Category Life

Him again?

Michael Leave a comment

Today, a mini-rant.  We, as most of the world, are trying to make ourselves better people.  Persons?   We do good for our friends, neighbors and co-workers.  We give to charities.  We contribute to our local food bank.  We let trucks pull in front of us.  We’re nice people wanting to be nicer.  Isn’t everybody?

Two things nice people do are practice patience and exhibit tolerance.  Yet there are some folks that try even the most patient person’s tolerance.  These are the behaviors we’ve noticed again over just the past few weeks and the ones we can do without while we’re being nice to the rest of the world.

The clerk trying to make life easy for him or her and damn the customer.  Recently He of We was checking out at one of his favorite stores when at the end of the transaction instead of the computer cash register printer spewing forth the printed record of his purchases it made an awkward sound, shimmied a bid, then did nothing.  The clerk said that printer had been giving him problems all day and did He really want a receipt.  “Not if you’ll be available to stand up for me if I should have to come back with an unwanted item within 30 days and with a receipt.’’  The clerk then proceeded to repair the printer which apparently meant re-loading the paper properly.

The boss who gleefully reminds the workers who’s the boss.  Whether after a meeting, lunch, or a special celebration, there is a boss who will remain anonymous whose call to return to the business of taking care of business is “back to your holes and do something.”  Not a particularly well taken suggestion particularly when some of those being spoken to have windowless offices down a blind hall.  (That’s his good point.)

The guy who abuses the express check-out lane.  We’ve brought up this one before and we’re not talking about someone with 13 or 14 items in a 12 item lane.  We mean the person who pulls up a loaded cart with 30 or 40 items.  These people know the rules but they also know that the cashier isn’t going to say anything lest he or she (the cashier) ends up with an unsatisfied customer.  Instead, the overly patient cashier waits until the next person in line is up and apologizes for the inconvenience.

The party at the restaurant who continues to use the table for 30, 40, even 60 minutes after paying the check.  We’ve mentioned how we don’t wait for food and encourage everyone to practice table waiting restraint.  If it’s more than a 15 or 20 minute wait, there’s probably another restaurant nearby with the same menu.  Spread your wings.  What we never conjectured was that the waits are caused by people who consider their tab and tip admission to their table for the evening.  If you aren’t finished socializing after the coffee and deserts move to the lounge, a local bar, or somebody’s house for goodness sake.  (Thanks to Daughter of She for bringing up this brand of irritant.  She was waiting at a restaurant where the hostess told her and company of the reason for the wait.  That should have signaled the end of that wait!)

As we said, we’re trying to be nicer than we already are.  Can’t everybody?

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

Good News, Bad News

Michael Leave a comment

Regular readers will have noticed there hasn’t been anything to read for the past few months.  We have an explanation for that and some news to go along with it.

Our last post was on July 8.  It was that same day that He of We went into the hospital.  It should have been about a week’s stay with the next couple of weeks at home to fully recover.  As does much of the things he attempts, it didn’t go according to plan.

It wasn’t completely his fault.  He of We tried to recover.  Things just kept happening.  And before we knew it, July turned into October before he was back at home in front of the computer.  Four months in a hospital is not fun.  That’s the bad news.  The good news is next summer we’ll get to experience for the first time all that we might have this summer.  True, we missed several music festivals, music cruises, drives through the country, and rib tastings (honestly, never a high point for us anyway).  But they will be back.  They always come back.  Even the ribs.

There wasn’t one night spent in the hot tub pondering the heavens and wishing on the stars.  That’s the bad news.  The good news is we didn’t get at all vexed at any one of those stars for not coming through with one lousy little wish.  One would think with all the pondering and wishing (and a fair amount of white wine) that one of those celestial bodies would come through.  More good news is that by the time February rolls around and we get to spend a night in the tub under fluffy snowflakes, He of We’s incisions will all be healed and we’ll get to spend a night in the tub under fluffy snowflakes.  And we already have a decent supply of wine in the cooler.

There was no vacation, no trip to paradise, no well-deserved break from reality.  Not in the execution or even just the planning.  That’s the bad news.  The good news is we saved a lot of money.  Has anybody seen the price of airfare to the good spots?  Sure you can get a $79 flight to Little Rock.  With apologies to the Arkansans, there aren’t any white beaches there!  And with those dollars saved it was a perfect opportunity to sit back and work out a real budget and we’re sure that’s more good news than bad.

So exactly why did we miss our entire summer?  Well, He of We fell under the hold of the most feared of medical diagnoses, the one that starts with “C.”  We can’t even say it.  The best way to excise that which befell him was to excise it.  And there came a day when the surgeon came into the room and said, “I just got all the pathology reports back.  We got it all.” And that’s the good news.  We’re certain there isn’t a bad news side to that one.

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

 

Weddings Gone Wild . . . well, sort of.

Michael 1 Comment

Another June has gone.  Throughout the world there have been probably millions of women transformed into traditional June brides.  We’ve been fortunate enough to experience a few of their transformations.

Early in the month we attended a beautiful outdoors ceremony.  We think the ceremony might have been conducted by a Catholic priest but he might have been Episcopal.  The services are similar.  Had there been a complete mass we would have had a firmer grasp on it.  Whoever he was, he officiated over a beautiful ceremony for a beautiful young couple with as many blessings as one could extend in such setting.  We then walked through the garden to the reception, dinner, and dancing as we toasted the new couple.

At another June wedding we watched another couple joined by an Apache spiritual leader who was also licensed to perform weddings in a state some many hundreds of miles from where one traditionally thinks of when one thinks of traditional Apache holy men.  Again it was a beautiful ceremony and concluded with a traditional Apache blessing for the new couple who can claim native Americanism only because both were born in America.  We then moved from one room in the hotel to another for a cocktail reception, and then to another for dinner and dancing.

Some few days after that there was another wedding at a restaurant and after “I do” was uttered to bride and groom on the patio outside, everyone moved inside and stuck around for what restaurants are known and the couple hosted dinner for all.  Some time before that we were at another wedding performed by a judge in his courtroom.  It was appropriate since both bride and groom were (and still are) lawyers.  The party then crossed the street to move from courtroom to ballroom where the party got started.  Then there was the wedding in the park performed among the trees.  After the happy couple became an official couple the male part fired up the grill while the female part got the music going.

Throughout the world there have been probably millions of women transformed into traditional June brides.  These were a few of them.  We don’t think these were the traditional June wedding.  But then, traditions shift over time.  Traditions only become traditions because they are expected and are continued. Maybe we only have the expectation part left.  We thought we’d have seen at least one of our most recent weddings in a church with an organ and the long walk down a center aisle.

We don’t want to be preachy about it but maybe the preachers of the world better get on their sticks or next June we might not even notice.  We’ll always have the traditional June bride.  Just not the traditional June wedding.

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

PS to all the June brides past, present, and future.  Don’t mind us poking a bit of fun.  At the end of the day if you’re married to the one you love, then the wedding was a success.  And that’s what we really think.  Really.

 

To Thine Own Art Be True

Michael Leave a comment

We recently spent a weekend being charmed and being charming at an absolutely charming spring wedding.  It was one of three wedding events we’re attending over nine days.  When it rains, it pours.

Fortunately, at this one, it did neither.  The sun shone over the outdoors ceremony and continued to the outdoors reception where the music was provided by one of our closest friends and one of the most talented individuals we know.  From ceremony through cocktails and into the dinner he charmed the attendees with his voice and music.  It was a pleasant addition to a delightful celebration.

On one of the other days of that same weekend we strolled the city parks areas in our town’s version of its annual arts festival.  Although it was pleasant, it was not delightful.  Of the almost two hundred artists selling their wares that day, we found a couple we had seen in the past whose works we enjoyed and found a couple new ones who might become favorites.  That puts about 98% of them in the “oh dear” category.  There’s a funny thing about artists, not everything they do is art to everybody.  And we think everybody is winning.

We love the arts and we won’t ever disparage someone from pursuing his or her dream.  Just realize that if that dream is taking vacation pictures on ‘round the world, tax deductible trips, we snap our own memories.  Or if the dream is a single vision in 42 sizes, few will want a collection.  It was unfortunate that these were some of the thoughts we had that day.

We missed a couple of our favorite artists.  Either they chose not to attend or were booked on some other days.  One is a charming lady who takes “local artist” quite seriously.  Everything she paints is local.  Cityscape, landscape, or still-life will be something you recognize but would never have thought of painting.  There is detail in her oil on canvas that those with a digital camera can’t find or don’t know where to look.   When one looks closely at her scenes it doesn’t take long to discover that almost every scene has her husband watching from inside.  Whether she is selling an original or one of her smallest prints, she’ll offer to include a personal inscription.

Another of our favorites not seen that day is on a mission to see that everybody who wants one of his pieces can have one of his pieces.  More than once we’ve heard him say to someone without cash in pocket, “Give me $10 and take it home.  Here’s an envelope, mail me a check.”  To those who can’t afford his work he says, “Pay me what you can every month, when it’s paid, it’s yours.”  He of We once asked if he ever regretted that.  “Never,” he said.  “Not even the one time someone gave me a ten, took my painting, and hooked me for the rest.”

And what does all this have to do with a weekend wedding.  It reminded us that Brother of She has that very troubadour booked for a party soon and is still waiting on his contract.  “You know me.  This is the part I like.  Being with the people.  I get around to the business part eventually but if I have you on my calendar, I’ll show up.  My word is my contract.”

That’s what we were thinking while we were walking the artists’ market and hearing the sound of nobody buying anything.  All the pieces were clearly marked.  All the catalogs and business cards were stacked neatly in the front corners.  But there wasn’t the passion that used to drive the artist who would stretch a canvas or test a microphone connection knowing that there might not be anything there now, but there will be soon.  Something very wonderful, very soon.

You have our word on it.

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

 

 

Public Displays of Affection

Michael Leave a comment

These were spotted on TV, newspapers, magazines, or the Internet over the past week. We would just like to stop and take a moment to give a round of applause to those folks we’ve listed below for facing all that life has to hand out and managing it with grace and dignity. If She of We could she would give each of them the small box that when opened lets you hear an audience clapping.  

  • A young boy hugging his neighbor because he was the first familiar face he saw after a tornado ripped through his neighborhood. 
  • Re-enactors travelling across the country on The National Road in horse drawn covered wagons.
  •  A family smiling around a storm shelter entrance. 
  • An honor guard member handing the folded flag to a new widow. 
  • A couple meeting on a street corner at the end of the work day greeting each other with a kiss. 
  • A woman comforting her brother’s children while sitting in front of their burning home.
  • An Air Force General pinning a Bronze Star on an airman next to his Purple Heart.
  • Volunteers caring for lost pets at an emergency animal shelter in Oklahoma.

They are true public displays of affection.  We used to call it doing the right thing. Whatever you call it, we like it. And we like these who find themselves not just doing the right thing, but making everyone around them feel better than if they weren’t there, no matter if the circumstance is happy or sad.

You can add to the list.  Take a moment and look around.  If you see someone doing the right thing, clap those hands and try doing something completely unselfish for somebody.  Somebody else might be clapping for you.

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

 

And the winning irritant is…

Michael Leave a comment

A while ago we were listening to the morning radio show on the way to work and they were reading from a survey of things people dislike.  And then they added their own.  We have to say this was a pretty inclusive list and it held some new dislikes.  Gone is the old, I don’t like clowns, I don’t like lines, I don’t like taxes.  Today’s dislikes are not your average pet peeves.

So what are some of the things people don’t like?  Some of them are related to new technology.  One of the new dislikes is that little animation that every network puts on the lower corner of the screen during its television shows.  You know that ones.  Something that’s coming up next or maybe next week.  It starts as a blurb or maybe a blotch.  It grows to a fuzzy representation of whatever or whoever the show is about.  The it grows to encompass the bottom third of the current broadcast, rendering most of the action – and all of the closed captioning if set to “bottom” – invisible.  The characters dance, chat, and otherwise interact all on top of the current show.  Then it retreats to the corner, disappears, and lies in wait until the next show segment.  We hate those too.

Another technological irk is the rash of new-fangled pop-ups on computer pages.  No longer is the cyber advertising world happy with springing a new window open over the one you are reading.  It’s much too easy to click a tab and get back to your screen without much fuss.  Now we have pop ups slide across a page or scroll down the display right along with you. 

She of We is particularly un-fond of a most annoying type of pop up that looks like a page of a newspaper folding over the current display.  We have a local newspaper that is particularly fond of that one.  Did you ever try to find the little “X” to click to close one of those things?  Devilish they are.

Some semi-high tech things that nobody is wild about are crawls on television screens, the fine print voice on radio ads for drugs or mortgages, and cell phones screens that you can’t see in bright light.  

There are also some things that people do that many others don’t care for.  Nobody likes the person who speeds down the highway, changing lanes every other car, and does it within inches of other cars.  And nobody likes to be behind the person at the express checkout lane with a shopping cart full of items.  Nobody likes slow pizza delivery, cold pizza delivery, or crushed pizza delivery.  Not even pizza delivery people.

What does He of We not like?  Wet newspapers.  Somebody has to be low tech. 

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

 

The old man and the see if we can get him to pick up a fake hooker

Michael Leave a comment

“An 86-year-old widower on his way to pick up a headstone for his late wife’s grave was cited today for soliciting a prostitute.  Dayton police had a decoy out today in an ongoing effort to get johns off the streets, according to officials.  The man told police he was lonely, and that’s why he was looking for a prostitute. He was cited, but not arrested because police said they were worried about his age and the man’s depression.”  [whiotv.com-12:49 p.m. Thursday, May 2, 2013]

We would tell you more but that was all there was of the story.  There should be more!  It begs for more.

  • What kind of decoy does one use to entice an 86 year old to attempt to pick up the lady and presumably offer money for sex?
  • How long has the wife been gone?  Was this a newly needed headstone or one he had to save over many years to purchase?
  • Why was the man depressed?  Was he depressed because he was caught?  Because he misses his late wife?  Because when he found out just how much a happy ending cost nowadays, he realized he’d hadn’t yet saved enough for the headstone?
  • How did the decoy and her handler decide to target an 86 year old?  Was it close to the end of the shift and they hadn’t scored as well as they planned and said “screw it, he’s still a man; go shake your wahoo at his winkie and see what comes of it?”

Last year we proposed that by the time a he or she gets to be in his or her eighties that he or she is due whatever is gettable in exchange for a lifetime of putting up with the world. (See “Entitlement Programs,” March 29, 2012).  If an 86 year old wants to pick up a hooker his only concern should be that of his missus, dead or alive.  He shouldn’t have to worry that it’s a hooker cop.

It took some digging but we eventually found out that the man had only recently lost his wife of 55 years and his daughter as well.  When the decoy approached him he offered her a few dollars to sit and talk with him.  Apparently talk was all he has left since the cancer that he suffers doesn’t allow for sexual activity.

We said back then that today’s eighty-somethings have done it all with more class than their elders did because they had to, and with more class than their youngers will because they can.   You just can’t find a no-class 86 year old.  Why did someone in a position of authority have to try to out-class a lonely old man.  Maybe those police should have followed the example of Andy Taylor of Mayberry and makes themselves available to serve however is needed.

The real Andy Griffith said, “I firmly believe that in every situation, no matter how difficult, God extends grace greater than the hardship.”  Sometimes it takes someone down here to be the vessel of that grace.  Maybe that’s why some of the better ones get to hang around for 80-plus years.

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

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?

 

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?