Tag Waiting

Watchful Waiting

Michael 7 Comments

Throughout the western Christian world, Advent begins this week. A season often lost among the secular preps for the Christmas holidays. Advent is a time of watchful waiting with its own traditions and music, not unlike all the religions that I can think of that incorporate some sort of waiting for or ramping up to the “big” holiday. And like Advent, most often those periods are met with somewhat tepid responses.

Like most Americans, we’re probably waiting for Santa. And let’s face it, we’re not exactly great at waiting. Christmas decorations already are up everywhere, including office lobbies, restaurants, and airports. And I bet most of you reading this have your houses decked out too. Granted, there are only 25 days until Christmas, but I’d say over half of those decorations were put up more than a week ago.

We really don’t like to wait. I was out for Thanksgiving dinner. After the meal, our hostess asked if anyone wanting coffee. “I’ll warn you,” she said, “it’s from a Keurig so you’re going to have to wait for it.” Last time I checked, my Keurig spits out a cup of coffee in abut 30 seconds. Quelle horreur!

We complain about waiting in line and we complain about waiting on hold (but companies who insist on using robo-answerers instead of human operators deserve all the complaints you can throw at them). We look for the fastest route to wherever were driving and the shortest lines at the local mega-mart.

We can use a period like Advent to slow down and appreciate all the season has to offer. Imagine the calm you might experience if for each day in December you spend a quiet moment in meditation, solitude, prayer, or just staring out the window and enjoy a moment not spent in cleaning, decorating, baking, writing and mailing cards and packages, and complaining about where all the time goes. Doesn’t matter where, it just goes.

I think I’d take some of those moments for yourself before someone else gets to them.

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Time again for a shameless plug for the latest Uplift blog post. Even though Thanksgiving is over, it’s still a good read about how it’s a good time to celebrate our love and dysfunction. Yep, they really do go together. Despite life’s imperfections, it’s still a celebration worth being thankful for.

But before you go look, have you still not thought about joining the ROAMcare community and have the weekly Uplift blog delivered to your email as soon as it hits the website? In addition to an Uplift release every Wednesday, you will also receive weekly a Monday Moment of Motivation, and our email exclusive Friday Flashback repost of one of our most loved publications. All free and available now at  ROAMcare.org.

Tuning in to the nature channel

Michael 5 Comments

Tomorrow is the day everyone is waiting for. No. Wait. I’ve done that not much too often already. Maybe tomorrow is. It’s Pi Day, but I already wrote that one to death. Maybe it’s Wednesday, the Ides of March. (Nobody ever talks about other Ides although every month has one.) (Hmm, is that right? Oh yes, every month has an Ides, but grammatically, it’s that right making Ides a singular?) (I think it is.) (where was I?) (oh,yes…) In truth, any day can be the day that somebody is waiting for. And that’s a good thing. It shows we are still alive and looking forward, rather than being withdrawn and looking back.

Spring is naturally a time to look forward. Vernal, the fancy adjective for all things spring-like (think vernal equinox) can itself be replaced by the not so fancy adjective, youthful. Spring truly blooms with new growth, youthful buds beginning their journey to full fledged flower-hood, or leaf land, or whatever they may grow to be.

In most American living rooms you find a similar furniture placement. A nice comfy sofa, loveseat, or couch, an easy chair with or without matching ottoman, and/or a recliner (or two or three) aimed facing or providing an obstructed view to — the centerpiece of American culture, the television. The bigger the better! Everything happens on that screen: sports, dramas, movies, upcoming coronations, bits of news, and Saturday Night Live.

My living room isn’t much different than that prototypical gathering spot. There is one addition though. I am fortunate to have one wall in my living room that is all window. (Maybe not so fortunate during the heating months but poetically speaking, fortuitously fortunate.) And I have facing that window a small couch and in that couch I sat the other day and looked out the window at the real life movie called spring. (This was before the snow squalls of this past weekend [sigh].) Out there the trees were budding and birds were looking for a good spot where they might anchor their nest. Other birds could be heard singing, and the grass in the field behind the trees was taking on that lush green we’ll only see the first few weeks of spring. And it’s not even spring yet! It was like watching the coming attractions on my own movie screen that looks out to nature.

So yes, tomorrow is the day someone is looking forward to. And tomorrow’s tomorrow will be the day someone is looking forward to tomorrow. And so on, and so on. Any day can be the day somebody is looking forward to. Even the birds. They told me that the day I sat in my spot, when I was tuned in to the nature channel.

How well do you thank your cast and crew? We talked about our supporting casts in the most recent edition of Uplift! at ROAMcare.org.

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Hurry Up and Wait

Michael 3 Comments

It is annual exam time and I’ve been spending a lot of time in doctors’ offices this week. A fixture of doctors’ offices is the waiting room. Some waiting rooms are actually nice pleasant places to be that make lasting impressions on the patients there. I recall from my youth the dentist who had fish tanks, aquaria even, with sunken pirate ships, treasure chests, and probably fish but as a six year old boy I mostly remember the pirate stuff. Some waiting rooms are actually one eyebrow raising (which I have never been able to master) like the gastroenterologist’s office who had an aviary, a bird cage even, where several colorful birds and pages noting why they were actually beneficial in a doctor’s office and probably plaques to identify the birds but as a sixty year old waiting for a colonoscopy I mostly remember just that there were birds. But mostly doctor’s office waiting rooms are sort of bland with sort of cheap furniture with sort of old magazines with small screen TVs hanging in an upper corner of the room sort of over there by the sliding glass window that somebody opens at irregular intervals to check in new arrivals, copy insurance cards, and distribute privacy notices. To me waiting rooms seem almost oxymoronic. Not much waiting goes on in them, and except for the one with the birds, most don’t have much room. The real waiting goes on in “the other room.” The exam room. The surgery in 18th century colonial speak. Back there.

We all know the drill. The office nurse sticks his or her head out into the waiting room, calls out a first name hoping there is only one Augustine (thank you HIPPA), leads Mr. X down the hall to the scale, then places him into “the other room.” There things start optimistically. A blood pressure is taken, the little finger thingie that measures oxygen in your blood is put on your finger, maybe some questions about changes in meds or general health are asked and answered, notes are made on the computer, a smile is flashed, the line “The doctor will be right in” is sing songed your way (sing sang?), and the door is pulled shut behind her. Or him. And now we wait. There are never any old magazines in the little room. Maybe you brought your phone or tablet and still have enough battery power to play a game or thirteen. But you don’t because you know you’ll be moving up to level 57 when the knock on the door comes.

DoctorSignSo I play a different game while I wait in “the other room.” Guess The Footsteps. For example, if I know somebody ahead of me went in with a walker and I hear the slide of it I might figure that person is on the way out so then from recalling how many patients went in between him and me I can guess if I have enough time to finish that crossword puzzle. If I hear two sets of footsteps that’s the nurse and new patient coming in so that doesn’t help with figuring out how much longer it will be. A single set needs evaluating before I can determine its significance. A slightly hesitant pace might be a patient leaving making certain to take no wrong turns. (I’ve noticed that although you are always escorted to the exam room it’s about a 50/50 chance somebody will accompany you out. And yes I have gotten lost along the way.) (Sigh.) A fast pace barely heard through the closed door is the nurse returning to the waiting room to bring back another patient. A fast pace clearly heard approaching and receding is the office person who handles the billing and probably the only staff member other than the doctor not in scrubs and tennis shoes. A purposeful step that pauses outside your door with an accompanying rustle of paper is the doctor arriving at the wrong door and putting your chart back in the holder mounted on the wall next to the door. And somehow with all that marching up and down the hall, when the doctor does knock once and open the door to finally get on with the main event, I never hear those steps.

So that’s how I spend my time waiting. It might not be all that much fun but I got a whole blog post out of it! I wonder if this was how Milton and Bradley got started.

A Virtue by Any Other Name

Michael 8 Comments

I’m writing this at about 11:30 Wednesday morning while I’m waiting for my car to be serviced. It’s not the little roadster I’ve often mentioned here but the daily driver. Since my daily drives are now short, few, and far between, it is more aptly a daily parker. But still with even less than 5,000 miles added to its journeys since last December, it needs its annual safety inspection and oil change.

Although there are more than a handful of 29 minute oil change places within a few miles of me I opted for the dealership service department. It’s very close. Close enough I could walk home if I didn’t want to wait although an oil change and inspection is usually only a half hour wait and I can amuse myself reading the paper or tackling a crossword puzzle. And it’s only 9°F (-13°C) outside. That’s warmed up from the 5° it was when I got here 3 hours ago. Less than ideal outdoor walking weather.

Oh, yes, you read that right. Three hours. I have seen people come and people go and I’ve worked all the puzzles I’m I the mood to except the one that answers why it takes so long to drain old oil out, pour new oil in, honk the horn, flash the lights, and tap the brakes.

I guess that’s not a fair representation. I know there’s more to it than that and that those who have come and gone might have had even less work done. After all, it was only 5° at the start of the day. I’m sure lots if batteries are being sold and they can switch out 4 or 5 of them in the time it takes 5° oil to ooze out of crankcase.

I don’t know what you do but whatever you do somebody has said, why do you have to take so long, why do you charge so much, why did you have to go to school for that? All you’re doing is…

Knowing that I had been the subject of such complaints throughout my work days, I was certain I never said such a thing of others. Until 3 paragraphs ago. More than likely, until 50 years ago. Impatience is not one if the seven deadly sins but it certainly should be. I spent the first hour of waiting just fine. I sat in a comfortable chair in a warm lounge and read the morning paper. By the second hour I started getting impatient. The chair got hard, the paper was boring, and there was a definite chill in the air. Heading to the third hour I am close to irate. Why am I still here when I could be home in a comfortable chair …

in a warm room …

reading … um …

the rest … ah …

of …

the … um …

paper.

Hmm…

You know I don’t do resolutions at the beginning of the year but maybe I’ll make an exception and not do that again and hope that you don’t either. So it’s taking a little longer than I expected. Across the room is a father and son playing some sort of game on a tablet. In the corner is a young man appearing to be watching a webcast on his laptop, two seats down from me a pair of young women are planning a brunch before they take a third friend shopping for her wedding dress. They all have more things going on in their lives and don’t seem to mind the wait. I’m sure I can learn something from that.

Even at my advanced impatience.

 

What I Did On Election Day

Michael 1 Comment

I don’t know about you but I had a very full day this past Tuesday. And the high point was not the 105 minutes that I stood in line outside the polls waiting for my turn to spend 35 seconds in the voting booth. It sort of reminded me of having an EKG done. But that’s a different story.

My Election Day activities actually began Monday evening when a knock came upon my door. About the only people who knock on my door are relatives and the UPS driver. I knew it wasn’t UPS because when he comes a-knockin’ I’ll hear the truck rumbling outside my window then the THUD of the package and the single rap that follows. And it wasn’t a relative because any of them won’t wait to be received but will knock and then enter on their own. Since this was a “knock, knock” without an accompanying THUD or a subsequent “Hello!” it meant I was going to have to climb out of the recliner where I had just settled in with a much read 38 year old Lawrence Sanders novel.

Upon making my way across the room and opening the door I saw there the rather confused looking yet still earnest looking young man who asked if he might speak to Rosemary. I was tempted to fetch him my terra cotta bound woody herb but even with just those few moments to rush to judgement I decided he wouldn’t get it. So I said, “I’m sorry, there is no Rosemary here,” resisting the temptation to slam the door shut as I returned to Mr. Todd’s ongoing investigation.

Tuesday morning I was up early, showered, shaved, breakfasted on eggs, sausage, muffin, juice and coffee, and set off to do my patriotic duty. The large breakfast was because I figured it was going to be a bit of a wait so I wanted to be properly fortified; the shower and shave was because you never know who you might meet wherever crowds gather. I had gotten as far as the outside of my front door when I was met with my first head-scratcher. A note. A sticky note. A sticky note stuck to the outside of my front door that read, “Rosemary, Stopped by to remind you to get out and vote!” I was certain the young chap meant to conclude with “XOXO” but ran out of crayon.

With those thoughts pushed deep into the darkest corner of my mind I drove the few miles down the road to where two of my municipality’s 12 districts share a building. The building’s south entrance, where residents of District 7 go to vote, had about 12 people waiting visible through the glass doors. I could tell because I saw them after I found the end of the line of District 9 voters stretching from the building’s north entrance, across a portico, though a tree-lined courtyard with some tenaciously holding onto quite a few leaves (trees, not voters), and along the overflowing parking lot. And there I joined the mini-throng where people wondered out loud how far they would have to move in order to get to vote with District 7.voted

To make a long story short I should have stopped about 350 words ago. But since I’ve gotten you to read this far, let me continue.

While there in line I got to hear how to mark fabric for cutting out a pattern when you have no tailor’s chalk, the shortcomings of Candy Crush versus Bejeweled, why 12 year olds can’t vote, that yes this is the same polling place for District 9 as it has been for at least 12 years, why if banks can take your money at any branch you can’t go to vote at any poll, and who are all these other people (that one by the obviously clueless but much too old looking to be a first time voter upon seeing the complete sample ballot indicating all of the candidates in all of the day’s races at the building entrance).

From there it was only another 15 minutes or so until I was through the rest of the line and being ushered to a machine where I was left to make my selections. In all of the day’s races. I was on my way to the exit doors when a poll worker stopped me and said he had run out of “I VOTED!” stickers but if I’d wait he would only be a few minutes while he went to get more from his supply across the room. “No thank you,” I told him. “If I really need to prove I voted I’m sure my new nervous twitch due to the muscle memory of trying to fight the urge not to push the “Cast Your Vote” button will convince just about anybody that I did what I had to do to get my free cup of coffee.”

And then I went home and had some coffee. With just a wee bit of bourbon to sweeten the brew!

That’s what I 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?