I love my cousin, Debbie. She's a distant cousin who we didn't get to know until about 20 years ago, but she's a part of the family now.
Debbie is whip-smart, funny and down to earth. We played a question/answer game the other night when the family got together for a mid-winter gathering. The thought provoking questions made most of us pause and ponder to consider our answers. Debbie spit out her answers like rapid-fire bullets.
What would you try if you had no fear? Drugs.
Who would you trade places with for one month? Hilary Clinton.
If you could have front row seats to any concert who would you like to see? Elvis
Would you stop eating all junk food to live 5 years longer? No!
There are some smart people in my immediate family. Eight of the nine brothers and sisters have advanced degrees, and there is a doctor, a couple of lawyers, a couple of writers, an artist, and a few successful business folks. There's not a slouch in the bunch, but none of us can hold a candle to Debbie in the brains department. Being with her is stimulating and always entertaining; add the size of her heart into the equation and you've got a formidable force.
Debbie is about to launch her youngest child, who heads off to college in the fall. Yet her parenting days are not over. In early summer, she will take over raising three of her sister's children, ages 8. 10, and 12. These are children who have been brought up so differently than she would have brought them up--no formal schooling, little in the way of resources, fundamentalist parents--that it will be an adjustment for everyone. Her sister needs her help right now, and while Debbie is mourning the loss of her empty nest opportunity, she hasn't a selfish bone in her body. Of course these children will be welcome in her home. Of course she will love them and keep them safe and do her best for them. She's quite sure we would all do the same,she says.
She is probably right, but it is the certainty that she packs into her words that makes me believe it to be true. It is that certainty that she brings when she answers a question or shares an opinion, that she applied to her life when she went to medical school while raising two little girls with her husband, Jeff. Part of her success as a physician, wife and mother is due to her clear minded thinking, to her ability to see her way forward.
And so, with certainty, she is the one stepping up, rearranging her life and opening her heart and home for three more children.
I love my cousin Debbie. . .
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
The Perfect Word
I woke up whimpering. My body is healing (I hope!) slowly, but I've never had such long lasting pain before and I'm surprised at how challenged I am at managing it.
I'm at my best when I'm up and moving; sitting for even short periods of time causes painful stiffening and night times are difficult.
So why am I so pleased?
I love the word "whimper!" It so perfectly describes what comes out of my mouth throughout the night that the writer in me found an overpowering desire to share.
No need to feel bad about my situation. This is a "ta-da" moment for me; I get to indulge in a little catharsis by complaining to my faithful readers, and the writer in me gets to indulge in a little wordplay.
As always, things could be worse . . .
I'm at my best when I'm up and moving; sitting for even short periods of time causes painful stiffening and night times are difficult.
So why am I so pleased?
I love the word "whimper!" It so perfectly describes what comes out of my mouth throughout the night that the writer in me found an overpowering desire to share.
No need to feel bad about my situation. This is a "ta-da" moment for me; I get to indulge in a little catharsis by complaining to my faithful readers, and the writer in me gets to indulge in a little wordplay.
As always, things could be worse . . .
Sunday, March 6, 2011
The Play Closes and Life Goes On
The end of a show is always bittersweet. A lot of effort, a lot of time, a ton of emotion goes into any play--the writing, producing, directing, collaborating, and performing takes months. There are the practical details--is the show too long or too short, can this actor or actress play a certain part, can you stage the play in the available space, how much is too much to charge for tickets, where are we going to get those tuxedos, when is your cast going to turn in their bios for the program, when are they going to finally memorize those lines . . . it goes on and on.
There are the creative details--have I developed the characters sufficiently, are they varied enough; can they be angry, or off-center, or silly, or unintelligent and still come off as approachable during the improvisational parts of the show.My plays are comedies and I have a good ear for dialogue, but after you've rehearsed a show for a month or more, after you've heard those lines done a million times with no audience to react, the doubts creep in. Who am I fooling? Will that line really get a laugh?
Having done this sort of thing for 25 years, having worked with many of my actors for almost that long, picking a cast is often the easiest part--and the hardest. I write parts with specific people in mind, I play to their strengths, I try my best to take care of them. Winging It was a recycled play, written a dozen years ago for a corporate event; modifying it to include my regulars was a challenge. I found spots for 4 regulars, 2 actors I'd worked with once before, and 2 new ones who answered a casting call. In the end, they came together beautifully. The chemistry I hoped would develop between the bride and groom--and there are no guarantees when it comes to chemistry--showed up beautifully about two weeks before opening night.
You hang your hopes on your cast; your work is in their hands. A play is a symbiotic relationship between the cast, the playwright, the director and the audience, but in the end, it's the cast that goes out there night after night and needs to bring it home. I always encourage them to adjust their lines for comfort, to give me their feedback. They bring fresh insight to something I've labored over for months and I always end up with some great new lines or a wonderful twist on one of my own creations. I always feel I give my cast some great material to work with; they pay me back every time!
Defined, the noun "cast" is a group of performers, brought together to put on a show. Of course, as with many words in the English language, other meanings exist, and there is one other meaning that applies nicely to those hard working, funny, talented entertainers who took part in Winging It. "Cast" as a verb, also means to radiate. And they did . . .
So, the hard part is over and we go on with our ordinary, non-performing, not-so-creative lives that exist when we are not in play mode. Katz (who played Enrique Schlimovitz--the worst wedding planner ever) and I are glad to have our lives back, but then, there is the bittersweet part: I miss Isabel and Philip de Vigny,the Reverend Joshia, Aunt Tootie, and the Kozinsky family--Bea, Max, Celia and Fitzwallace, and, of course, the actors who played them. Still, I'm catching my breath, regathering my creative juices, and looking forward to "casting" my net over them again in years to come.
Sunday, February 27, 2011
Winging It in Pictures
It was great fun and I am exhausted. Winging It, my wedding-gone-awry story was brought to life by an outstanding cast. Despite being packed in elbow-to-elbow, our audiences laughed long and hard and loved the story, the players, and the beauty of seeing a show in a wonderfully restored historic home. Today I share the pictures; stay tuned for the insiders look at the effort and heart that everyone puts into pulling together an original show and making it a success. Part II to follow!
Saturday, February 26, 2011
Two Too Awesome
We packed 'em in at Winging It last night. Tonight we close the show and we are still turning people away at the door. That's a good thing, both if you are a playwright hoping for an audience for your work and if you are raising money for a good cause, which in this case is our local historical society here in Wauwatosa, Wisconsin.
We seem to have a following of sorts. Last night's audience was full of old friends, neighbors, work associates, and people we only see every two years because they wouldn't miss one of the Hysterical Society Player's biennial shows.
Last night was special because my sons came to watch Katz do his shtick as only Katz can do. And they came to see what I do, too, what I have been doing invisibly pretty much since they were born. Writing plays is a lot different than writing a book or writing for a newspaper or magazine. A play only exists when it is performed. Of course, you can read a play, but that is an experience that falls far short of its intention. Unless a play is performed, it dies.
I've been writing plays since Ben, my oldest, was two and I was pregnant with Josh. Despite the twice yearly royalty checks that arrived in the mail, they had a hard time seeing any pay off in the work I do. For years, plays I wrote were produced infrequently in our area, or if they were produced in town, they were not age appropriate for my children.
Now they're grown with lives and careers of their own. When they came last night, they got to see me a little differently. As the children of Katz, a man many people consider the funniest person they know, I have a sense of humor that is completely below their radar; translated that means Dad is hilarious and Mom is not. Watching my play, they got to see that I am funny in my own right. On top of that, I also was proud that they got to see my bawdy side! I can do blue humor and I can do it well, and I love to see their surprise at the very idea.
But last night was a two way street. As they watched their father and me at our creative best, I watched them as the outstanding young men they have become. They've established careers and broadened their thinking; they even spent time protesting in Madison this week over Governor Walker's attempts to end collective bargaining, an issue that directly impacts Ben. Always they are firm in their beliefs yet civil in sharing their opinions with those who might not agree. Several people who have known my kids since they were little shared their observations with me: How like their father Josh is, how poised and articulate he can be. They also tell me how easily Ben shows his kind heart, charm and earnestness, and how both boys have turned in to such fine young men.
The boys spent a good part of the night hugging and talking with the parents of their high school friends and the neighbors whose kids they played with and whose houses they visited on Halloween. Ben was so happy to see them and to have the opportunity to introduce them to Kim, the lovely young lady who has touched his heart and filled his life of late. I said to Ben how fortunate it was that he came the same night so many people he knew were there, and I could tell he was moved.
"Mom," he said, "these are the people who shaped my life!"
I know it was my work, my words, my casting that packed the house last night. But having Ben and Josh there, having them laugh at the right time, seeing their pleasure in my work, and then seeing them reconnect with the history of their lives was so rewarding it made the spotlight just that much brighter.
Lots of hard work and good fun, our share of mistakes, and a ton of love went into raising our children, but just like with a play, you make your adjustments, you tweak your directions, you enter stage right instead of stage left, and in the end it all comes together. At the final curtain call, Katz and I are left with a successful production and two awesome kids. Lucky us!
We seem to have a following of sorts. Last night's audience was full of old friends, neighbors, work associates, and people we only see every two years because they wouldn't miss one of the Hysterical Society Player's biennial shows.
Last night was special because my sons came to watch Katz do his shtick as only Katz can do. And they came to see what I do, too, what I have been doing invisibly pretty much since they were born. Writing plays is a lot different than writing a book or writing for a newspaper or magazine. A play only exists when it is performed. Of course, you can read a play, but that is an experience that falls far short of its intention. Unless a play is performed, it dies.
I've been writing plays since Ben, my oldest, was two and I was pregnant with Josh. Despite the twice yearly royalty checks that arrived in the mail, they had a hard time seeing any pay off in the work I do. For years, plays I wrote were produced infrequently in our area, or if they were produced in town, they were not age appropriate for my children.
Now they're grown with lives and careers of their own. When they came last night, they got to see me a little differently. As the children of Katz, a man many people consider the funniest person they know, I have a sense of humor that is completely below their radar; translated that means Dad is hilarious and Mom is not. Watching my play, they got to see that I am funny in my own right. On top of that, I also was proud that they got to see my bawdy side! I can do blue humor and I can do it well, and I love to see their surprise at the very idea.
But last night was a two way street. As they watched their father and me at our creative best, I watched them as the outstanding young men they have become. They've established careers and broadened their thinking; they even spent time protesting in Madison this week over Governor Walker's attempts to end collective bargaining, an issue that directly impacts Ben. Always they are firm in their beliefs yet civil in sharing their opinions with those who might not agree. Several people who have known my kids since they were little shared their observations with me: How like their father Josh is, how poised and articulate he can be. They also tell me how easily Ben shows his kind heart, charm and earnestness, and how both boys have turned in to such fine young men.
The boys spent a good part of the night hugging and talking with the parents of their high school friends and the neighbors whose kids they played with and whose houses they visited on Halloween. Ben was so happy to see them and to have the opportunity to introduce them to Kim, the lovely young lady who has touched his heart and filled his life of late. I said to Ben how fortunate it was that he came the same night so many people he knew were there, and I could tell he was moved.
"Mom," he said, "these are the people who shaped my life!"
I know it was my work, my words, my casting that packed the house last night. But having Ben and Josh there, having them laugh at the right time, seeing their pleasure in my work, and then seeing them reconnect with the history of their lives was so rewarding it made the spotlight just that much brighter.
Lots of hard work and good fun, our share of mistakes, and a ton of love went into raising our children, but just like with a play, you make your adjustments, you tweak your directions, you enter stage right instead of stage left, and in the end it all comes together. At the final curtain call, Katz and I are left with a successful production and two awesome kids. Lucky us!
Monday, February 21, 2011
Pain
I'm in a bit of pain these days.
I'm going on a year of blogging--a project I started for the purpose of keeping me honest when it came to writing my mystery novel--and I've got no novel to show for my efforts.
I seem to be dealing with some aging issues that include carpal tunnel syndrome, arthritis in my neck, back, and hands, a pinched nerve, and muscular pain in my upper arms that is a result of trying to use my computer too much for work and writing.
I've got some psychological pain from worrying about 1) keeping my job status when I can't work because of the pain, 2) the state of the State of Wisconsin (state union members in the family include a sister, a brother, and my son--and if you don't know what's going on with Wisconsin unions and our governor you are obviously not keeping up with the news!), and 3) a husband who is working too hard and coming home too stressed from an employer that is in no hurry to hire someone to take over one of the two jobs he is doing.
Oh, and did I mention that I tripped over my own two feet, launched myself into the side of my friend Linda's car head first, blackened my eye, and gave myself a dandy case of whiplash and a bum elbow all one week before my play opened for a two week run?
So, I'm existing on pain pills, going through testing procedures to assess the damage of injury and age, not writing or reading because I can't work through the pain sufficiently to concentrate, missing out on my daily workout at the Y and my beloved Yoga classes, not sleeping well because laying down is painful, and generally leading a pretty diminished and boring life.
The upside is that the play is going well (I'll share photos and reviews for my next post), everybody is being super supportive, my job doesn't appear to be in jeopardy, I'm not dying, and I like to think maybe my body is healing a little bit everyday.
The photo at the top was taken opening night of the show--8 days post the pedestrian hits car episode, while the one below was 24 hours post collision. Let me take this moment to thank my dearly departed mother for giving me the genes of good skin and fast healing. I got through opening night on adrenaline and Vicodan, and having just enough of a black eye to make people feel a little sorry for me while not ruining my opening night "glamour" look was a blessing. Face it (pun intended!): When you've been through a week like I had, you take all the blessings you can get.
Amen!
Saturday, February 5, 2011
Super Bowl Party-less
I don't need to tell you the Green Bay Packers are going to the big dance this weekend. That's because everybody in the world already knows.
It's going to be wild. As we speak, fans are tinting Dallas green and gold, the local paper is talking nothing but football, football, football, and bar owners statewide are seeing dollar signs as they get ready for the beer to flow. Everybody in Wisconsin and beyond is party-planning for a day of eating, drinking, and game watching. Our sons will be with their friends, cheering on their beloved team and having a festive time. Even my sister Kathy, who lives in New York and has broken bread with the likes of famous writer E.L.Doctorow more times than she's watched a Green Bay Packer game (she even had dinner with Arthur Miller once . . . OMG!), is going to a Super Bowl Party (for the first time in her life) and dragging her poor Spanish born non-football watching husband with her.
Katz and I? We'll be home alone.
To Katz, the game is sacrosanct. It is to be watched with laser vision. Katz is one of those guys who has been a Packer fan, win or lose, for his entire life. He came from a family that didn't watch football, yet for as long as he can remember, even when they stunk (and they did!) he was in front of the TV watching every down.Going to the Super Bowl is the icing on the cake for all Packer backers, but for Katz, it's a religious experience. He's as devoted and knowledgeable as they come. He married me, I like to think, because he loved me, but having a father with season tickets to the Packer games didn't hurt.
I'd like to invite my sister Mary, whom Katz is very fond of, to watch the game with us. Despite a long-lived resentment towards the team (which got more undivided attention on Sundays from our beloved, over-worked physician father then any of his nine children could get in a week), she's come to feel at least a bit of that sense of ownership towards the team that comes along with being a Wisconsinite. But even having Mary over presents an insurmountable problem for Katz.
It's not like he wouldn't tell her to be quiet if she talked at the wrong time (which during a Packer game is just about anytime, and during a Super Bowl includes the commercials, so we're talking a non-conversational three to four hours)--he would definitely stop her from talking. It's not that he wouldn't yell at her if she--God forbid--got up and walked in front of the TV, because heaven knows he'd find the appropriate words to make her scamper faster than a frightened rabbit on amphetamines.
Katz has phenomenal language skills, an instinctive sense of humor, and enough good will built up to handle all of these hypothetical situations. Alas, what he can't control, what he has no ability to turn off or tone down, is his profanity. It is irreverent, x-rated, constant, loud, and heartfelt. Being in the room with Katz during a Super Bowl when the Packers are playing would be like being in a room with a shaken bottle of champagne and a loose cork; sooner or later, all hell is going to break loose and no one within 30 feet will be safe.
So, our Packer gear is laid out waiting to be donned, we've got a few tasty treats on the menu, and the good beer is on tap. I'm going to be watching the Packers play with nothing but some Johnsonville dippers and a couch cushion between me and a ranting, raving, leaping, swearing football maniac. No Margaritas or tables laden with goodies for me; no womanly chit-chat or male bonding to entertain me. Today, it's me, the guy who still makes my world spin, and the home team at the Super Bowl.
Curses!
It's going to be wild. As we speak, fans are tinting Dallas green and gold, the local paper is talking nothing but football, football, football, and bar owners statewide are seeing dollar signs as they get ready for the beer to flow. Everybody in Wisconsin and beyond is party-planning for a day of eating, drinking, and game watching. Our sons will be with their friends, cheering on their beloved team and having a festive time. Even my sister Kathy, who lives in New York and has broken bread with the likes of famous writer E.L.Doctorow more times than she's watched a Green Bay Packer game (she even had dinner with Arthur Miller once . . . OMG!), is going to a Super Bowl Party (for the first time in her life) and dragging her poor Spanish born non-football watching husband with her.
Katz and I? We'll be home alone.
To Katz, the game is sacrosanct. It is to be watched with laser vision. Katz is one of those guys who has been a Packer fan, win or lose, for his entire life. He came from a family that didn't watch football, yet for as long as he can remember, even when they stunk (and they did!) he was in front of the TV watching every down.Going to the Super Bowl is the icing on the cake for all Packer backers, but for Katz, it's a religious experience. He's as devoted and knowledgeable as they come. He married me, I like to think, because he loved me, but having a father with season tickets to the Packer games didn't hurt.
I'd like to invite my sister Mary, whom Katz is very fond of, to watch the game with us. Despite a long-lived resentment towards the team (which got more undivided attention on Sundays from our beloved, over-worked physician father then any of his nine children could get in a week), she's come to feel at least a bit of that sense of ownership towards the team that comes along with being a Wisconsinite. But even having Mary over presents an insurmountable problem for Katz.
It's not like he wouldn't tell her to be quiet if she talked at the wrong time (which during a Packer game is just about anytime, and during a Super Bowl includes the commercials, so we're talking a non-conversational three to four hours)--he would definitely stop her from talking. It's not that he wouldn't yell at her if she--God forbid--got up and walked in front of the TV, because heaven knows he'd find the appropriate words to make her scamper faster than a frightened rabbit on amphetamines.
Katz has phenomenal language skills, an instinctive sense of humor, and enough good will built up to handle all of these hypothetical situations. Alas, what he can't control, what he has no ability to turn off or tone down, is his profanity. It is irreverent, x-rated, constant, loud, and heartfelt. Being in the room with Katz during a Super Bowl when the Packers are playing would be like being in a room with a shaken bottle of champagne and a loose cork; sooner or later, all hell is going to break loose and no one within 30 feet will be safe.
So, our Packer gear is laid out waiting to be donned, we've got a few tasty treats on the menu, and the good beer is on tap. I'm going to be watching the Packers play with nothing but some Johnsonville dippers and a couch cushion between me and a ranting, raving, leaping, swearing football maniac. No Margaritas or tables laden with goodies for me; no womanly chit-chat or male bonding to entertain me. Today, it's me, the guy who still makes my world spin, and the home team at the Super Bowl.
Curses!
Sunday, January 30, 2011
Writing Funny
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.
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.
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!
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