dance, and they’re darn good. It was a blast to watch the groom dance. Ian's got talent and style, and he danced with attitude. Still, as I reflect on that evening in September, it’s the memory of the bride that makes me smile.
Maggie danced in heels a mile high, and she danced in bare feet. She shimmied, she moved her hips, she danced high, she danced low. She hit the dance floor with her new husband, her dad, her friends, the African Dance Troupe she performs with—-she even sought out the DJ and danced with him. She oozed happiness and the guests could hardly take their eyes off of her.
As I watched her, what touched my heart was her freedom and her joy; she was unabashed and danced with abandon. She was just plain fun to watch.
I love the idea of “abandon,” that ability to yield without restraint and moderation. The way I see it, in life these days there’s an awful lot holding us down, weighing on us. People are angrier and more uptight than ever before, there’s no patience and too little faith. I'm pretty sure a sense of abandon would seriously interfere with all the shouting and despair. It would definitely cut in to all the time people spend texting instead of connecting, and it would probably put a damper on certain people’s concern with appearances.
So, let’s all take up where Maggie left off. Let’s all dance more, laugh harder, seek out the joy in a fall Wisconsin day, carve a crazy pumpkin, jump in a pile of leaves, hug a friend, sing out loud, share a joke, and in general just experience life with abandon. What could be bad about that?
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