Page 105 of 121

Save for the Children

Michael Leave a comment

Way back on our first post we warned everybody that we would not be politically correct.  It takes much too much effort to worry about which word du’jour one is using to describe which group du’week.  If we’re speaking to a friend we already know what he or she wants to be called.  Usually, it’s friend.  Otherwise, we call ‘em as we see ‘em.  But, we aren’t mean, we aren’t cruel, and we don’t attack.  We’re now a bit concerned that we aren’t the only ones who find all this searching for just the proper noun tedious.  We’re not so certain we’re ready to give up solo possession of our serendipitous stance.

We recently saw on TV a promo spot for an upcoming premiere one of what cable networks pass off as reality shows.   This show is the one about the two little people who were recently married and have been struggling to have children.  Rather than give up a lucrative television career, they decide to adopt.  We might be a little bit off with that synopsis but it should be good enough so that you don’t confuse this little people couple with the other little people couple who already have a whole family of all size peoples.  We don’t think they’re on TV any more except for perhaps afternoon reruns.  But we digress. In the promo the announcer announces that these little people are ready to embark on their next life-changing voyage as they prepare to adopt a Chinese baby.  What happened to Asian?  We thought we weren’t supposed to call any of those people by whatever country from which they hail but to wrap them up into the all-encompassing “Asian” sobriquet.

But here is where we get somewhat serendipitous.  Rather than us sitting on our respective couches and having a time at what to call people, we instead became concerned for all the children who were now not going to get to be television stars.  Those are all the babies in this country who could use an adoptive home.  Could we not find room on a reality show for the reality of who knows how many children living in the same country as the little couple who also need parents?  Or has it now become politically correct to prejudicially prefer foreign orphans.

These two are probably going to make pretty good parents.  They are both well educated, well spoken, well raised individuals with good jobs and an extra gift of gab sufficient for getting themselves a TV show that follows them through their normal days.  Some unfortunate American (Asian American, African America, Austrailian American, European American, or Native American) child could do worse.  But we’ll never know since their plane has already landed on the other side of the world.

We don’t know how many children are waiting for adoption, here or there.  In researching for this post we weren’t able to uncover a consistent number.  We found many adoption services and they are all ready to talk about adopting children with special needs, about lesbians and gays adoption assistance, about the rights of foster parents after adoption, and about barriers to and remedies for minority and transracial adoption.  We found little about the children.

So while these pseudo-celebrities follow the footsteps of bona fide celebrities into the adoption arena, those close to home continue to be shuffled among foster homes, are forced to trade school appearances for court appearances, and grow up secure in the knowledge that not even little people want them. Sorry, that might not have been politically correct.

You can always tell a union member by his or her car.  It’s the one with the bumper sticker that says, “Buy American.”  Perhaps that should go for the kids also.

Now, that’s what we think. Really. How ‘bout you?

 

Weddings Held Hostage

Michael Leave a comment

A few weeks ago we read in the local paper a feature article on the growing trend of couples so to be married not registering at the local silversmith shop but on line where guests and regretters can chose to fund pieces of their honeymoon.  Although this trend has been trending for a while, we are somewhat uncertain as to how we feel about it.  There was a time not too long ago when a couple who didn’t want gifts included “No Gifts Please” on their invitations.  A few guests felt then, and a few probably still feel now, that bringing a gift was their obligation and brought one anyway.  Virtually everyone else who attended would instead bring a card stuffed with money, gift cards, or trade secrets.  Apparently cash isn’t considered a gift by giver or receiver.

But today, no gifts means “we’re on a budget and if we want to make those reservations at Emeril’s we need to know if we’re going to be able to afford it.  Since we know we can’t on our own, we’re looking for someone to pony up the bucks for if for us so we can book our table now.”

As we perused deeper into that article we read of a couple that was opting for the honeymoon registry because they will be doing a destination wedding and couldn’t afford both trips.  It was here that we stopped and decided we didn’t like either idea.

The destination wedding has been around for generations.  It used to be called elopement.  Two people wanted to be married with little pomp given whatever their circumstance and fled the hometown, returning a weekend later ready to have people over to ooh and aah at the rings.  Now, either due to remarkable greed or extraordinary selfishness, couples are deciding that just because they’ve always wanted to get married on the beach, or the mountaintop, or the canopy of a rain forest, they don’t want to give up 200 of their closest friends and the accompanying gifts.  So they just move the wedding elsewhere and hope the most prosperous follow and the rest send checks with their regrets.

We love celebrating friends’ life changes.  Only a nw baby can be a bigger change than a new marriage.  And as such we hate to ever have to consider sending regrets.  But if two people were to tell us that in order to celebrate with them we have to give up our vacation time and savings to go where we hadn’t planned, we’d be quite regretful.  If those same people then said, “While you’re figuring out how to come up with the time and money to get to our wedding, go take a look at our website and see what parts of our honeymoon you’d like to finance,” we’d say, “Ummm, really sorry.”

Our gift is given to provide pleasure to the receiver and to make them think of the special connection between us, not to make them think of how many more pledges they need for the snorkel package.  Destination weddings and honeymoon registries?  It might be a little old fashioned but we’re beginning to think that if a couple doesn’t want to get married at home among friends and family and doesn’t want gifts at the reception afterwards, maybe they should consider eloping.

Now, that’s what we think. Really. How ‘bout you?

Cleanliness is next to the side of the road

Michael Leave a comment

The story goes that back in the Sixties, Lady Bird Johnson needed a “First Lady Project.”  Back then the First Ladies didn’t plan on making a run for their own presidency their project.  They concentrated on more homey topics.  One of Mrs. Johnson’s was litter.  Actually, it was anti-litter, particularly along our highways.  The Highway Beautification Act of 1965 was the result of her campaign to make the American roadsides more beautiful places.   The Act mostly addressed billboards and roadside businesses, but there was a third part that concerned itself with cleaning up those roads.

Keep America Beautiful isn’t just a slogan, it’s a non-profit organization founded in 1953 with exactly that goal in mind.  For sixty years and now through 563 affiliates, KAB promotes keeping it clean.  Between Mrs. Johnson, Keep America Beautiful, and the hundreds of thousands of volunteers who spend every weekend somewhere picking up roadside trash, you’d think the US highway system would be clean enough to eat off.  We’re here to tell you it isn’t.

Now that spring is here and the mounds of snow aren’t lining the highways, mounds of plastic bags, sandwich containers, bottles, cans, pieces of furniture, whole furniture, mattresses, old clothes, cardboard boxes, dead animals, and car parts line the highways.  That’s not a theoretical list, that’s what we have actually seen, with our own eyes, just over the past few days.  We wonder how some of the stuff gets there.  He of We was driving along an Interstate highway when he had to do a double-take to make sure that was a set of 4 chairs along the median.  She of We pointed out a front bumper of what appeared to be a late model car.  Now we have to ask, if there was an accident and it pulled away your bumper, shouldn’t someone take it along with the dead car when it gets towed away?

So enough of this littering.  First of all, we want everyone to stand up, raise his or her right hand, and swear (or affirm) that nobody will ever throw anything out of a moving or un-moving vehicle.  If you finish your Big Mac you will wait until you get home to throw away the bag.  If you are hiding unauthorized eating from your spouse or partner, stop at a gas station before you get home and throw the evidence away in one of their cans.

Now that we can prevent a little, let’s clean up a lot.  We want everyone to pick up the trash that is in front of your house.  It’s there.  It might only be an egg carton that fell out of the trash can when the garbage detail was out last week, or a few cigarette butts that somebody tossed out a window since cars don’t have ashtrays any more.  Pull on a pair of gloves and clean up your space.  “I didn’t do it” is not an excuse.

And finally, if you should have an accident, and believe us when we say we hope there are never any more accidents, but if you should have one, please clean up your car parts.

Now, let’s get out there and do some Spring Cleaning for everyone in the world to enjoy.  Or next week we’ll tell you about Lady Bird’s other projects with the Head Start Program.

Now, that’s what we think. Really. How ‘bout you?

 

Take a Letter

Michael Leave a comment

For the second time this month we get to say that regular readers know that we have from time to time umm, expressed our displeasure at the service we’ve received from those for whom providing a service is their job but we are breaking from that refrain and saying what a terrific week, and often at the hands of others, that we’ve had.

It’s been a busy week for us at work, both of us extending a bit from our regular routines.  Yet we managed to get through another week at our workplaces where there were plenty of opportunities to confirm that there is a reason it is indeed called work.  Some people actually smiled.

They smiled so much so that we actually got to the weekend not completely needing it to be 12 days long to provide our requisite rejuvenation to start again on Monday.  The normal number of days should suffice.  And although the weekend held quite a few opportunities for people to amaze us at their poor choice of profession, they often did just the opposite.  Saturday morning we were wandering, and apparently looking every bit the part, around a not so nationally known home improvement store. Unfortunately there are only 15 of these centers but at every one we hope there were employees just as BUSY as BEAVERS at finding what their customers needed as they were at the one we visited.  We had at least 5 people come to us and ask if we needed any help finding anything.  And it wasn’t that robotic-like inquiry.  These people really wanted to help.  So much so that the first one who asked us actually did help us find the odd wall treatment we were looking for and expressly went then to look knowing if we didn’t see it right off, there would be someone to direct us.

We got to end our weekend on just as high a note as we were wandering, and this time we really did know to where, around a furniture showroom looking for some occasional tables.  As usual when entering one of those types of stores we were greeted by a commission based sales person and when we said we were just looking he went away.  Just like that.  And let us look.  When we found that we needed help we sought him out and as we were transacting our business found him to be such a personable person that we were ready to invite him out for a banana split.  No, we really didn’t, but we did find that he offered his suggestions based on what we told him we were looking for, the space they would fill, and purpose served and not on what was on hand, in stock, and not on sale.

So we had a couple good store visits.  What has any of that to do with the title of this piece?  Well, that’s the piece to end all pieces when it comes to customer service.  You’ll recall that we mentioned in the recent post, “Paging Doctor Bombay,” that we were at the doctors recently.  Actually for the two weeks before that piece was posted to about another two weeks from this one, Both of We will have made ten visits to various doctors.  It’s the time of year to have everything from head to toe checked on so we’ve out there visiting everyone from eye doctors to foot doctors.  And it was the foot doctor who threw us for the proverbial, and if we were young enough, the literal loop.

In “Paging Doctor Bombay” we proposed that a physician with a sense of humor would have the best bedside manner.  Maybe not a sense of humor as much as a sense of human.  Someone who has been where we are and knows the healing power of kindness.  In fact we ended with the supposition that “a cheerful heart is good medicine.”  She of We may have found our Doctor Bombay.  It was during the past week about 4 days after visiting the podiatric Doctor Bombay that She of We emptied her mailbox on the way into her house.  She noticed among the pile the sort of envelope that announces by size and shape that it is either an invitation to some event or a thank you from some other.  It was the thank you. But not a thank you for a gift she has presented to any one or a service she had rendered at any time.  It was a thank you from that very foot doctor.  “Thank you for allowing us to participate in your care.”  There was more.  And not just there was more that was written but that there was more.  It was written, as in hand written.  A doctor, taking the time to hand write a thank you note to a new patient.  Letting her know that regardless of what others in the health care business might think, it is a business and one that lives or dies on the service that is rendered.

That was enough to take both of us back more than a few steps and be amazed that there are people who recognize that without customers, there is no business.  Not clients, not consumers, not patrons or visitors or users.  Not even patients.  Customers.  Customers deserving of customer service.  And a thank you for being one.

Now, that’s what we think. Really. How ‘bout you?

 

 

Cymbaling Rivalry

Michael Leave a comment

Often enough we find ourselves reading articles in the paper about the death of a well-to-doer who leaves his or her fortune to the children.  Most of the time the children are well into adulthood but never outgrew the petulance of spoiled rich kids.  All too often among the often enough, the children left behind are unhappy with what they inherited.  They may not have been around for earning it but that doesn’t stop them from expecting it.  Battle lines are drawn, bad manners invoked, lawyers called, and siblings who had little to do with each other begin to publicly denounce each other claiming that Daddy planned on changing the will but just didn’t get around to it.

So it was refreshing that we read about a pair of siblings who didn’t resort to the courtroom to solve their issues and in the process created double the good stuff that the family was known for.  Refreshing, but sad for we learned of the story of these siblings on the death of the younger.

If you have ever been on the instrument side of a band – concert, jazz, marching, or garage – you have probably grabbed a stick and started tapping on a drum.  As your boldness grew, you aimed that maple rod and patted out a beat or two on the shiny disk delicately balanced on its stand.  And the tone was nothing like what you expected.  Chances are you just experienced your first Zildjian, or perhaps Sabian. Certainly one of the two which are the two biggest players in cymbal-dom.  In fact, Zildjian is so synonymous with cymbals that the name means “Son of a Cymbal Maker” and was bestowed on the family by the royals of 17th century Constantinople when the first of the cymbal makers discovered a metal mix that resulted in unequaled musical tone.  And for 260 years the Zildjians were the best at making what they made.

For almost all of those years the mantle of maintaining the family’s place in philharmonic peerage, and the family secret to make the alloy from what those shiny disks are cast, was passed each generation to the oldest son.  That was until Avedis Zildjian passed in 1979. He had two sons, Armand the oldest, and Robert who had been running the company.  It may have been because of Robert’s heavy involvement with the family business that Avedis did not leave the business, and the family secret, to Armand; rather he left them to both.  In keeping a bit of the tradition, he left controlling interest of the company to the elder brother.

Here is where in soap operas and the real reality of the 21st century that lawyers would be summoned.  Brother would stand against brother and destroy the work of generations and the joy of the masses.   But in the coolness that goes to show that brothers can still be brotherly, the two decided to split the company, Armond maintaining control of the Zildjian name and the company that bears it and Robert getting the family secret but not permission to use the family name to work his mastery at a new company.  That company would become Sabian. (Robert was still a strong family man and gave his new company his family name.  Sort of.  He came up with the name by taking the first two letters of his three children, Sally, Bill, and Andy.)     

And it went that instead of one brilliant cymbal maker, the world got two.  And instead of a divisive family battle with no one a winner, the world gets a lesson that rivalry, even the sibling kind, isn’t always a bad thing, it’s just a thing.  It’s just a shame someone had to die for that lesson to be learned.   

Now, that’s what we think. Really. How ‘bout you?

 

Get In Line

Michael Leave a comment

Regular readers know we aren’t good waiters. Lines do not thrill us. Some people find themselves very comfortable standing still behind tens of other people also standing still. We don’t. We especially don’t want to be behind many other people waiting to eat. Just a few days ago we got to combine our displeasure of waiting with our dislike for lines.

It was over the weekend that we were at one of our favorite things, a springtime maple festival. Being in the American north east we are surrounded by maples. Trees in general take up almost every square foot of land around that hasn’t already been turned into Class A office space or $300,000 McMansions. (Has anyone else noticed that nobody ever builds Class B office space? What if we don’t want private elevators, multi-zone climate control, and integrated security/entertainment software? But that’s a post for a different day.)

We were saying, trees in general are big here. And among them, oak and maple top the list. You can’t get anything out of an oak except some really cool shade in the summer and habitats for little woodland creatures all year long. And a lot of maples will never yield more than solid wood furniture. But the sugar maple has that special something running through its veins, if it had veins for anything to run through. And that something is sap and with enough sap you get syrup and with syrup you get the classic Maple Festival. If it’s indeed a classic, you have hot, homemade pancakes. With pancakes made out of freshly milled flour and fresh boiled syrup you get lines. Lines of well over a couple hundred people long waiting for hours to get to the pancakes to pour the syrup over. We don’t understand it.   We’ll buy the flour and the syrup and have our own. And while everyone else is standing in line, we’ll visit the hundred or so vendors that show up with the handmade crafts to sell while the festival folk sell their handmade syrup. We like it. We buy it. We just don’t want to stand in a line for it.

Yet many do. And as we were driving ourselves home that afternoon we started to wonder, just what would we be willing to stand in line for. We’ve never stood in line for tickets to concerts or theaters or sporting events. We’ve gone to many but we don’t pitch a tent the night before to get the best seat. With a few exceptions, the best seat is usually the one in front of the television anyway. We’ve never stood in line for a store to open on Black Friday. We would stand in line to go back to bed the day after Thanksgiving but not to buy one. We once stood in line to get three (yes, three) autographs of three (yes, three) hockey players. If we were so fond of baseball or opera or professional badminton we might have once stood in line for autographs of their great ones but we aren’t so we didn’t and even for hockey we might not again.

Some lines you have to stand in. You’ll never board a plane without first standing in line at the security checkpoint and then again at the gate boarding ramp. If you didn’t print your boarding pass at home the day before add the line at the ticket counter to get one of them before you hit the other two. And if you check baggage through there are lines to check it and then to wrestle it off the conveyor belt. With luck, you’ll never have to stand in the line to determine where they lost it. Airports are not happy places for people who don’t like lines.

And what about you? Line stander, line jumper? Line aficionado, or line abhorrer? Oh, did we mention that in order to get to that festival with the line of people waiting for their pancakes we had to wait in line for the shuttle to take us to the festival grounds? We had no choice; it was either that or walk 3 miles from the parking lot. We know where to draw the line.

Now, that’s what we think. Really. How ‘bout you?

Paging Doctor Bombay

Michael 1 Comment

Both of We were to the doctor recently.  We made a discovery there.  Independently, and without even chatting with each other until we were both on familiar barstools, we mean familiar ground, we decided on our perfect doctor.  As kindly as he may have been in prime time, we don’t want Marcus Welby.  As hard as he worked to save his patients, we don’t want Hawkeye Pierce.  As smart as he was, we definitely don’t want Doogie Howser.  No, we want Dr. Bombay.

Everybody remembers Dr. Bombay from the Bewitched television series from the 60’s.  Even those not born until the 80’s remember Bernard Fox’s character, Dr. Bombay, the literal witch doctor who tended after Samantha and her bewitching relatives.  There’s our perfect primary care physician.  One who can shrug off what happens to patient number 4 in the scenario that 3 out of 4 make a complete recovery.  One who understands that medicine is not an exact science and knowing how to care for his patient isn’t brain surgery.  One who heeds the adage, laughter is the best medicine.  Even if it isn’t covered by most health plans.

A few years ago He of We’s doctor gave him a year to drop 20 unnecessary pounds. No reason, no plan, no sympathy.  Just do it.  A year later, without referencing the previous year’s instruction, his doctor gave him a year to lose 30 pounds.  Dr. Bombay would have remembered.  Dr. Bombay would have popped in every few weeks to see what progress was being made and would have brought along his favorite weight loss device, exercise routine, or diet modification.

We can see Dr. Bombay having that discussion.  He would pantomime his upper body rocking back and forth as he works out on his elliptical machine and swinging his arms about as he swims across the room.  And then he would end it all with “And keep up with the fiber.  If you can’t hold back on the breads, at least eat healthy. Wot, wot, don’t you know?”

The supporting cast needs to be of good humor also.  She of We’s doctor’s nurse was busy with her preliminaries at her appointment.  She began quietly professional.  That’s euphemistic for cold and unfriendly.  Take the blood pressure, take the pulse, take the temperature.  Normal, normal, normal.  “How old are you? What drugs are you taking? None! Really!  How old are you?  No wonder you’re normal.”  We made up that last line, but she did smile.

That’s when Dr. Bombay would have stepped into the examination room and began to try to pick up the nurse.  And there is where some things are going to have to remain the realm of television fiction.  But other than that there are lots of things that our students of Hippocrates can learn from Dr. Bombay, like a cheerful heart is good medicine, and that we all put on our paper gowns one leg at a time.

Now, that’s what we think. Really. How ‘bout you?

Apology Accepted

Michael Leave a comment

It’s the first of the month and for us that means cell phone payment time.  In the past we’ve been known to complain about the lack of customer service we almost always get from banks, insurance companies, the cable company, and assorted utilities. Well we’ve discovered one service that we find quite customer-friendly.

Both of We have the same cell phone carrier.  We’re not ones to drop names but someone will ask and we’re quite happy with it so why not share.  Our service is the one that comedians seem to relish poking fun at for their customer service and we don’t understand why because we’ve received stellar service from ours.  Ours is Sprint.

Both of us arrived at Sprint separately, after horrendous customer service disasters at the hands of our previous carriers, the two biggest and fastest and bestest carriers of them all.   At least that’s what they say.  They don’t say that they are the worst customer oriented companies in the phone service marketplace.  So bad are those two, or perhaps just so big are those two, that when Each of We told our former carrier that we were leaving them, we were actually told to go right ahead and leave.

So why do we think Sprint is so good.  Both of We have had issues that required warranty service or contract questions and all of those issues were handled quite conscientiously and quite handily by human beings.  One minor point is that we did once tried to pay a bill to a human being and the idea of money seemed a little confusing to her so we stopped doing that.  What we do is pay on line, at a kiosk in the store, or most often by phone.  That’s not surprising.  Probably close to 99% of all phone users do the same.  What we notice every month when we pay is that we get a happy recorded voice who guides us through their menu of do you want to pay your bill, this is how much you owe and do you want to pay that amount, and finally do you want to use the same payment method as last time?  That’s all.  No enter your 12 digit account number, your 10 digit phone number, your 5 digit ZIP Code.  No user names.  No passwords.  Just 3 questions, a couple of quick pushes on the number 1, and then the pleasant voice says, “Your payment has been accepted.  Please be aware that it may take up to 15 minutes to be recorded throughout our system.”  Other companies say that it will take up to 3, 7, or even 10 business days to credit your account so please write down this very long confirmation number and plan on someone calling you later to ask for more money.

Anybody who has ever checked out his or her bank account on line minutes after making a phone or computer payment knows that within those same minutes that payment has already been syphoned out of the bank.  Why aren’t all of those payments just as immediately posted as paid at the company that is doing the syphoning?  Yet the one company that almost immediately posts the payment apologizes because it’s not as immediate as they would like it.  Maybe that’s something the other companies can figure out how to do just as fast while they are figuring out who’s the fastest of them all.

Can you hear us now?

Now, that’s what we think. Really. How ‘bout you?

The Boo Birds of Paradise

Michael Leave a comment

Major League Baseball begins games that count shortly.  The MLB is a hotbed for Boo Birds.  Baseball is a natural for fans who want to show their displeasure with an opposing player doing particularly well.  Sometimes for a home player not doing so well.  All that time between pitches, as the batter steps to the box, as the first baseman plays with his glove, or as the catcher stretches his calves are made to order opportunities for expressing displeasure.

We thought about boos and booing during a recent somewhat faster sports offering – a hockey game.  There’s not much downtime in hockey.  When a particularly egregious act results in a visiting player being sent to the penalty box there will be a few moments for the home crowd to whistle up the boos.  But for the most part, if you’re going to boo in hockey you have to be ready at any instant.

(We’re not so certain about football.  Football moves a little slow for us so we’ve not been to many live games and booing at a television set is about as lame as whatever the player being booed did to get booed.  In any case, we’re not going to the gridirons today.)

Ok, now you’re really wondering, where are these two going with this.  We think it was She of We who asked during a particularly healthy boo session during a quick stop in action at a hockey game last week, why do people think booing is impolite.   It is just as called for as expressing pleasure with wild shouts of approval.  After all, we are talking about a sports event.  Those guys skating up and down a couple hundred feet of thin ice at speeds approaching a hybrid SUV on the Interstate aren’t known for their manners.  They’re a tough crowd and those watching them can be just as tough.  The well-placed boo can have a dramatic effect on the momentum of the game as much as crazed cheering.  If a crowd is really going to be the sixth man on the ice then it better learn to play both ways.  You have to have a balanced attack of offense and defense if you expect to win.  Cheers and jeers are the fans balance.

With all that said we want to make certain that nobody takes displeasure cavalierly into other arenas.  Regardless of how poorly the leading man at the local community theater resembles the suave movie star in the adaptation and even if his singing doesn’t have the range of a professional vocalist, you should never boo your brother-in-law.  When the lady at the local council meeting questions why there are so many handicapped spots at the borough building when she knows everybody in town and none of them can’t walk, keep those catcalls to yourself.  And when your boss doesn’t appreciate you as much as you appreciate you during your annual performance appraisal, you might want to restrain from public heckling.

Other than those, if you see something you don’t like, knock yourself out.  Boo, hiss, jeer, and hoot to your heart’s content.  Baseball’s just around the corner.  The Stanley Cup playoffs aren’t far behind.  And don’t forget, the World Cup opens in June.  Now there are some high flying boo birds!

Now, that’s what we think. Really. How ‘bout you?

The Ambassador and the Triscuit Inspector

Michael Leave a comment

Recently we stayed a few days at a Sheraton hotel.  At most Sheratons there is a club suite for the Starwood Preferred guests.  Go to the web-site and sign up and after the first stay or two you move into the preferred category or most touring stays will add you to that list.  It’s not a terribly exclusive club,  no more than many hotel and airline members-only clubs.  But this one was different.  This one came with a host who falls into the “Now that was an interesting person” category.  You decide how to define interesting for yourself.

Our host for our evenings at the Sheraton was a former Triscuit Inspector.  We don’t know if he actually had a numbered slip that he popped into each box or a personalized stamp that emblazoned the inner seal so we can’t go into the archives to confirm that but that is what he told us.  For years he worked at the local Nabisco plant as the Triscuit Inspector right up until they closed the plant and he had to make a decision as to how he should earn his keep until Social Security took over.  Since this story takes place in the general area of Niagara Falls he thought tourism.  And quite logically.  So now for the past while he has been the Sheraton’s Starwood Suite host and sees that the cracker plates are full (we didn’t notice any Triscuits), the cheese platter is balanced, and the beer and wine are cold and chilled respectively.  But what makes him interesting wasn’t the Triscuit background or his ability to keep the yellow and white cheeses equalized.  It was his willingness to share his background and his stories of when he worked at Nabisco, where to find the cheapest wines in town, and where the best smoke-free slot machines are in the casino.

Interesting people always find us. We already spoke of our tour guide in Puerto Rice who regaled us with stories of real life on the island, his life. We saw his home town, heard tales of his family, were told of his wife’s cooking, and saw his favorite beach.  All that while he managed to extract tales from those he was touring.  Another interesting soul from that trip was our hotel’s lobby ambassador.  Do resorts still have such a character, the cross between concierge and man on the street?  Not a day went by except the one he was off that we weren’t greeted by name by this giant of a man who split his life between Puerto Rice and New York and was a diehard Giants football fan but took a Steelers wrist band from us and wore it at least while we were still there.

It was also on that trip that we found the artist in his gallery in Old San Juan telling the tale of how his wife came to visit her sister six years before and still hadn’t gone home.  So he painted each town with his stories in each.  We made sure to bring a piece of his back to grace a wall.  There it joins two local artists’ works.  Both of those artists have gone from favorite artist to favorite story teller to favored member of our circle.  We spend much time when we see either of them at shows and we can now pick out the one’s husband who is a shadow in every piece she does and know what room of his grandmother’s house the other used as a mental model for the window in the painting that becomes a window to his memories of her backyard, real and imagined.

There are many, many others. Most people have their favorite people who aren’t necessarily a part of their circle but make the circle more interesting.  We’ve been blessed that almost everywhere we go we can find that person and eventually find him or her again.   The pleasantries are shared, new stories are spoken and heard, and ultimately our circle grows.

So if you should be travelling in the Niagara Falls, NY area and you happen to stop into the Sheraton there, make your way to the Starwoods Suite and ask to speak with the Triscuit Inspector.  Grow your circle a bit too.

Now, that’s what we think. Really. How ‘bout you?