Wondering out loud

Customer Service

2009-09-22T13:04:00.000-07:00

Not long ago I needed new tires for my car. This sort of chore always seems to occur when I am busiest: short deadlines, long TO DO lists, too many meetings.

I called to find out when the new tires could be installed. They were booked up on Thursday (my first suggestion), but they could do it next Tuesday.

I asked about a 'loaner' car for the day. 'No need,' the customer service person said, 'we will do it while you wait!' Needless to say, I was delighted.

I assumed -- you see the problem already, don't you? -- I assumed that 'while you wait' meant that it would be a quick turnaround. That's where I went wrong.

Only after I had waited a hour and a half, did it occur to me that customer service had not mentioned how long I would wait. I could wait all week, and they would still be true to their statement. They were doing the work while I waited.

My mind conjured images of me sitting in the waiting room with cobwebs stretching from my head to the wall. Oh, well. Live and learn, I heard my grandmother saying.

Note to self: remember to ask the follow-up question next time.

Housecleaning

2008-12-09T19:16:00.000-08:00

I'll confess up front that I am not a very good housecleaner.

I always start out strong, but then I tire of the repetition. I run out of time for deep-cleaning. I get distracted by other, more interesting chores.

And also, I have a fatalistic attitude about housecleaning: no matter how much I clean, it is never enough.

I've lost count of the number of times that I have diligently cleaned house for company, welcomed them into my home, and then as we sit talking see a cobweb some where in plain view. It has happened so often now that I expect to see some obvious sign of dirt when there are guests in my house.

Not long ago it happened again. I welcomed a small group of very nice people to my home. We had dinner and then moved to the living room to converse. Yep, you guessed it, a glob of fuzz was perched precariously on the ceiling fan blade. I totally lost track of the conversation as I expected the offending dirtball to dislodge and float down onto someone's face.

I wonder sometimes if the cobwebs and fuzzballs don't hide during my housecleaning and emerge stealthily when the company arrives. It sounds like a paranoid delusion, but it just might be true.

People in waiting rooms

2008-11-04T18:24:00.000-08:00

Lately I've been in several waiting rooms, waiting. In some cases, waiting for a very long time. What to do? Well, what is everyone else doing? That's when I noticed that there are certain types of folks in waiting rooms. Have you seen these people?

The mother wrasseling with a very active small child (and I did mean wrasseling -- not wrestling)
The middle-aged woman deeply engrossed in a romance novel with a startlingly explicit cover
The older man, elbows on knees, endlessly grooming his fingernails (and showering the floor with clippings)
The person talking on the cell phone
The young person, eyes closed, tapping the armrests, with earbuds and wires disappearing to a pocket. (Hope there is a ipod in there!)
The person turning rapidly through old magazines, not stopping to read anything
The person playing a game on the cell phone
The person sorting through things in the wallet, creating a pile of trash in the next chair
The two people talking quietly in a corner
The person who paces outside the door and opens the door periodically to check status
The person who is just watching everyone else.........

Plenty

2008-10-27T19:20:00.000-07:00

Not long ago I was given a prescription by my doctor. When I got home with the medicine, I looked at the instructions on the bottle. I saw the usual dosage directions – one capsule two times each day – but I also saw additional warnings and admonitions affixed to the little plastic container.

One preprinted label advised that I should not take the capsule within two hours of taking vitamins, calcium supplements, or other specific medicines.

Hmmmm. Since I take supplements of various kinds first thing in the morning and at bedtime, I decided that I would take some of the capsules to my office and try to remember to take them mid-morning. I would take the second dose when I get home from work – which should be two hours before my bedtime. This is just a 30-day regimen, so I can do this.

The next preprinted label stumped me.

After the specificity of the number of capsules per day and the two-hour space from other substances, I was puzzled to read, “Take with plenty of water.” I don’t know about you, but to me “plenty” is a pretty loosey-goosey term.

I went to my handy American Heritage Dictionary where I read the first definition of plenty: “A full or completely adequate amount or supply.”

In my experience, plenty means different things at different times. If we are talking about one of my favorite foods, plenty might be a large amount; If we are talking about some food I barely tolerate, plenty is a pretty small serving.

Plenty of water for a bath differs greatly from plenty of water for a carwash or to water the lawn.

Even for drinking, plenty of water seems nebulous to me. If you are working hard in the hot sun, plenty of water will likely be more than if you are sitting at a desk in an air-conditioned office.

So, my conclusion is that the authorities (the pharmacist? The Food and Drug Administration? The drug manufacturer?) are leaving this part of my pill taking up to me. I get to decide just how much water with the capsule is plenty.

Which made me wonder: if I am wrong and I drink too little water, will I know? What will be the signal that I didn’t swallow plenty of water with the capsule?

Will it stick in my esophagus? Will it tear up my stomach? Will I develop serious digestive discomfort of some kind? Or will I not know until years later when the damage is discovered?

Normally, I’m a good decision-maker..... willing to rely on my own good judgment.

This time, however, I find myself going back for more water -- just to make certain I get plenty.

Farmers' Market

2008-10-11T19:21:00.000-07:00

This morning we went to a farmers' market. I don't think the people there would necessarily call themselves farmers -- but that's really beside the point, I guess.

It was a collection of people who came to offer for sale what they had produced. Around the perimeter were mostly food stalls; in the center were mostely jewelry, ceramics, and art. At one end, you could find inflatible (what do you call them? they aren't rides or toys.........pens?) for children's play.

Many of the vegetables were organic. The beef and lamb was grassfed. The chickens were also specially raised. There were artisan breads and honey. There were tamales cooked in banana leaves. Various special teas were available, and there were specialty coffee drinks too. At each stall you could meet the person who had raised or blended or brewed it.

It was all much more personal than the grocery store. You could ask questions and get answers. And there seemed to be so much pride in what they were offering.

Often they didn't have a huge amount of their wares. When they sold out, they just stood around visiting with people.

And the shoppers were different too. Many had their dogs with them. They looked relaxed and often carried a cup or tea or coffee as they strolled along, enjoying the market.

Oh, and I forgot to mention that there was a singer with a guitar performing in an area between the fresh lavendar and the homemade dog biscuits. His genial sound floated throughout the market, adding a soundtrack to the morning.

It was an altogether delightful experience. My regular grocery store will never feel the same now. And I got great tomatoes.

Waiting rooms

2008-10-09T20:57:00.000-07:00

In my experience, waiting rooms have always had a sort of sterile commonality about them. They have usually been characterized by too many chairs packed uncomfortably close and tattered magazines. I have combated these discomforts by trying to select my seat strategically and carrying my own reading material.

Doctors’ waiting rooms have pluses and minuses. Generally, they are clean and air conditioned, and the chairs are pretty comfortable. Usually there are enough chairs to allow patients to sit in every other chair so that some personal space is possible. Sometimes there is a television in the corner. Occasionally, coffee or a water fountain is available. The downside is that there are sick people all around you, often coughing on you, generally making it scary to touch any surfaces.

Waiting rooms in automotive services facilities are quite different. Often there are only a minimum number of seats, the area is sometimes un-airconditioned, and often it is dirty, as though late at night the grime from the shop creeps into the customer area. Whether I’m waiting to have tires put on the car or waiting for an oil change or whatever, I find that these kinds of waiting rooms make me pace around – partly because there aren’t enough chairs and partly because I suspect that I will end up with grease and grime on my clothes if I try to sit.

Up until today, my favorite waiting rooms were at airports. There the waiting room is not an afterthought; it’s part of the overall plan. While other waiting rooms are usually close quarters, the airport waiting areas are expansive. They are usually clean, have lots of windows, and the many seats are usually fairly comfortable. Additionally, there are plenty of nearby restrooms and shops for browsing or purchasing snacks or reading material. All in all, not a bad place to be, to my way of thinking.

Today, however, I have experienced the ultimate in waiting rooms.

A few years ago, I splurged and got an upscale car. The regular maintenance is provided by the dealership at no additional cost -- you make an appointment, they change the oil or whatever, wash the car, and you drive away. They call you by name. They (through the miracle of a good data base) know you and know your car. Very nice.

The last time I brought my car in, the waiting room was a fairly standard affair – although they did have a cappachino machine and crispy cream donuts. But the seats were close together and limited in number. At the time, they apologized and told me that they were building a new customer area. I had forgotten that when I took my car in this morning.

Once the obligatory paperwork was done, the nice man led me to the customer area. He showed me the plush leather seating and flat screen CNN news area, and then he showed me the internet kiosks available for my use. Next came the options of a peaceful seating area around a gorgeous aquarium. Next was the complimentary coffee bar with an on-duty barrista, the beautifully tiled restrooms, a shopping area, a snack bar with complimentary cold water and sodas, and a series of small office areas where I could work. Oh, and how could I forget: there was a small theater where classic movies played.

Honestly -- and I never thought I would say this -- it was a pleasure to spend time in this customer waiting area! Rather than chafe at how long the service took, I found myself sorry when it was time to leave. (I had used one of the small office areas and had accomplished more work than I would have at my office!) Clearly, this company understands the good will associated with making customers comfortable.

Of course, I reflected ruefully, the cost of my upscale car was certainly paying for all this luxury. But still, all that comfort was a nice surprise this morning and made me reflect on the many improvements that could be made to most waiting rooms in this world. It really wouldn’t be necessary to go over the top like this dealership did – just a little attention to those untended waiting rooms would certainly pay great dividends!

Choices

2008-08-29T18:59:00.001-07:00

My grocery store has choices.

We live in a world of choices now. We Americans like choices. Choices are a part of our independence, our right of self-assertion, our exercise of control over our surroundings.

Burger King picked up on this assumed inalienable right decades ago with the "Have it your way" campaign. The jingle was "Hold the pickles. Hold the lettuce. Special orders don't upset us!"

Since that time, our choices have multiplied to an alarming level. Have you looked at the number of cereals in the breakfast aisle or the number of salad dressings a few rows over? Or even within a single brand -- have you seen how many different kinds of Coke beckon on the soft drink aisle?

It's choice-overload. How do you ever decide?

And now it has spread to the front door -- where you must decide what kind of cart you want.

You can choose the traditional grocery cart. It is large and can accommodate many items or very large or heavy items. Not long ago that was the only option. It was either that cart or do without -- carry your purchases in your arms.

Now, instead of the standard cart, you can have a handbasket if you want to get just a few items. Also, a while back, my store added kiddie carts so that the little ones could feel the thrill of driving a race car attached to the front of mom's grocery vehicle. Cute. And of course there is the motorized cart for folks with limited mobility. Thoughtful.

My favorite cart, however, is the newest model. It's a compact cart, a cute little thing that can turn on a dime. I love it. Just big enough for a few things -- a few hundred dollars worth (but better than the handbasket which gets too heavy fast; one gallon of milk and a carton of orange juice will cause the handles to cut into your palm!)

And I've noticed that these sporty little carts are very popular. The other day in the store a nice looking businessman zipped past me to get the last of the little carts for himself. In fact, several times lately there have been none available when I arrive -- they have all been scarfed up by shoppers who arrived earlier.

My concern now is that the store will start to charge for the joy of driving this popular new cart. Then I'll be faced with yet another choice!

Bag dissonance

2008-07-24T09:27:00.000-07:00

The baggage claim area in airports is a fascinating place to me. I've been there a lot lately (which means that my work is causing me to travel a good bit these days).

In one airport I was distracted by what seemed a strange sight to me.

A very tall (maybe 6'6"?) cowboy with impossibly long legs, jeans, plaid shirt, big belt buckle, and boots was striding through the terminal. He was obviously a real rancher -- not the drug-store type at all. His skin was bronzed by wind and heat. His easy pace contrasted with his obvious strength and energy.

He was an interesting character (I love people watching) as he moved through the baggage carousels, searching for checked bags like the rest of us. You can imagine my surprise when he picked up a cute little red bag with white polka dots.

Then it happened again in another airport.

This time there was a trio of middle-aged guys. They were casually dressed in khaki shorts and pullover shirts. They were excitedly talking about where they were going together. The first one claimed a nondescript black bag. The next grabbed a dark blue duffel bag. The last fellow picked up a bright yellow bag with flowers on it.

What's going on with this?

Plane travel

2008-07-16T02:27:00.000-07:00

Have you ever noticed the rules of plane travel? It's an intriguing segment of social psychology. I may write a brief how-to guide. Here's the outline of the chapters:

1. Ritual of boarding
only when it's your turn
look at people but don't meet eyes
fashion parade and the joy of human variety
2. Strategic bag placement in the overheads
for accessibility during flight
for protecting delicate contents
for rapid deplaning
little people with very heavy bags
3. Aisle sitters and window sitters -- and those poor folks stuck in between
talkers, readers, sleepers, workers, ipodsters and how to deal with each
close quarters but no touching (we hope)
4. Announcements and other ritual news
in case of a loss of cabin pressure
emergency aisles and whether you feel you can accept the responsibility
flotation devices over Kansas
5. The refreshment cart and other signs of hope
passing the cup
art of getting seconds
when it's acceptable to help pass the trash to the aisle
6. The trek to the toilet
how to look cool/professional/sophisticated when you need to go (badly)
tiny spaces: getting stuck, getting bruised
terrorized by inflight flushing
7. Blankets and pillows (finding them, claiming them)
magazine racks, inflight movies, audio for everyone
sanitary earphones
8. Seat backs and tray tables
acceptable use (no, you can't stack your stuff on my table!)
in case of broken tables/ seat backs/ lopsided cushions
full and upright positions
seatbelt extenders
9. Inflight magazines (and the ubiquitous Sky Mall catalog!)
what is the airline really telling me?
do you work the crossword or leave it for the next passenger?
10. This is your captain speaking
"making up time" -- the physics of flight and time travel
some turbulence (and other euphemisms)
11. Welcome to wherever
orderly disembarking
cell phone cacophony (in unison: "we just landed")
overheads/some shifting may have occurred
why your connecting flight is in another terminal
12. Thanks for choosing us
unclaimed baggage and other psychological problems

In awe of twilight

2008-06-13T22:57:00.000-07:00

It was a very busy day at the conference. I had an early dinner and escaped to the quiet of my hotel room. Dog tired.

As it happened, my room is on one of the upper floors, giving a spectacular, wall-sized view of the city. I have enjoyed that view in the early morning as the sky grew lavender and then aqua. And I have enjoyed the view at night when the many building lights made it magical.

But as I entered the room tonight after dinner, my gaze was drawn to the wall of glass, overlooking the downtown scene. My hand paused as I reached for the bedside lamp. It was twilight, that time of day when the colors are muted, but still visible and the occasional light is being turned on. It's that special time of day when it isn't daylight but it isn't dark either.

Twilight has always fascinated me. It feels gentle and rich with emotion. It has an elusive character that seems to whisper 'catch me if you can.' It's a sliver of time that defies definition and beckons me somehow.

Instead of turning on the lamp, I put down my armload of things and crawled up into the center of the king-size bed. With a pile of fluffy pillows at my back and the awesome scene out the window, I felt my spirit say, 'Okay I'm watching. You have my full attention.'

For the next hour I sat in the darkening hotel room, soaking up the beauty of the twilight-turning-to-night with rapt awe. I felt like I was listening with every part of my being, feeling the luxury of the moment.

It was just what I needed after the busyness of the day.

Fish fry

2008-05-26T08:19:00.000-07:00

When I was growing up my retired grandparents loved to drag their little trailor to a lake and fish for a few days. This usually involved going some distance because we lived in west Texas, which isn't exactly the lake-region of the state.

They would make several trips of this sort and then would announce a "fish fry" for family and friends. We would gather in the back yard, a rectangle of spiky barely-alive grass surrounded by a concrete block fence.... no trees, no shrubs, no patio. My grandad would fire up a butane-powered deep fry rig and start cooking. My grandmother was in charge of everything else. It was always wonderful, and we all looked forward to these periodic gatherings.

Years later in another part of the state, my husband and I became friends with a retired couple who owned property on a nearby lake and set out trot-lines regularly. When they had amassed enough of a supply, they also hosted a fish fry for their friends, usually around Memorial Day.

The fish was the same delightfully crispy, cornmeal-battered catfish. yum. The surroundings were very different, however. These central Texas events were hosted on the lake's edge, sheltered by 40-foot tall pecan trees. The grass carpeting the area was lush and soft.

But despite the physical settings, the memorable thing about both the west Texas fish fry events and the central Texas fish fry events -- was the simple sit-around-and-enjoy-each-other feeling that permeated the evening. What a delightful break from the daily hurry-up routine.

What a delightful set of summer-time memories.

Hot

2008-05-20T17:26:00.000-07:00

Good grief, the thermometer is bumping up against 100 every afternoon. With some luck, we will be back in the lower 90s by the end of the week. ugh.

I'm starting to dream of a new flextime ..... How about going to the office at 8pm and working until 5am ? That would put me back at the house in time to enjoy the really lovely part of the day from 6am until 9am when the world is cool and fresh. Then I could sleep from 10am, through noon, until 6pm when the sun's rays are beginning to angle and grow less intense.

Why not? We adopted daylight savings time during the dark winter months, right? We could adopt this through the scorching summer months. I think this could work.

Of course, this plan is dependent on good air conditioning and room-darkening shades..... and the adjustment to this rhythm might be rocky..... but we have to do something!

Rolling down the road

2008-05-14T21:17:00.000-07:00

Car trips are a special kind of travel. I recently did quite a bit of riding/driving over a span of several days, and I was reminded of the joys associated with this particular form of transportation.

It's almost axiomatic in our family that car trips are a great time for conversation. You are sitting close together. There are few interruptions (although cell phones have changed this a bit). There is enough time -- usually several hours -- for leisurely storytelling, discussing, sharing. And there isn't much else to do, assuming that you don't retreat to headphones or sleeping (riders, hopefully not drivers!)

From my youngest years, I have loved to look out the windows while riding in a car. I like to see the countryside between towns and I love to imagine living in the houses we pass and small towns we pass through. It is a stimulating experience to leave your normal environs and see something new. I always feel free, unfettered.

Riding in the car is also a great time for introspection/reflection. We occasionally fall into a companionable silence, zipping down the road together but lost in our own thoughts. The crazier and more hectic our world becomes, the more I cherish these little islands of silence and peace and isolation from my normal duties.

Another great joy for me on car trips is listening. I love to hear audiobooks in the car as I travel. Maybe this is a holdover from childhood, but there is something really fun about having something new and interesting read to you. I am a voracious reader and go through a huge pile of books each year, but I get a deep down enjoyment from listening to someone else read once in a while.

Perhaps I'll plan another car trip soon.
As soon as I save up enough money for gas.

Huh?

2008-05-07T14:25:00.000-07:00

I don't know about you, but in the past few years I have found myself talking to people who aren't talking to me. (insert your own joke here)

More than once in the grocery store, a person in my aisle has said something and I have replied -- only to realize that the person was asking someone over the phone where to find the green beans. I've grown cautious about being helpful.

In a large department store, I have replied to people -- and then noticed that the person was talking on a walkie talkie. My mistake.

But today's experience tops all previous ones.

Today I went to well-known electronics store and soon sought out a young employee to answer a few questions about the product I was considering. A few moments into our conversation, I was stunned when the store employee said loudly, "You'll have to handle that yourself. I'm busy."

I know I must have looked shocked, because she smiled and explained that she was talking to another store employee and indicated the microphone pinned to her blouse.

I chuckled and asked my next question. But before she replied to me, she stared straight into my eyes and said loudly and forcefully, "I can't help you now. Get Mike or someone to do it!"

I have to admit that I totally lost my train of thought.

Over the next few minutes, she talked to me and to a fellow store employee in such an intermingled manner that I finally said, "I'm sorry but I can't tell when you are talking to me and when you are talking to someone else."

It was absolutely the most disconcerting shopping experience of my life!

I've already said that I may have to buy all my groceries online.
Now I'm thinking I may just buy everything online.

Color coordination

2008-05-05T07:39:00.000-07:00

Years ago when my future husband showed up at the dorm for our first date, we were amused by the fact that we were both wearing the unlikely color combination of red and turquoise. This story has led to the inevitable comments about us being meant for each other (not always intended as a compliment, I suspect).

At the office when our teams meet, we often note that a majority of us are wearing the same color -- often an uncommon color. Over the years, this has developed into a ritual comment: "Ah, I see you got the memo!"

Last weekend my son drove into town for a quick weekend visit. When I saw him drive up, I went outside to welcome him. He stepped out of his car, smiling, and then stopped. He looked down at his clothes and back at mine. We had on the same color jeans, same white t-shirt, and a coral-colored overshirt (his was a polo; mine was a hoodie zipped up halfway). Weird, he said.

What is going on with this stuff? It seems to happen more often than the usual random event. For a while, I thought it was a result of the fashion industry controlling what colors or color combinations are popular/available, but that doesn't pan out. Then I thought that I just hang around with people who have the same taste in color that I have, but it happens with strangers.

Perhaps it is time for a think tank somewhere to address this phenomenon. As a friend of mine remarked, "Why do we end up looking like the coordinates section of the Sears catalog?"

Name your flavor

2008-04-23T06:52:00.000-07:00

Some say green, some say red, some say purple. It's true. No one seems ambivalent about which flavor of gatorade they prefer.

I've always preferred the original green gatorade. To me, it just doesn't seem like gatorade at all if it isn't green.

Recently I discovered that a member of my family only drinks red. How could someone in my own family want red gatorade? Red gatorade. Such an oxymoron. Like a monochromatic rainbow. Or a yellow sky.

And purple gatorade? What's the world coming to?

Sole man

2008-04-18T09:00:00.000-07:00

I've been thinking about shoes.
When I was growing up, I heard several things about shoes:

"The surest way to know the measure of a man is to look at his shoes. (If you see a man in a $1000 suit wearing shoes with worn-down heels or in need of polish, you know the nice suit is just a facade.)"
"If you would truly know an indian, you must walk a mile in his moccasins."

"Never wear white shoes before Memorial Day or after Labor Day."

A strange assembly of injunctions all centering around shoes.

When I was a kid, I was blessed to have two pairs of shoes. One dress-up pair that were saved for special occasions and one everyday pair (last year's dress-up shoes if they still fit -- although they rarely did.)

We lived in hot west Texas so going barefoot was a good alternative, I thought. My mom had rules about that, however -- "no going barefoot til after May 1." (That always seemed unfairly arbitrary to me.) We did go barefooted most of the time during the summer -- at home. We were never allowed to go barefoot in public. It just wasn't done.

My most memorable childhood shoes were my ballet shoes. First, I had the classic ballet flats, and then later I had my first "toe shoes" with the glorious satin ankle laces. These shoes were my first "special purpose" shoes and were an extravagance. When I wore them, I was transformed into something graceful.

The shoe store that sold the ballet shoes had a machine in the back of the showroom where kids could stand and it would tell the salesman what size shoe was needed. I've wondered over the years exactly what that machine was. (??)

When I was in high school, my favorite shoes were a moccasin-type shoe called a "squaw boot." They had soft soles, extended up to the ankle bone, and had great fringe around the top. As I recall, I wasn't allowed to wear them to school, but I wore them everywhere else for a long while. I loved them because they were comfortable -- and because they proclaimed my individuality and independence. (Not my mother's shoe -- or anyone else of the older generation! After all, it was the 1960's.)

When I was in college, I bought a pair of navy-blue, lace-up shoes, a kind of oxford, that widened at the toe. My steady boyfriend liked them and dubbed them "duck shoes," and I wore them until they finally just fell apart. I even have pictures of myself in a frothy cinderella-style formal and the duck shoes. They were fun because they were somehow unexpected and helped me defy stereotypes.

Also when I was in college I had a pair of rust-colored suede boots that extended up to mid thigh. They had the usual zipper from the ankle up the calf, but they also had laces from the knee to the top. At the time, they were scandalous! A daring purchase.

Now why would I remember random pairs of shoes?

Maybe one reason is that -- unlike most other things we wear -- we can actually see our shoes.

Where's the beef ?

2008-04-14T21:28:00.000-07:00

Life is filled with irritations.

Sales calls during dinner.
Road construction that reduces traffic to a single lane.
Zippers that jam.
Getting gasoline on your business clothes when you fill up on the way to work.
Out-of-stock items.
Office 2007.
Plastic forks that break off in your food.
Bubble packs that cannot be opened.

But the one I want to discuss is: Grocery store reorganizations. When I was a kid, the grocery store in my town stayed just the same until they added on to the building, making the shopping area twice as big -- only then did they move things around. And I honestly think that they just rotated the aisles 90 degrees and gave everything more space.

But in recent years, the grocery store nearest my house has "reorganized" the store about every 18 months or two years. Just when you learn where to find the peanut butter, it's suddenly gone from that location, replaced by organic pine nuts or something.

And you know what happens then: up and down every single aisle, some more than once, like a culinary Diogenes with his lighted lamp, until I finally locate the peanut butter in its new, seemingly random location. I hate that! And then the same routine for finding paper towels. Augh.

An aside -- yes, I know that it is a good marketing tactic to get me to walk up and down every aisle and actually LOOK at what is on the shelves. But if I am irritated, does that cancel out the marketing advantage? What if I just want to find the canola oil quickly and leave?

And if they were improving the logic of the locations, putting like-items together, that would be understandable. But no. Last night I found the peanut butter on the aisle with the cheese. And I never did find the cooking oil, so that's still on the list. It's probably in the automotive section. (We won't even talk about why there is an automotive section in the grocery store!)

I never thought I would order my groceries online, but I think I'm a step closer!

An elevator chuckle

2008-04-05T19:26:00.000-07:00

Each spring I attend a work-related national conference. Since I have attended this particular professional conference for 20 years, I know many people from all parts of the country, and I'm in the habit of saying hello to folks who have on the conference name badge. This is particularly true in the hotel elevators since we are in close proximity for a few minutes.

Often when I talk to these "strangers" I discover that we have met, or that we have mutual friends, or that we attended the same session at the conference and heard the same speaker. In any case, we always seem to have something to talk about for the few minutes it takes to get to the elevator stop.

One day at the conference I had been especially busy, carrying out my assignments, attending sessions, and generally doing all the things I was supposed to do. As I headed from the convention center back to the headquarters hotel, I was thinking about the speaker I had heard earlier that day at a general session: Sidney Poitier. He has always impressed me with his crisp articulation, perfect pacing, and rich intonations -- and that day he had not disappointed me! He did a masterful job of presenting to the crowd.

As I walked the short distance back to my high-rise hotel, I savored the great stories he had told and marveled at his carefully crafted, amazingly effective delivery. What a professional he is. It's even more amazing because that day he had been talking about how little education he had as a young person.

Still thinking about him, I joined a group in the elevator at the hotel and said hello to the man standing closest to me. Because we were in a very nice hotel, the elevator had all the latest technology. A deep, luxurious-sounding woman's voice crooned, "Recreation Level, fourth floor" and a musical bong punctuated the information.

The man next to me grinned and said, "That sounds good: recreation level. I would enjoy stopping on the recreation level." I grinned back and nodded. Then I laughed and said, "Actually, in more honesty, I'd prefer finding the nap level." He laughed and as the elevator door opened on his floor, he moved out.

Only then did I notice the man on the other side of him. He chuckled, looked at me out of the corner of his eye, and then said in his very familiar, perfectly articulated voice, "Nap level . . . I really like that." Apparently, we were stopped at the floor where his room was located too because he moved forward, following the first man off the elevator.

Mark it on my calendar. It was the day I made Sidney Poitier chuckle.

Luggage carousels

2008-03-29T17:17:00.000-07:00

Today I was in baggage claim at an airport. Usually I am all business, wanting to get my bag and get out. But today I noticed that I was having trouble watching for my luggage because I was continually distracted by the people around me waiting on their stuff. They were so entertaining!

Some people elbow their way up to the initial spots along the conveyor. Some people take a spot further down the route where there is less congestion. Others stand back, watching, and then dart through the line for a just-in-time bag retreival.

Some people are "informers" who announce to the crowd, "there it is!" and then "here it comes" and then "ah........ got it!" They apprarently think everyone else in the area is gathered to watch them get their luggage. Perhaps they are surprised that there is no applause when they triumphantly carry their bags out.

Others are completely preoccupied with their cell phone conversations and only glance toward the bags occasionally, as though picking up the bag is the least important thing they are doing that day. I used to think there must be some billion dollar deal going on -- but then I heard a guy say 'do we also need milk?'

It's fun to guess which bags belong to which people, especially the unusual bags. Can I spot the person who will retreive the golf clubs or the serious backpacking gear? Which one will grab the purple and pink flowered bag? This time there was a suspicious looking irregularly shaped, very large black thing....... seriously, it looked like it might contain a small lounge chair or perhaps some arcane piece of machinery. The very athletic looking man in a black suit shouldered it easily and strode out the door. Maybe it contained his fitness equipment.

I am in Orlando, so this time around there were an unusual number of small travelers in the area. Many of them were watching intently for their own luggage. Unlike the weary adults, they were SO EXCITED when they spied their familiar bags. Inevitably, it was a pink Barbie bag or a blue Mickey Mouse bag or a red bag with dalmatians on it. And the kids claimed them with such glee!

The slightly older kids had graduated to more somber looking bags and had been conditioned to stare impassively at the parade of luggage. They even imitated their parents' casual approach to pulling the bag from the passing line-up.

I think it's sad that we train all that joy and delight and openness out of our kids. I wonder if the world would be a better place if adults were excited about little things a little more often........ little things like finding your own luggage at baggage claim.

I've always enjoyed people-watching. I"m adding baggage claim to my list of great places to enjoy the antics of my fellow humans.

Choosing a table

2008-03-16T23:28:00.000-07:00

Have you ever watched people in a fast food restaurant? Specifically, have you ever watched them choosing where they will sit?

Not long ago I stopped in a fast food restaurant for a quick lunch. It was a place I had never visited before. It was a large building, able to provide food for many people at the same time and very busy.

From the moment I entered, it was clear which people were "regulars" and knew the routine, and which (like me) were newcomers unfamiliar with the procedures. I stood in between the fences that indicated where the line should form and tried to decipher the menu on the wall.

Since this was a FAST food restaurant, I knew that I would need to place my order quickly when the clerk said, "Can I help you?" You see, I understand my responsibility as a customer.

With only a few mis-steps, I placed my order for lunch and then picked up my food at an adjacent counter when they called my number. Again, being careful to not slow down any part of the FAST food delivery system.

That's when my search began. Which table would it be? The intricacies of table-picking are many. Would it be far away from the action and secluded, or would it be close to the food service area? Would it be a table or a booth? Would it be indoors or outdoors? Would it be a small two-person table (barely big enough for my coke, let alone my lunch) or would I be brave enough, crass enough to take a four-person table where there would be room to avoid spills? And on and on.

Finally, I settled on a compromise. I chose a two-person table over against an interior wall, not near the food service, but facing that area so that I could people-watch. And then the fun began.

A woman appeared with her lunch, glancing around, obviously looking for something specific. Her face reported when she found what she sought. She walked over and claimed a table for eight by putting her tray down, then she looked up, ready to signal her co-lunchers. Ah, she was a scout!

Next came a teenage boy who walked straight through without glancing to either side. He headed straight to the outdoor seating area, his spot predetermined by the glorious weather.

Next came a young woman who glanced nervously from side to side. She took a few steps one way, then hesitated, then moved a different direction and faltered. About that time her friend joined her and led the way to a table. Co-dependency in table selection.

A man paused at the threshold of the dining room and then marched purposefully to the far side of the room where he occupied a table for four, spreading his lunch and his papers and books over the entire surface. He was quickly absorbed in his work and totally unaware of anyone else in the place.

From my bastion of safety (an already chosen table), I watched a fascinating parade of diners step up and deal with the challenge of table selection. I wonder at the fact that personalities, insecurities, and personal preferences would be so clearly displayed in such an innocuous decision.

Garbles

2008-03-05T12:56:00.000-08:00

One of the things I enjoy doing is listening. I mean, really listening. It's amazing what you hear!

The other day I heard a person say that the options available to us "run the gambit." This was a new manglement to me. Usually, I hear confusion of the phrases 'run the gamut' and 'run the gauntlet' -- which are of course two very different things!

Recently a preacher talked about a joyous person in the Bible, and I swear the preacher said that the person let out a "Whale of hallelujah!" On another Sunday morning a speaker talked about despair and the dismal feeling of absolute disparity. Huh?

I also find great amusement in the earth-shaking pronouncements by media. A tv reporter recently observed: "The outcome of the election will depend on who votes." Now, I know what he meant, but on the face of it the statement is a big DUH.

Sports announcers are always good for "really listening." After a long discussion of the various strengths of the two teams and the intricate strategies they would employ, one announcer closed the segment with, "It will all come down to who can score the most points." Well ............ yeah.

In today's world of information overload and constant communication, it has become a hobby of mine to listen closely. So if you see me chuckle when no one told a joke, or if you see me smile inexplicably, now you will know why.

Voting dance

2008-03-04T19:56:00.001-08:00

Today I voted.

I left the house early and drove to a nearby middle school. Because I had decided to vote on my way to work, I found myself caught in the morning school traffic. I competed with parents of sixth, seventh, and eighth graders for access to the area near the gym. They wanted to drop off their kids; I wanted to park and vote.

A line had formed inside the door. When I entered, I couldn't tell which person was the end of the line so I asked, not wanting to make a wrong assumption. All Americans know the importance of lines and not violating the queue.

Our family has traveled just enough to know that other cultures do not have the "line" tradition. It's not that the other cultures are rude -- they simply haven't adopted that particular idea of ordering themselves one behind the other.

I mused on the intricacies of lining up as I waited in the gym. Each person must stand just the right distance from the person ahead -- not too close (we like our space!) but not too far because that would damage the integrity of the line.

As new people entered the door, most asked -- as I had -- for clarification on the end of the line. Because the line wasn't moving very fast and the number of prospective voters was increasing rapidly, the line-standers had to move in such a way to curl the line away from the door and back into the interior of the area. This was important because it was very cold outside, and the line-standers were being considerate of new arrivals. Thoughtfulness. Group cooperativeness. An interesting unspoken "dance" among strangers.

Periodically, people who had completed voting returned from the interior, approaching the door area. Without a word, people parted the line to allow the voters to exit. Again, it was a procedure of silent assent. Everyone seemed to know just how to move to allow passage without damaging the line in any way. Simultaneously, three people stepped forward and three other people stepped back, creating a gap for the leaver. In some ways it resembled a waltz.

It was actually a beautiful collaborative effort. And the voting was cool too. All of us coming together, with our different perspectives, with our varying opinions -- but all of us participating in this shared dance to select our leaders. Leaving space for each other. Helping each other find the right spot in the line. Respecting each other's position. Taking turns.

Close and Far

2008-02-26T17:03:00.000-08:00

I don't know about you, but my understanding of proximity is undergoing a definitional realignment.

When I was a kid, nearness was always a geographical thing. People talked to people who were nearby.

We COULD talk to folks who were far removed; we did have long distance telephoning -- but that was limited to very special occasions (births, deaths, etc) and everyone knew to talk very fast indeed because the per/minute rate was a king's ransome.

We had reunions once a year to catch up on what was happening with relatives. If we lived in different towns, it was the only time we conversed. Some people wrote letters in between reunions, but that was usually done by grandmothers who had lots of time on their hands.

Now life is very different. I find that I am close to people who use the communications tools available to us. People who email or use that ubitquitous cell phone are immediate in my experience.

At the same time, a person three offices down from mine with whom I do not exchange email might just as well be several states removed.

Somehow the definitions of proximity and nearness have changed. I wonder what the ripple effect of that will be?

New day

2008-02-24T13:14:00.000-08:00

Saturday morning I was in the Tahoe and headed out of town while it was still dark. I love watching the night turn to day.

On Saturday, it was cold and mostly clear. The temperature on the vehicle's thermometer bounced from 40 to 39 to 42 to 37 as we rolled along the highway.

The sky just above the horizon to the east began to grow slightly lighter, changing from black to charcoal grey. Trees and buildings began to show in silhouette in a tone-on-tone subtlety, scarcely visible but undeniable.

I'm amazed by the acuity of our eyes, the distinctions of our perceptions. The eye-brain team is truly a wonderment!

A tiny hint of red-orange invades the charcoal grey of the eastern sky. The grey lightens to a medium grey and extends its reach to a larger part of the horizon. The barest bits of pink and lilac begin to appear on the wispy, striated clouds angling across that part of the sky.

I love this part of dawn. It's still dark, but the promise of light, the promise of color is vivid in its potential. All the earth seems to be holding its breath, anticipating the day that is surely coming.

Then the tiny glints of pink and gold and lilac and aqua begin to show on clouds throughout the whole dome of the sky, as the approaching sun stretches its influence across the entire expanse. Everywhere you look, the signs of morning are unfolding, blossoming.

The eastern sky lightens and lightens, to a delicate aqua with gold highlights, pulling everyone's attention to the east. Does on the edge of a pasture stare at the spectacle. Strangely, we roll past a field where buffalo snort their foggy-looking breath in the early morning air; they too seem frozen in amazement as the sun trumpets its nearness.

Finally, the glory of the morning sun glides over the horizon, shooting powerful red-orange rays in all directions, setting bushes and trees and barns aglow. The blazing shafts of light make the morning dew sparkle and provides a rosy excitement to ordinary things.

As I said, I never tire of this daily celebration of a new day. What a joy to watch the earth wake up to a fresh morning, full of promise!

Bumpy cough drops

2008-02-15T08:55:00.000-08:00

It's that time of year: time for sniffles and coughs and the usual winter ailments.

It's hard to go any place where you don't hear someone clearing his throat or sneezing or snorting. The paraphenalia of sickness takes over too. Boxes of tissues pop up on every table and cabinet, and space heaters proliferate.

Along with the tissues, comes an array of pills and nose spray and the ubiquitous cough drop.

I'm partial to cherry flavored cough drops, and I typically buy the store brand variety. I do wonder, however, why those cough drops are molded the way they are.

I can't really see what the shape is supposed to represent. I'm sure it was supposed to have some brand significance even though it is invisible to me and therefore totally ineffective in that regard.

The bumpy surface does get my attention, however, because it has a tendency to tear up the roof of my mouth.

So -- here's the picture: you are sick to begin with. Your nose is stuffy and sore. Your throat hurts. And now to top it all off, the roof of your mouth is injured and painful.

I think we need to adopt a policy that requires all cough drops to be smoothly shaped. Is that too much to ask?

Bouquets of Friends

2008-02-09T10:56:00.000-08:00

I've noticed that I don't so much pick my friends as they pick me, or maybe more accurately, we become friends as a result of circumstances, not because of a strategic plan on my part.

Does that mean that I am a lazy friend? Does that mean that others should not value my friendship? No, I don't think so. Our friendships are valid and strong and nonetheless beautiful despite their haphazard origins. We are thrown together in shared activities (our kids' soccer team) or whatever, and relationship grows.

For me, it doesn't happen with everyone in my path -- I think there are probably others who become friends with everyone they meet! How wonderful! -- but for me, there is some sort of chemistry that either takes place or doesn't.

And as I get older, I love the decades-long friendships that I have with a few people. We've seen each other through all sorts of life experiences, and the depth of our relationships is comforting.

On the other hand, it is still a delight to make a new friend. The uncharted territory of new perspectives, new opinions, new experiences is exciting. (And suddenly all my old stories are new again!)

Friends are certainly one of the sweetest blessings in life.

Over the years I've realized that all my friends are not created equal. By that, I mean that each person has his/her own personality, strengths, and weaknesses. Each person is valuable for his/her own unique traits, and one of the best things in my life is that my friends contribute to my daily walk in many different ways.

There are friends that make me laugh. There are friends that see through me and hold me accountable. There are friends who talk about deep thoughts with me. There are friends who are comforting to share time with, and on and on.

I'm blessed to have a whole bouquet of friends.

Deep Pockets

2008-01-31T10:50:00.000-08:00

In the business world when I hear the words 'deep pockets' I think of someone or some organization with a lot of money.

But lately I've been thinking about those words in a very different context.

Since it is January, the month of bone-chilling winds, I've had occasion to pull out my winter coats. One of my favorite coats is a simple black wool coat.

I like the fabric, I like the weight, I like the fit of this particular coat. But the thing about the coat that I most enjoy is that it has deep pockets...... deep, cozy, luxurious pockets.

I have several coats and jackets that have shallow pockets. When I try to warm up my hands in these pockets, I feel cheated, literally left out in the cold. Why would anyone put shallow pockets in a winter garment?

I've read that during times of tight economies (i.e. during the depression and during the rationing of World War II) the difficult times were reflected in women's fashions. In other words, during these times, lapels would get narrow or disappear, trouser legs get narrower and have no cuffs, skirts get straighter, and pockets disappear. The idea is to be as efficient with costly fabric as possible.

Maybe that idea lurking in the back of my head is what causes me to associate deep pockets with luxury. Knowing that doing without pockets has been associated with times of poverty or deprivation makes pockets seem like such an extravagance.

And it isn't just about winter coats. It's also about jeans and skirts and house robes. Deep, comfortable pockets are simply one of life's great joys!

May all your clothes be blessed with great pockets.

Why is it . . .

2008-01-22T18:40:00.000-08:00

Why is it that when a cold front blows in and the wind is so frigid that it cuts right through you, that's when my gas tank is empty and I have to stop to fill up?

Why is it that when I have less than 10 items in the store and can go through the speedy checkout, everyone else in the store has less than 10 items too?

Why is it that when you finally find the laptop you want at the right price, they only have the display computer left?

Why is it that the night I decide that I want cereal for dinner it's the night that we are out of milk?

Why is it that the day I'm presenting strategies to the executive management team is the same day that a random section of my hair protrudes awkwardly off the side of my head?

Why is it that the ice hangs tenaciously in the bottom of the cup regardless of how you tap it until the entire glob of ice plummets onto your face (and shirt) ?

Why is it that the neighborhood is totally abandoned until you get halfway to the newspaper in your nightgown?

Why is it that I always go in and out of my office building alone until the day that I trip over nothing in the parking lot and that day my boss happens along?

Why is it that the zit appears on picture-taking day?

Refrigerators

2008-01-16T10:52:00.000-08:00

I've been noticing the contents of refrigerators lately and wondering about the significance therein.

Let me explain. I am most intimately familiar with the refrigerator in my own kitchen and the refrigerator in the employee break room at my office.

Last month my own refrigerator was crammed full of gift foods from friends and the special ingredients for holiday meals. Front and center was the smoked turkey someone sent me, while specialty cheeses from some gift baskets were tucked into odd corners and crevices. My husband's special cranberry salsa was there, as were the mascapone cheese for topping his luscious annual fruitcake and the unusually large amounts of celery (for the cornbread dressing!)

I could hear my own mental version of 'Chestnuts roasting on an open fire' everytime I opened the refrigerator door. Just like the Christmas cards displayed across the room, my refrigerator testified to the season.

At the office, there was a similar sort of thing happening. No, no one was cooking Christmas dinner at the office, but there were endless holiday celebrations throughout the month: a holiday reception one afteroon, a pot luck holiday luncheon on a different day, a celebratory breakfast shared by two neighboring divisions on still another day.

These various office events meant that the refrigerator was always full of various creations either destined for the event or leftover from the event. Throughout December, the refrigerator (and the whole breakroom) was a rich place for grazing, sampling, or sneaking a bite in the middle of the afternoon.

That was last month.

This month my home refridgerator has finally been purged of the plastic containers protecting the last vestiges of holiday dining. The interior walls and shelves of the refrigerator have had their first of the year cleaning. For the first time in weeks a visitor can actually SEE the walls and shelves. It looks somehow bereft, lonely, empty.

January brings a lot more salad ingredients, hardboiled eggs, and in the freezer section, lo-cal, small-portioned, frozen dinners. It's a bleak landscape indeed. It seems hollow and I almost expect an echo.

At the office, it's the same story. The gaudy holiday fare is replaced by carefully packed lunches and veggies. It's as though the refrigerators adopted that same resolution to eat healthy.

Ah, January . . .

Time Travel

2008-01-01T13:05:00.000-08:00

Santa brought me an Ipod Nano. This tiny thing has more memory that an entire university faculty. I have been diligently feeding it albums from our collection, and the little bar at the bottom of the screen has hardly budged. Amazing.

It's a voracious little device. It feels like I am pouring my favorite music into a black hole that is hungry for more and more. Absolutely fascinating. But unlike a black hole, this cute little thing serves up all this music on command from my pocket.

Along the way, I am listening to dusty CDs that I had almost forgotten we own. I'm feeling that glow of renewed friendships. I am delighted by album after album, song after song. Ah, yes . . . that's why I liked this song. Ha! I love that great phrase in those lyrics. And that one still makes me want to dance around the room.

I've always enjoyed a wide variety of music, and the task of loading the ipod is reminding me just how many kinds of sounds speak to me. Beatles (of course!). Glenn Miller, courtesy of my dad. Classical music I've learned to love. Other music introduced to me by my kids.

And many songs evoke an almost palpable memory, a feeling of time and place and mood and relationships so strong that I feel like a time traveler visiting my high school years, my first apartment, my parent's house, my favorite car, a transistor radio beside a swimming pool, the first FM station I heard.

In the blink of an eye with the first few notes of a song, I'm 14 years old and listening to the AM station from Oklahoma City late at night when the reception was better. Next I'm sitting in a dorm room on a college campus with girlfriends. Like the background music in a movie, these songs provide cues and context for the stories of my life.

The performers are like old friends who have seen me through my ups and downs. It seems that we have shared so much over the years, and it is a delight to visit with them as I load them into this new toy.

What a delightful way to begin a new year: not just reviewing 2007, but enjoying music from many years past.

Extreme expectations

2007-12-21T14:37:00.000-08:00

I grew up during a time when the picture-perfect holiday was splashed across every medium.

That was the day of Christmas-card-sending, and when the mailman's load grew heavy, it was from greeting cards, not from Christmas catalogs. (We were often surprised by wonderful hand-written notes from old friends and distant relatives. It was before the one-size-fits-all Christmas update letter.) The Christmas cards themselves often featured cozy fireplace scenes, peaceful snow covered hills, and beautiful starlight nights.

TV ads also showed an idealized version of the holiday. Clydesdales pulled a sleigh smoothly through pristine, powdery snow. Families gathered in the warm glow of a lovely living room furnished with the perfectly decorated tree and stockings hanging from the mantle. Succulent Christmas dinners were served by a beaming mother and carved expertly by the father.

The Christmas movies also reinforced the ideal image with happily-ever-afters, all's-well-that-ends-well's, and bad guys with hearts of gold. Everyone received just the gift they had most desired. Miracles took place. Sick people got well. It was beautiful, and I swallowed it whole.

Of course, I was aware of discrepancies between that ideal and my own experience. It was sad but true that our town was too warm for a snow-covered landscape. I'm dreaming of a white Christmas was my theme song because dreaming was as close as I was going to get.

Our house had no fireplace and therefore no mantle and no stockings. My mom never brought out a whole turkey for my father to carve. (Our approach was much more practical: the bird was always sliced in the kitchen and came to the table ready-to-eat.)

Every Christmas I received an array of nice gifts, but none of them made an impression as being my heart's desire, and I never noticed much happily-ever-after going on. In the back of my mind, I always thought my family's Christmas seemed to fall a bit short of the Christmas we were "supposed" to have. Reality never quite measured up to those ideals, those expectations of perfection. I think I thought it would all be different when I grew up and had my own household.

But it wasn't different. Oh, my home has a fireplace, and my husband carves the turkey -- but no matter how hard I tried over the years, I never felt we achieved the absolute perfection of the holiday ideal. Some relative would be out of sorts. Preparing that extensive holiday meal is tiring, and if I came to the table beaming it was from perspiration. Finally, I don't know about your fireplace, but at our house it always seemed to be too warm close to it and too cold on the other side of the room.

Over the years I've made peace with the fact that the elusive holiday pictured in the media is a marketing fiction. I've learned that no matter how hard I try, I can't ensure that everyone at my house will have a grand time. I've learned to take advantage of short cuts and time-savers in all the holiday preparations; I've learned to give myself a break.

Once I identified and abandoned that mostly subconscious expectation of "the perfect holiday," my holidays have improved dramatically. Wrenching those cozy mental pictures out of my head took years, but I'm finally able to enjoy December without constantly comparing my experience to Christmas cards and commercials and movies. The holiday monkey is off my back.

Maybe I'll write a recovery program for the extreme expectations woven into our psyches by mass media, our culture, our marketers.

Meanwhile, merry (realistic) Christmas!

Wet streets

2007-12-12T22:56:00.000-08:00

We've had a lot of wet streets lately. We all know it's important for drivers to be cautious and possibly slow down a bit when the road surfaces are shiny with rain or sleet.

Since we are in the period between Thanksgiving and Christmas, it is much more normal for people to be busily zipping around -- if they can. But I am absolutely certain that there are more cars on the roads during this season each year.

I don't know where all those extra people come from. Do they lurk in their garages all year and come out in December like some sort of nocternal birds? Do they hibernate through the heat of the summer, waiting until rainy winter days to venture out to clog up the roads and parking lots?

This is also the time of year when I drive to work in the morning in the dark, and I drive home after work in the dark. It can get me down if I let it. It makes the work day feel 12-14 hours long somehow.

So, because of the dark, the heavy traffic, the rain that (often) slows the speed of the cars, I seem to be spending a lot of time in my car in the dark inching along on wet streets. As I roll along a half-car-length at a time, I am entertained by the way wet streets reflect light.

The shiny road surfaces multiply the headlights to my left and the tail lights stretching over the hill in front of me. Neon store lights seem to echo across the wet parking lots. Christmas decorations blink on houses and in yards and are reflected on the wet driveways.

This is the darkest part of the year, and this is the most illuminated time of the year. We turn on lights, and the rain ups the ante.

Sitting in my car, the scene puts me in a reflective -- sorry about that! -- mood. Maybe I'm a little bit hypnotized by the visuals or maybe like an overstimulated toddler, I'm lulled toward dreams. I sit in the endless traffic, waiting, looking, thinking.

Over the years, I've learned to capitalize on these unexpected snatches of time. (Long delays in airports when I'm traveling alone. Interminable waits in doctors' waiting rooms. ) These can turn into great stolen moments for meditation.

This year the wet streets are the context for counting the blessings in my life. Remembering all the good things of 2007, reviewing all the kind faces that have brightened my day with smiles, acknowledging that I have been richly blessed. There have been troubles and sadnesses to be sure, but those melt away in light of the good.

The multiplied lights in the wet streets remind me of the blessings that surround me but go unnoticed until I have these unplanned opportunities to realize what I should be grateful for.

Touch

2007-12-09T11:50:00.000-08:00

When I shop for clothes, I touch the fabrics. I am particularly attracted to clothes that are luxuriously soft or smooth.

I have a jacket that is not a color I would ordinarily buy -- and from a previous post you know how important color is to me! -- but I own the jacket because it is unusually soft to the touch. When I wear it, I often stroke the left sleeve with my right hand, and when anyone compliments the jacket, I thank them and then invite them to feel the sleeve to marvel at how soft it is.

I have always liked stuffed animals, not because I like animals, but because I like the way they feel when I cuddle them. I can even tell you which brands of stuffed animals feel best.

Touching is an important interpersonal element as we all know. I wonder if that is one reason we continue the ancient greeting of shaking hands -- not to show we bear no weapons, but to touch. Similarly, I think this is why we sometimes hug when we greet people.

Touching is an effective way to show sympathy for someone. I often touch another's arm or hand when I am indicating shared emotion.

Of course, affection is shown through touching . . . a father tossles a small boy's hair, a guy cuffs his friend's shoulder, a couple holds hands.

A touch is a simple gesture . . . not hard to learn and certainly not hard to perform. No complicated steps involved. But it can make all the difference . . . in communicating feeling, in bridging interpersonal chasms, in understanding the world around us.

I wonder if that is why anything that gets past our emotional defenses, past our stoic facades is said to be --- touching.

Random acts

2007-12-01T05:56:00.000-08:00

The town where I live has an abundance of juniper trees growing in groups and as singles all over the place. Most of the year they are simply a source of the pollen that makes many people suffer allergic reactions. At this time of year, however, they turn into Christmas trees.

On the route from my office in the north part of town to my home in the west part of town, one stretch of road sports a whole herd of perfectly shaped juniper trees -- some older and taller, some shorter, some fuller, some with sparser folliage. They stand on a slight slope, about 20-25 feet from the roadway.

As soon as the Thanksgiving turkey has been finished, unknown elves -- or others filled with the Christmas spirit -- stealthily approach first one tree and then another.

First, silver garland rings one tree. Then a day or two later another tree shows off gold garland and red ball ornaments. Over the course of a week or two, virtually every tree is adorned for the season.

You never see the tree-decorating in progress. I suppose it must occur in the dead of night when there are no witnesses. Whatever the hour of the decorating, the Christmas spirit as displayed on these roadside trees greets all of us caught in rush hour traffic.

I love these random acts of kindness and good cheer. Someone chooses not only to decorate their own tree, but also to provide decoration to public trees that we all can enjoy.

Don't you just delight in this sort of giving?! Happy holidays!

Glitter

2007-11-25T15:30:00.000-08:00

Have you ever noticed how persistent glitter is?

If you ever have cause to handle anything with glitter on it, you know what I mean. No matter how careful you are, it sticks to you -- sometimes for days.

You can't rub it off. The shower seems to have no success at washing it away. And you can't really lift it off your skin very well. It sticks to you no matter what.

And not only does it stick to your skin, it shines. Glitter will not be sidelined, cannot be forced to sit quietly, unheralded. No! It advertises its presence at every opportunity, catching the eye of anyone around.

Not long ago I bought a party blouse that sparkles. I wore it to a special event and then hung it in my closet to wait for the next party.

The next day I noticed that I had glitter from the blouse on my collar bones. I brushed myself with a towel. I washed with soap and water. I tried to wipe the bits of glitter away with a tissue and with my hand. No luck. I put on a high-necked shirt.

Next I noticed that my car had been glittered. Apparently, wearing that blouse in my car going to and from the event had left an indelible mark on my car. There were specks of glitter on the leather seats and on the carpet. Now I guess the glitter will transfer to all my other clothes when I drive my car anywhere.

Just last week -- almost a month after that dress-up event I attended -- I saw glitter on the carpet on the stairs at my house. And that same day I saw some of the glitter at my desk at the office. It's everywhere.

Doesn't it make you wonder how we might apply glitter's persistent stickiness to other things that we WANT to keep handy?

Words

2007-11-17T11:33:00.000-08:00

Anybody who has spent any time around me knows that I love words and the use of words. It's also true that I find great amusement in the misuse of words.

Over the years, bosses, preachers, and tv announcers have provided many opportunities for an unexpected grin.

After sitting through a seemingly endless meeting of negotiations, I enjoyed hearing my boss say, "Now that we've got the basic tenements established, we can begin to flush out the skeleton." The best part was that he uttered these malapropisms with a straight face and utter unawarenes. It almost made the hours locked up in that conference room worthwhile.

I once had a girlfriend who described her mistakes as "fox paws". . . of course, she meant faux pas. She was also fond of saying that something had become a mute point. (If only that had been true!)

My family has always enjoyed spoonerisms. We frequently talk about something happening in one swell foop, and we apologize for getting our tangs tungled.

When I was a teenager, my dad went through a long period of enjoying this sort of word play. He liked to observe that his favorite singer was Boney Tennett. Shoes and socks became sues and shocks. Salt and pepper because palt and sepper. He drove us crazy with his mangling of words until he finally came out with some accidentally inappropriate phrases and embarrassed himself out of the spoonerism habit.

What finally stopped him? He mangled the phrase "tool kit" in front of the whole family.

More signs

2007-11-10T15:42:00.000-08:00

We went to Seattle recently.

The early morning flight caused me to be at the airport before I was fully awake. I decided to make a trip to the restroom before boarding the plane. I was stunned to see a NO EXIT sign just outside the restroom.

I immediately rethought how badly I needed to go.

Once in Seattle, it was inevitable that we would visit Pike Market. I love that place. All the little shops and their wide variety of wares are just plain fun. One sign hanging outside a storefront near Post Alley caught my eye: "Swiss Blades, Bavarian Meats, Espresso." Something for everyone, I guess.

In Pioneer Square, the historic district, we were amused to see an old sign outside a Victorian era building that had served as a hotel: "Rooms 75 cents, Baths 5 cents in Basement."

When we went north to visit the locks on the canal that connects Puget Sound to Union Lake, we drove by a tiny building where only walk-up service was provided. The sign advertised "Ice cream, Salmon, Burgers." Definitely not a sign you would see in Texas.

By the way, that "no exit" sign at the restroom was really meant to indicate that the hallway past the bathroom was closed due to construction. I guess they just placed it over near the restroom so that it wouldn't block the already closed hallway.

Cracking myself up

2007-10-27T11:07:00.000-07:00

I think it is tremendously important to be able to laugh at oneself -- for many, many reasons. Healthy perspective. Release of tension. And the scientists say that a deep laugh is physically beneficial for us too.

These are the kinds of things that happen every day that are good for a giggle:

Once I was on a tight deadline at the office, writing a speech for an elected official. The speech was needed now. I composed it, grabbed it from the printer, and started for the door to deliver it. As I glanced down, I saw it was upside down. My frazzled mind thought, "Oh no, I got it on the page wrong, I'll have to do it over!" Ha. Of course, then I just rotated the page around.

Another time on a cold, wet, wintry evening I was walking through a dark outdoor passage way. I was watching my steps carefully since there wasn't much light. I briefly raised my eyes to look ahead and was startled to see something dark just inches from my forehead. After dodging with the quick reflexes of a trained athlete, I realized it was just the brim of my hat. Ha ha.

My dad was probably the best person I've ever known at laughing at himself. In fact, many of our often-repeated, much-loved family stories are funny stories he told on himself.

Perhaps if we all practiced this healthy habit of telling stories on ourselves, we would be laughing a lot more and feeling much better!

Reminders

2007-10-22T13:30:00.000-07:00

Some days it seems that I have so many things to remember: Stop by the dry cleaner today or they are going to give away the clothes that have languished there for weeks! At the grocery store, don't forget the milk (again)! Remember to make that dental appointment.

At my desk at work, there are still more reminders: Report due Friday. Send that form to HR. Schedule next team meeting. Check in with supervisor. Work on agenda for committee.

Another kind of reminder is the representation of a relationship or special event. Photos of family and friends. A gift that now sits on a shelf and reminds me of a special occasion. A souvenir that calls to mind a memorable trip.

These reminders are intentional. I WANT to remember things associated with these reminders.

Lately, however, I've been finding joy in a different kind of memory-jogger. This kind is totally unplanned and without warning steals me away to a different place and time.

Going through a stack of old family photos, I came upon an old envelope. Looking at it, I instantly knew it was my great grandmother's handwriting. Until then, I didn't realize that I knew what my great grandmother's handwriting looked like.

I was instantly transported to the little duplex apartment where she lived when I was a child. I remembered the furniture and what it felt like to be there, visiting her along with my parents. What a delightful memory!

Another example: I rummaged around in the collection of socks and pulled out a pair I hadn't worn in some time. When I pulled on the second sock, I saw a faded blotch on the toe. It was the mostly-washed-out stain from light blue paint.

I could smell the paint in my daughter's first off-campus residence. I had traveled there to help her get settled before her college classes began. We painted until we were exhausted. We had planned to stay in her cute little cottage, but the paint smell, the summer heat, and the fact that the shower wasn't working drove us to a last-minute hotel room.

These sudden trips down memory lane are fascinating to me, intense with details and emotion. They make me wonder at the nature of and the vastness of our mental storehouse of pictures and smells and emotions.

Fog

2007-10-17T13:48:00.000-07:00

Driving to work in the fog this morning I was fascinated once again by the other-worldliness of those mornings when vision is so limited.

The opaque background of the sky has descended to earth, foreshortening our ability to gain perspective. In some ways it feels safer, closer, more intimate and cozy. In other ways, it feels vaguely frightening or threatening -- maybe because our protective sense of sight is diminished.

The normal sounds of life seem to be muted, almost silenced by the fog. I almost want to tiptoe so that I don't disturb the peacefulness of the landscape.

I feel strangely suspended in time and space, adrift in a world that appears much smaller than my usual surroundings. I feel cut off from the usual hustle and bustle of morning rush hour.

As I drive down the street, normally familiar objects like poles or trees or buildings seem to appear suddenly out of the gray haze. Because they are usually viewed in the context of the larger scene, they don't usually capture my attention.

But on this foggy morning when they seem to jump into sight from nowhere, these mundane objects have much more prominence in the all-gray foggy universe. It's as though I had refocused the lens of a camera from the larger scene to a smaller close-up, the background blurred out of recognition.

I'm forced to look at these nearby objects, rather than looking past them at something else, and I'm mildly surprised by them. I didn't realize there was a tree on that corner. There are more signposts along here than I remembered.

Fog forcing a different drive-time, rush-hour view is an interesting experience. Perhaps we all need a change of perspective from time to time in order to really see what's around us. Odd isn't it that limiting sight can cause us to see some things for the first time.

Young old people

2007-10-15T17:36:00.000-07:00

It seems to me that as people grow older, they can be divided into two groups: people who seem really old (regardless of their age) and people who seem ageless.

The first category of folks get older, but they also get more and more depressing. They complain a lot and rarely act happy about anything. They are dissatisfied with how things have changed in their lifetime; they long for the good old days. Things were better back then.

The second group gets older, but they have a more positive outlook. They are generally pleasant, with wrinkles that come from smiling a lot. They are amazed and dazzled by all the changes that have occurred. They enjoy sharing their memories, but have no desire to go back to those times.

I've watched people in each of these groups over the years. The difference isn't physical health. I've seen healthy people turn into grumpy old people, and I've seen hurting/ailing people maintain their optimistic approach to life.

The difference doesn't seem to be upbringing or family relationships. Some curmudgeons have loving relatives and neighbors. Some delightful elderly people are all alone and extend their kindness to strangers.

In my decidedly unscientific observations, I have noticed one attribute that seems to characterize the smiling group: they maintain the ability and willingness to learn.

As they grow older and the world around them changes, they learn how to use the latest home appliances. These people adopt new trends and keep up with what younger people are discussing.

Rather than rejecting the changes around them, they embrace the changes, marvel at new things, find amusement in how their lives are different.

I wonder if the best antidote for aging is a lively, interested mind.

Spaces

2007-10-13T11:35:00.000-07:00

I wonder if you realize how much power spaces have.

Have you ever thought about the subliminal cues you pick up from your surroundings? When you walk into a cathedral, do you notice that something in your chest feels drawn upward to the soaring ceiling above you?

There is a reason that classrooms have seats in regimented rows, all facing forward. Spaces affect behavior.

A large part of my work is accomplished through establishing, motivating, and coordinating teams. When I schedule meetings, I am intentional about which meeting rooms I use because different rooms provide different contexts that can either boost what I am trying to achieve or create a barrier.

If the room has windows or glass walls, it can increase feelings of openness and optimism. If the room is an interior room with no windows, it can create feelings of intimacy or safety.

It's also important for the room to be correctly sized. Five people meeting in a conference room with 30 chairs may feel small and powerless. A room too small for the number of people can convey a feeling of vague discomfort that will transfer from the room to the project.

The 'right' room is particulary important for kick-off meetings where projects are initiated or pivotal meetings where key decisions are made.

Spaces are equally important for homes. The open floor plans popular now in single-family residences encourage relationship-building. Classic or formal foor plans support more distant, formal relationships. (Of course, it is possible to live in a classic floorplan and still develop strong personal relationships -- but it takes intentionality to overcome the space.)

I've discovered that there are some spaces where I am more creative. There are some spaces where I am better able to gain perspective and do long-range planning.

If I am paying attention, I can use the power of spaces to my advantage, giving myself an edge in accomplishing whatever my goal at the time may be.

True greatness

2007-10-05T07:00:00.000-07:00

I saw Branford Marsalis in Carnegie Hall a few years ago. I was amazed by his performance. His music was rich and deep. It was a benefit concert, and it was great fun to watch him on the stage with Bela Fleck and with Stevie Wonder and with James Taylor.

Recently I went to a Wynton Marsalis concert. Again I was amazed and totally entertained, loving the show. He performed with the Lincoln Center Jazz Ensemble, and his performance was uplifting and inspiring.

In both cases, it was a delight to see and hear these musicians. Their sounds are so true and seemingly effortless . . . such a joy for the audience.

In addition to the music, I noted something else about these men. They were completely comfortable with sharing the stage and the audience's attention with others.

They were gracious to fellow musicians and appeared totally content to solo or to perform in the background. Neither of them ever forced their way forward or -- as my grandmother used to say -- hogged the spotlight.

Perhaps that is the true measure of greatness -- not that you have what it takes to be a star, but having that star-power, you share its blessings with those around you.

Home

2007-10-01T18:43:00.000-07:00

Home.

It may be my favorite word, brimming with positive associations.

I know this isn't true for everyone. Many do not have happy memories of the home where they spent their younger years. And many do not have pleasant thoughts of the home of their adult years.

But I do.

Home to me means acceptance and welcome and safety. Home means good food, a clean bed, and warmth on cold winter days. Home means smiling faces and hugs and great storytelling.

In my mind, home conjures up visions of sitting around the table after a meal, talking with people I care about. Home brings to mind holiday celebrations. Home summons shared moments -- both happy and sad. Home means belonging. It's a word with deep meaning.

I think these feelings are why baseball's home plate has that name. I think it's why the main page of a web site is sometimes called the home page. It's why the cross-stitched "Home, sweet home" is iconic. (The folks who coined the names "Home Depot" and "The Home Store" knew all this.)

Home is one of those transcendent ideas -- utopian, ideal, resplendent with comfort.

Home -- the place we all long to be.

Seeing/not seeing

2007-09-24T13:11:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I was preparing dinner and began searching for the vegetable peeler. I knew what I was looking for: green plastic handle that splits to hold a peeling blade horizontally. I bought it at William Sonoma years ago, and it makes quick work of peeling a potato. I dug around in the kitchen drawer for several minutes and couldn't find it.

Only when I went into another room to get something did I remember that we had lost that peeler long ago and a while back I bought a new vegetable peeler. This one, from Bed, Bath, & Beyond, has a bulbous orange plastic handle and the peeler blade extends vertically from the base. It also is effective, but looks very different.

The interesting thing to me is that once I had the right picture in my head, I located the peeler in the drawer immediately.

My initial wrong expectation (green gadget) kept me from finding what I was seeking (orange gadget). I'm sure my eyes saw the orange handled peeler in the drawer, but the message never made it past my "expectation filter" to my brain.

This has happened to me before.

Arriving at the airport from out of town, I was expecting my husband to pick me up outside baggage claim. I was looking for his large SUV. I was positioned to see vehicles approaching from a great distance. He came into view and drove to the curb beside me before I recognized him -- because he was driving my little four-door car. Even though I am intimately familiar with my own car, it wasn't what I expected to see. My mental filter rejected it, failing to recognize my ride home.

One more example: several years ago I was shopping for groceries, looking for a bag of fritoes. I went up and down the chips aisle several times, unable to find the corn chips I wanted. Finally, after much frustration, I began examining closely each bag of chips. Only then, did I find the fritoes I wanted -- in newly redesigned packaging. It wasn't what I had expected to see. (Which calls for a different post on the importance of consistency in brand identity!)

In each of these examples, my expectations kept me from seeing reality. My physical ability to see was fine, but my mental filters sorted out any information that did not match my expectations. In each case, I thought I KNEW what I was looking for!

Now . . . . not spotting a vegetable peeler is no big deal.

But I wonder if I suffer from this same sort of blindness in other situations -- more important situations.

Wonder how often my expectations cause me to fail to see the reality about the people and circumstances around me? Wonder if it is possible to disable or override those filters?

Handiwork

2007-09-20T14:34:00.000-07:00

How often have you said with great glee, "I did it with my own hands!" Such an air of accomplishment floats around those words!

There is just something intrinsically satisfying about working with your hands.

Maybe it's the immediacy of it. Maybe it's the pride of doing something with no help from others.

Small children are delighted to be able to tie their own shoes -- to do it all by themselves. Older people enjoy a similar thrill when mastering a new skill.

But it isn't just new skills that yield this pleasure: yesterday I folded and stapled some booklets I had written, designed, fed through the copier, etc. I felt strangely successful when I completed the stack.

When I fold clothes from the drier and place them in drawers and shelves, I have such a feeling of completion and worth! (Yes, I know -- out of proportion joy. They are towels for goodness sake!)

I wonder if these simple pleasures are a reaction to the kinds of assignments most of us battle every day. Many of my daily tasks are collaborative; my part is a piece of the whole. It's hard to point to something and say that I (and I alone) did that.

I work with project teams and working groups and taskforces and committees. And as a result, I don't control the final product.

Also, in this "information age" so much work results in intangibles..... ideas, plans, messages, advice.

Occasionally, it's nice to do something visible, measurable with my own two hands.

Observations

2007-09-09T18:41:00.000-07:00

Morning exercise.

As I drove to work, I looked at the people in my subdivision getting their exercise along the road.

Just a few blocks from my house I see the same man almost every morning. I always wonder why he is has chosen to jog for exercise. He has his head down, trudging along, appearing to hate every step. I wonder: does he hate to jog, or (even worse) is that the way he approaches all of life?

Seemingly designed for contrast, a few streets over there is a man jogging along who has his head thrown back as though to soak up the blessings of the early morning. He has a pleasant look on his face, and although he is sweating, he seems delighted, expecting to see someone or something he likes.

Further along is the young mother, ponytail swinging, pushing one of those three-wheeled jogger strollers with baby all bundled up inside. Mom looks like the picture of good health and positive potential, trying hard to do the right things for herself and her child.

She swerves around and passes a very thin, very tan older woman in tennis clothes who is fast-walking with tremendous determination. Heel-toe-heel-toe, elbows pumping energetically. I imagine that she is mentally going over the list of the day's commitments . . . maybe a bridge game at ten . . . maybe a volunteer committee luncheon.

I enjoy observing people and imagining their lives. I'm fascinated by the endless variety of humans around me.

And I wonder how many of my snap assessments are close and how many are dead wrong.
Then I wonder what people surmise when they see me.

In the know

2007-09-06T20:50:00.000-07:00

Perhaps the most tantalizing thing on earth is a secret.

From our earliest days as children, we love secrets and we know the power they have. I have strong memories of kids chanting the sing-song, "I know something you don't know!" (I bet each of you filled in the tune when you read it!)

But it isn't just children. . . adults are just as susceptible to the lure of a secret.

In ancient days, the Gnostics, whose very name speaks of "knowing," devised an elaborate hierarchy of knowledge for adherents to discover.

Many other groups through the ages have used secret knowledge as the foundation for membership. That, of course, is the whole story behind the DaVinci Code, for example.

Sometimes it is as simple as a secret handshake to be able to get into the treehouse, but sometimes it is much more complex and sinister.

Marketing and advertising have taken advantage of this aspect of our psyche. How many campaigns have you seen that begin with a word or phrase plastered everywhere? Then once everyone begins to wonder what's going on, the product is unveiled. It works everytime.

You have probably noticed in many stores the ubiquitous book, The Secret. It's in bookstores and at Costco and probably will soon be at the gas station too. How we love anything that purports to be a secret!

I wonder about this almost irresistible desire to KNOW. I assume it is part of our DNA and that we are designed in our innermost selves to be seekers.

My mother used to tell me that 'curiosity killed the cat' -- a strange statement at best -- but it is probably our curiosity that determines the path we take in life. Can it be said: we are what we seek?

Greener grass

2007-09-03T15:54:00.001-07:00

From childhood I've heard the saying about the grass always being greener on the other side of the fence. And I've always laughed about it, as though I was immune to such a mistake.

At the same time, I've been prey to a similar error. It's not that I want things that other people have. It's not that I envy other people's lives or circumstances.

I've noticed that for me the "greener grass" is more likely to be a different point in my own life, my own situation. For instance, 'things will be great after I finish this project at work' or 'I just can't wait until it's cool again next fall' or whatever.

I think a lot of people do this, and it happens at all ages of life. Some are straining forward to the day they graduate, some to when they retire. Some are anticipating having a family, some are planning what they will do when the kids are out of the house.

It makes me think of the man who walked past the diamonds because he was searching for pearls.

I understand the psychological benefits of hope and the joys of anticipation. Like most things in life, though, I think there should be a balance -- while we enjoy the glow of things to come, I think we would benefit from learning to recognize the delights of today.

I think I'll hang a sign on my mirror reminding me to notice what's good about right here, right now.

dang it

2007-08-25T11:36:00.000-07:00

I wonder if I'm the only one bothered by these things?

When I buy a soft drink at the drive through window, and they hand me a cup with cola dripping off the sides and bottom of the cup so that when I move it across my lap to the cupholder, it drips on my business clothes.

When there is a left-over sock when I finish folding the clean clothes.

When someone leaves a message on my voicemail at the house or the office, and they say their phone number so fast that I can't distinguish the numbers. Even on the third listen.

When the stockers in the grocery store completely block the aisle with their boxes so that shoppers can't buy groceries. (Didn't they use to restock in the middle of the night when shoppers weren't around?)

When the dry cleaner presses the lapels on my business suit unevenly so that one lapel ends three inches higher than the other.

When someone leaves a wall of blinds adjusted at different heights and tilts.

Similarly, when someone leaves cabinet doors and drawers open.

When someone leaves toothpaste spit in the sink.

When clerks in department stores talk loudly to each other about their personal lives or their frustration with their jobs while I'm trying to pay them for purchases.

When mail arrives mangled.

When I pick up the wrong thing in the store and don't notice until I unpack the sack at home.

When a waiter serves my food with his thumb stuck in the edge of the edibles.

When drivers go slow in the left lane.

When I'm driving the speed limit in the left lane and drivers are mad because I'm not driving fast enough.

When no one at our dining table will eat the last piece of something (because it's last!) and it gets thrown away even though several people would have liked to have it.

unwritten lore

2007-08-20T18:59:00.000-07:00

When I was in the first, second, and third grades, I learned a variety of songs, poems, conventional wisdom, and jokes on the playground at recess.

Many of these strange pieces of oral history involved either a topic that couldn't be discussed with adults or the use of words that we were not generally allowed to pronounce out loud.

I always assumed that these elementary school discussions were particular to my school in my town. Imagine my surprise years later when I discovered that children in cities far from my hometown had learned the identical songs and jokes!

It was one of those late nights in the girls dorm at a university when somehow we began sharing the silly elementary school no-no's that we had repeated so deliciously when we were six or seven or eight years old. It was amazing to discover that regardless of which part of the U.S. the elementary school was located in, the same naughty poems were being recited.

At that time, young children did not have cell phones and internet connections. How did that unwritten lore travel across the nation with such accuracy? We know from the gossip game that a secret passed around rarely ends up as it began.

Certainly, the cadence and rhyming helped cement the consistency of the songs and poems. Perhaps it was the forbidden nature of the jokes that caused them to be repeated with such unerring accuracy.

I wonder if the communication principles of that very effective childish network are duplicated among adults. Maybe "old wives tales" are a similar form of communication outside standard communications channels. Maybe today's urban legends are a similar phenomenon.

Signs

2007-08-13T17:01:00.000-07:00

I love reading signs.

When driving across the U.S., I'm entertained by the small town combination businesses. Bob's auto repair and bait shop. Susie's florist and nail salon. I always wonder what caused them to add on the second part. Was business slow in the first business and the second was added on to fill the available time? Did Bob or Susie suffer a mid-life crisis and need a change?

Hair stylists seem to be unusually creative in naming their establishments. I liked "Metamorphesis" and "Hair and Hairafter." I was a little worried about the "Curl Up and Dye" shop and also "From Hair to Eternity."

The names of funeral homes also offer good possibilities. The one in my hometown was named for the owner, a man whose last name was Pickle.

I think they changed the name of the hospital that was named for Mr. Dedman.

On one of my road trips not long ago I was noticing how many storage facilities have been built in virtually every town along the highway. (Do we really have THAT much stuff!?) That's when I noticed the sign: Self Storage.

Immediately, my mind conjured up a wall of lockers where people could hide themselves away. The ads might be: "Rat race getting to you? We've got just the place for you!"

I guess the locks would have to be on the inside.

I wonder if that's where all the people on the milk cartons have gone?

Friend capacity

2007-08-09T06:00:00.000-07:00

Some people have one best friend. Some people have several very close friends or confidantes. Other people seem to have fairly strong connections to a large number of friends.

Some people have several close friends and a larger number of friends that are not so close. Other people seem to have an army of friends, but none of them are particularly intimate friends.

I wonder if people have a genetic code built into them that determines how many and what kind of friendships they will develop. Could you build three or five or more categories (type A: one close friend; type B: no close friend; many acquaintences; etc.) for the various models?

Thinking further, will a "Type A: one close friend person" never be able to sustain two close friends? That is, will that person end up changing close friends rather than adding a second close friend?

Or, if a person seeks a CLOSE friendship with a "Type B: no close friend" person, is that effort doomed from the start?

This line of thinking contemplates people as hardware with a certain number of ports available for connections. In this scenario, a person would be unable to change themselves to another category of person.

Or is the structure of relationships around a person more environmentally influenced? This might mean that when a person was in college he had more close relationships than later in life. Or that a married person might have more friends because of the development of couple to couple relationships.

After observing people for many years, I keep gravitating back to the genetic "friend capacity" idea. Some people seem simply unable to sustain many relationships, while others manage an extensive network of friends.

I wonder: is this just a matter of personal choice, or is it influenced by environment, or is it more a matter of the way we are constructed?

Comparisons

2007-08-02T05:26:00.000-07:00

I'm wondering about a strange principle: that we have to learn something new and different in order to fully understand something old and familiar.

In high school I studied Spanish; I actually learned more about the English language than I did about the new, foreign language. I learned new English vocabulary and finally understood some of the rules of English grammar.

I think that occurred because I benefited from being able to compare two things. By learning Spanish grammar, I could better understand English grammar -- by comparison.

This principle isn't limited to languages. I noticed the same pattern recently when I went to another country. I expected to learn about THEIR culture. In fact, I learned a lot about my own culture -- by comparison.

I learned that the fundamental American ideas of individualism and fairness are applied to the way we drive, the way we board a bus, and the way we approach meals. I never realized that I held strong (maybe unreasonable -- at least unfounded) preferences until I was around people who did not share those preferences.

This isn't to say that I am going to change my preferences. What I'm saying is that now I recognize my preferences and I understand them in light of a different way of thinking.

Interesting, isn't it, that we have to leave to understand where we are . . . that we have to give up things in order to value them . . . that we don't see clearly until we get some distance away.

The language of game-playing

2007-07-28T05:09:00.000-07:00

I watched the group shooting baskets. They ranged in age from around 17 to around 28. Earlier they had been struggling to communicate across language barriers.

They had exchanged names and then faltered as they tried to talk about more complicated topics. They wanted to build relationship, but language created more of a barrier than a bridge. Although they continued to smile at each other, frustration showed in body language.

Then someone bounced a basketball in the adjacent courtyard. First one drifted over to see what might be going on, then another moved that direction, hesitant to abandon the effort to talk.

Soon they were organized into teams, shooting baskets, laughing and enjoying each other's company. All signs of frustration melted away. They were connecting through a completely different language -- the universal language of game playing.

Over the week, the sound of a basketball in the courtyard was a frequent and joyous sound. They called each other's names in celebration of good shots, in teasing about bad shots, and in encouragement to fellow team members.

The same sort of camaraderie developed over an Uno game in the open air dining room, where otherwise shy members of the group were drawn into growing relationships within the familiarity of drawing cards, playing cards, and shouting Uno.

Having grown up in a game-playing family, I am aware of the relationship-building that results from playing together, sharing a game. Time spent over cards, dominoes, board games and so on creates opportunities for understanding each other and valuing each other.

Seeing the principle at work, however, in a situation where language connections did not exist made me wonder . . . what would happen at international summit meetings and other diplomatic/political gatherings if the various members played Uno or 42?

Vacation preparation

2007-07-16T22:06:00.000-07:00

I've been trying to prepare for a vacation. Sounds exciting, but in fact it is nerve-wracking and exhausting.

Once I decide to take some time off, it seems that every assignment in the world lands on my desk with an impossible turnaround time. The list grows daily until it seems insurmountable.

I work steadily, crossing off one task and then the next. Gradually, I see that there is no way I'm going to be able to accomplish everything on my list.

Finally, at the last possible moment I realize I will have to delegate -- as though that is the most awful fate in the world! Why do I fail to seek help from those around me? They are usually willing and in some cases glad to pitch in.
What is it about me that causes me to try to go it alone, take care of everything myself without assistance?

Is this a character flaw or poor training or lack of a good role model or what?

I know I benefit greatly from taking time off, getting away from the office. It may also be that I benefit greatly from being forced to hand off my tasks to someone else occasionally.

Maybe being forced to rely on someone else once in while is a valuable learning experience in itself.

Self-talk

2007-07-14T06:01:00.000-07:00

I assume that everyone has a voice inside themselves.

That voice that does a running commentary on what is happening, on people who come across your path, on things that need to be remembered, on what kind of person you are.

From my own experience, that voice can be a demanding taskmaster and a hypercritical nag. It sometimes gets stuck on you ought to do this and why didn't you do that and why did you say that?!

I find that it is important from time to time to assess the content of that self-talk..... do an audit of just exactly what sort message is playing inside my head.

I've learned that the voice can depress me and make it hard for me to succeed.

I've learned that I can discipline that voice to make it more helpful. I don't have to be a victim of my own self-talk.

I wonder what it would be like if we could hear other people's self-talk; it might go a long way to helping us understand other people. We might be really stunned by their perspectives on the world.

Expectations

2007-07-12T16:29:00.000-07:00

I heard a swimming coach talk today about various competitive swimmers he had coached over the years. His comment was that his swimmers were in some cases limited by his own expectations of them.

He talked specifically of one young person he coached over an eight year period. This person was not built like (did not have the body of) a championship swimmer. Based on that, he was not surprised that this person started races strong (and fast) but finished with no power (and last!)

Through a series of unexpected circumstances, this swimmer had an opportunity for success, and fellow teammates rallied around to encourage, support, cheer this person on. The coach thought secretly that it was nice, but futile.

The swimmer rose to the occasion and far exceeded previous achievements.

The coach noted that his own expectations had been holding back the swimmer's full effort. I wonder how much (how often) we are limited by others' expectations of us.

Even more seriously, I wonder how much we are limited by our own expectations of ourselves.

Views of the world

2007-07-07T13:27:00.000-07:00

I've had a theory for some time now about how different individuals see the world around us in different ways.

This theory arose over time because I noticed that I tend to advert to color more than other people do. When I see a group of cars, I notice the colors -- to the exclusion of all other information. I don't notice the make, the condition, or even the drivers inside.

When I shop for clothes, I see color. When I shop for furniture, I see color. In my office I have file folders in various colors to help me sort them. I keep colored paper around so that I can print drafts of documents of a distinctive color, allowing me to know at a glance which is which. For years (when I used to have a paper calendar of appointments) I color coded the entries. You get the idea.

At first, I thought everyone had the same perspective I do. But then I gradually realized that there are people who sort the world around them based on other criteria. Some people sort based on factual datasets. Some people sort based on patterns. Some people are even color blind, for goodness sake!

If indeed our eyes are wired to our minds differently. . . if our visual assessments are communicated in different languages to our brains -- before the effects of our learning or experience or whatever can be applied . . . then I wonder how much of my view of the world is based on how I am hard-wired from the beginning?

And how does that play into our ability to communicate with each other?

Boundaries/Markers

2007-07-04T12:13:00.000-07:00

Recently I heard a man say that football wouldn't be much of a game if there were no sidelines and goal lines. He said the boundaries create the playing field, inform us what is out of line, and let us know when to cheer.

It reminded me a bit about developing marketing plans. We always build into the plan measurable goals. We plan in advance to track the results of our marketing efforts -- so that we will know when to celebrate success.

I've heard experts say that children have to have boundaries in order to learn what is acceptable in life and what isn't. A child reared with no rules grows up with no context for his/her own behavior. And a child that tests boundaries does not really want the rules removed; quite the opposite: the child most often wants the boundary confirmed, wants to be able to count on stable contextual cues.

Markers are also important to children. Birthdays are the most obvious example. Moving to the next grade in school is another one. Other important ones are getting a driver's license, getting a job, graduation ceremonies.

Considering boundaries and markers made me think about the rhythms of adult life. There is a comfort associated with schedules and responsibilities. I remember after my dad retired that he joked about Wednesdays being a big day because it was trash day so for him there was something to do that day of the week! Apparently, for some retirement is challenging because it stretches into the future like a vast wasteland with no markers or boundaries.

I'm wondering if the issue of 'context' for our lives -- set by boundaries and markers -- is one of those fundamental needs we humans have. After all, we have to have some way of knowing when we are out of bounds and when to celebrate.

Listening

2007-07-02T18:33:00.000-07:00

Why is listening so hard?

In communications theory classes, professors note that the part of the communications model that fails most often is the listening (or receiving) segment.

Articles in the Wall Street Journal report that U.S. corporations lose gazillions of dollars each year because of employees' failure to LISTEN. Because instructions aren't followed and tasks must be redone. Because customer orders are taken down incorrectly. And on and on.

In terms of relationships, we fail because we don't listen to each other.

Why is listening so hard?

Perhaps because of the fundamental human condition: we are more interested in ourselves than we are in anyone else!

I'm wondering what would happen if each of us tried an experiment. What if each of us vowed to listen attentively to just one other person each day. What if each of us quit thinking of our next brilliant comment; what if each of us totally focused on another person once a day.

My dad used to tell me, "You have two ears and one mouth. Use them accordingly."

More on universal competitiveness

2007-06-30T14:15:00.000-07:00

I'm a fan of Dr. Deborah Tannen. She is a sociolinguist and has written several insightful, really practical books about conversation and communication. One of her books, The Argument Culture, examines the way we communicate in public -- in the media, in politics, in our courtrooms and classrooms.

She describes "the pervasive warlike atmosphere that makes us approach anything we need to accomplish as a fight between two opposing sides -- urging us to regard the world in an adversarial frame of mind."

She notes the "point-counterpoint" approach on tv.

She notes that typical reporting requires a quote from both sides of the issue -- as though there are two and only two sides to any topic. In some cases, that leads to elevating a much less compelling view to an equal position, and in other cases, over-simplifying very complex issues by ignoring valid points (we just want BOTH sides!) when it would be most helpful to have all aspects brought forward.

Very interesting.
I recommend her books.

This "argument culture" and the implied need to be RIGHT (proving everyone else WRONG) seems to me to be an example of the universal application of competitiveness.

I wonder if you have seen any evidences of what I am calling injudicious competitiveness?

Competitiveness vs. Collaboration

2007-06-28T15:27:00.000-07:00

We do champion competitiveness.

We chide people to 'get your head in the game.' If something isn't fun, we say 'where's the sport in that?'

And competition does have its place.

It shouldn't, however, be the natural default mode for all circumstances.

One example: the three-lane parkway I drive to and from work is not the place for competitiveness, but on the road I see more and more evidence of challenges, people vying for the best position, winning/losing, and so on.

In my pollyanna head, I wonder how driving might be improved if we all had a collaborative approach to getting from here to there. Isn't the goal for all of us to arrive at our destinations safely? Aren't we 'sharing the road' ? Doesn't my safety depend to some degree on your safety, and isn't my arrival somehow linked with your arrival?

Yeah, yeah. I know. Competition is fun.

I just wonder about the wisdom of our universal application of competitiveness.
More thoughts on this later.

Having stuff

2007-06-26T04:49:00.000-07:00

Architecture can tell us a lot.

When I visit historic log cabins, I always wonder at the single bare room and its one mantle or shelf for storage. It makes me realize how little in the way of possessions these early Americans had!

Fast forward 150 years to my grandmother's house -- and the storage possibilities are not a whole lot better. She had a distinct paucity of cabinets in the kitchen and if you wanted storage in the bedroom you had to buy a piece of furniture called a wardrobe. Houses just didn't have closets.

In the 50's my mother's house was brand new and included a tiny, shallow closet in each bedroom, a small cabinet for linens in the bathroom, half-again more kitchen cabinets than her mother had, and an attached single car garage that provided a nook for the washing machine.

When my parents bought their new house in the 60's, builders were touting their walk-in pantries in the kitchen, utility rooms inside the house, and double garages with storage areas!

The house I live in now (built in the mid-1980s) has a walk-in closet in each bedroom, built-in shelves and walls of built-in cabinets throughout the house, extensive cabinets in the kitchen, finished attic space, and on and on.

Today, brand new houses in my area feature master bedroom closets the size of rooms and three car garages.

And if that isn't enough, recent years have seen the rise of the storage industry. I can rent an additional off-site storage area in case I have too much stuff for my house -- or have one of those retangular portable storage things placed on my driveway.

One of the most popular stores is the Container Store where you can buy expensive closet "systems" to organize the overflowing stuff in closets.

We've moved from having very little . . . to a fixation on storing and organizing our stuff. I'm wondering if we have a tail-wagging-the-dog situation here. As a society, we seem to have become servants to our possessions.

Civilities

2007-06-24T11:50:00.000-07:00

I'm trying to learn Russian.

It's an uphill battle. First, it uses a different alphabet....36 letters! Second, my teacher-on-CD often says, "Listen closely. This is not a sound used in English" so I find myself twisting my mouth into strange contortions to try to imitate (mostly unsuccessfully) these strange syllables!

But I've noticed something interesting about this gutteral, consonant-filled language. (Honestly, I think more than half the words I've learned begin with consonant combinations like SDR, or ZN, or GD, or SD!) But what I've noticed is not the construction of the words, it's the thought behind the construction of the sentences. Even though the Russian language sounds rough, the actual content of the words is quite courteous.

The teacher explains the prevalent use of 'excuse me' and various introductory phrases such as 'tell me please' and so on. Apparently, the common Russian language involves a courtesy, an almost formal civility.

It causes me to reflect on our get-to-the-point American conversation. By contrast, we sound abrupt. No wonder people from other cultures think we are rude. We might call our approach concise or efficient, but compared with others around the world, Americans probably sound uncaring and brusque.

I'm reminded of articles I've read about cross cultural business dealings: they often mention the fact that in other cultures people take time to get to know each other before they do business together. From what I read, American businessmen have offended many prospective foreign business partners by rushing to the deal without taking time for the relationship building.

The idea of taking time to be courteous and respectful to people around us, I think, is a fundamental transcendent principle.

I'm going to practice talking more courteously. So it takes a few more minutes . . . I'll consider it an investment of some sort. My contribution toward a more civil world.

Celebration

2007-06-22T16:05:00.000-07:00

When did we forget how to be joyous?

Have you watched a little kid lately? Little kids are filled with delight at the smallest things. They view the world with wonder and awe. It's so refreshing to be around them and see the world through their eyes.

Somewhere along the way we grow sober, passive, not inclined to show our joy -- assuming we still have sparks of joy buried deep inside. It's as though someone told us that in order to look grown up we had to grow glum.

And as we grow older, I think somewhere along the way we just get out of the habit of celebrating. In the rush of things to do and responsibilities, taking time for wonder and awe gets shuffled to the bottom of the list.

I'm coming to believe that joy and celebration are CHOICES in this life. It's up to us to decide to take time to delight in people, in things, in the moment.

I'm thinking that delight is something that we have to exercise, something that can become a part of us again -- if we desire it and are willing to make time for it.

I'm going to work on getting my celebration glands going again.

About Belonging

2007-06-17T16:01:00.000-07:00

I heard Russell Quaglia speak a few days ago. He has researched the connection between student aspirations and academic success -- and has identified eight conditions in schools that affect student aspirations. His work is interesting, but I've been thinking about one particular thing he mentioned.

The first condition he recommends that schools cultivate has to do with creating the sense of belonging while preserving the individuality of the student. He noted that the scariest thing about school is not the AP Physics or the high stakes testing or college acceptance. He says the scariest thing about school is walking into the lunchroom alone..... the fear of having no one to sit with.

He talked about how to increase the likelihood of 'belonging' in schools, but he went on to say that the need for belonging doesn't go away when we become adults. His comments made me think of the many situations where adults crave that sense of belonging and the many coping mechanisms people devise.

A friend commented after hearing Quaglia that the success of the organization where I work is related to the active way we extend "belonging" to newcomers.

I assume that the deep, fundamental need to belong has played itself out in many ways in our society......in Welcome Wagons for folks who move into a town, maybe in the greeters at WalMart, belonging to country clubs, belonging to churches, maybe being a member of Sam's, and so on.

I'm going to watch for more signs of this need for belonging and how it is manifested in the people and circumstances around me. I think this deserves more attention.

Wondering about Aloneness

2007-06-14T18:32:00.000-07:00

Tonight I'm alone. I'm in another town, away from home, family, friends. I'm disconnected.

Strangely, I'm reading Blue Like Jazz, and this evening I read the chapter titled "Alone." Miller says, "Other people keep our souls alive, just like food and water does with our body." He tells a series of stories about isolation and how it can harm a person's ability to interact with others.

I've always cherished my alone time. I seek out quiet because there has been so little of it in my life. But I think Miller is right: when I choose too much alone time -- in preference to the people (and their needs) around me -- I get out of balance in my world somehow.

The right amount of alone time is refreshing; too much is debilitating. When I avoid people for a while, it's as though the velcro "social hooks" in my personality atrophy. I move farther from people, farther from being able to interact well.

Perhaps "community" is less noun and more verb -- something to be practised, honed, developed -- a skill that should be sought. Perhaps community should be considered a spiritual discipline.

Wondering about Acceptance

2007-06-11T11:30:00.000-07:00

Today I'm wondering why there isn't more acceptance in this ole world. Where did people get the idea that we are in the rejection business? Is it fear that leads to the mindset of rejection...fear of rejection, so we reject first as a defensive measure?

Acceptance does not in any way diminish the acceptor. Freely I receive, freely I give.

Last night I saw a big auditorium filled with people gathered for the purpose of accepting. It was refreshing. The smell of hope was in the air.

Then later I saw an old veteran of many battles taking the time to accept a young female graduate student on the verge of entering her own world of professional challenges. His kindness and affirmation was inspiring.

Today I'm resolved to be more generous with my acceptance.