Friday, December 30, 2011

New Year's Plans

Happy New Year! To those of you who, as a conversation starter, will ask, “Was Santa good to you?” I can honestly say yes, I received some very nice gifts, including a Columbia fleece to keep me warm when winter finally arrives in 2012. And as is my habit, I pre-purchased some things for myself in anticipation of the Christmas giving season – because after all it is better to give than to receive (and I knew I wouldn’t get everything on my list). One of the gifts I gave myself caused questions and confusion.

“A banjo? You bought a banjo?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“I thought it might be kind of fun to play.”

“Is this going be like the drums, harmonica and violin?” (Those items were purchased to support pursuits that never really took off).

“No, this is different.”

“You sure have a lot of interests.”

It’s true I do have many interests, and this New Year is no exception. In 2012 I have three things I want to accomplish: further my education, take the mystery out of chocolate boxes and improve a common-household appliance.

The first thing involves rocketry. We often hear how something is not as hard as rocket science, or you don’t have to be a rocket scientist to accomplish a certain task. I get a little tired of having the study of projectiles held up as the stick from which all difficulty is measured. And to prove them wrong, I think this year I may study aerospace engineering and learn about the physics of trajectories, lift, thrust, etc. How hard can it be? It’s not rocket…oh wait.

Well anyway onto the second thing. All boxes of chocolates (not just the classy ones) should have a chart of the contents on the underside of the box top. However, placing it on the bottom of the box would create some humorous situations and possibly sell more chocolate. Unfortunately, a chocolate treasure map would remove the charm of Mrs. Gump’s adage because, unlike life, a well-mapped box of chocolates would always let you know what you’re going to get.

My own mother must have grown tired of watching half-eaten candy spit into the waste basket – that image can ruin an otherwise festive atmosphere. As with other problems, she would cut the chocolate into smaller pieces to expose the stickiness of the situation.

And finally, few problems in life can bring such temporary horror as a bad haircut and the immediate need to correct it. As a child, my friend Mark once jumped out of a barber’s chair and stormed out the door half-way through a haircut when he saw his reflection in the mirror.

I have experienced that heart-stopping realization. Clippers, designed for screwing up your appearance at home, come with several guides that fit over the blades. They are supposed to help you cut your hair at an even length. This works only if they are put in place.

I have been half-way through a haircut when I removed the guide to do a quick touch-up around the ears. The screaming started shortly after I picked up where I left off. It was then that I realized I forgot to put the guide back on. But then it was too late because I had disfigured myself with several one-inch-wide swipes. My wife, Rhonda, was summoned from whatever secondary task she was doing to fix my hideousness.

Therefore for 2012, I propose that clippers designed exclusively for home use should come with an automatic shutoff when the guide is removed. As I cut my hair about once a month I may only have about twelve more times to screw it up anyway, because according to some interpretations the Mayan Calendar signifies the end of this age on December 21, 2012.

The Mayans, who lived in Central America over 1,000 years ago, devised a calendar that did not continue past 2012. Some people think the Mayans knew that the world would end at the end of this year. With all due respect to pre-Columbian society, I am not going to worry about it though. I will sit up in my room, warmed by my new fleece, and plan for next year.

Thursday, December 22, 2011

Understand

I strive to be clear in all that I do, especially when I communicate. For I feel that if my message is not received as I intended then I have failed. So when I came across a phrase that seemed contrary to that attitude I paused and I pondered. It read: “I’m only responsible for what I say, not for what you understand.”

Perhaps I don’t understand the message, (which is the beginning of a big circular argument) but I can not help but disagree. It seems lazy and self-centered, a “that’s your problem, not mine,” kind of thinking. When we speak, it is our responsibility to be understood, otherwise what’s the point?

What if I were to write “I’m only responsible for what I write, not what you understand”? I think most would agree that I was missing the point in writing.

What would we think of a teacher where the entire class consistently failed? If the teacher was not understood then perhaps the teacher had failed as well.

It takes effort to ensure that your message is understood. That’s what I dislike about the new way of communicating (texting, emailing, social media, etc.). It’s too easy to have your message manipulated and misunderstood.

I fear we have become too dependent on these types of exchanges. They are poor substitutes for face-to-face conversations where pauses, inflections, facial expressions and body language can communicate a concept better.

Ben Franklin once wrote: "The great secret of succeeding in conversation is to admire little, to hear much; always to distrust our own reason, and sometimes that of our friends; never to pretend to wit, but to make that of others appear as much as possibly we can; to hearken to what is said and to answer to the purpose."

Speaking to one another, or conversing, is an exchange where an idea or thought is shared and passed back and forth. During my junior high school years my friend Tom and I walked to school together. Often we would kick a rock back and forth the entire way (almost a mile). Sometimes we would continue the exchange into the school building: kicking and talking.

We would kick the rock in a way where the other guy could have a turn without too much effort. It was like playing catch where you throw the ball so the other guy has a good chance of catching it. That’s our responsibility in speaking – be certain that the other person can grasp your meaning.

For instance, this is the Christmas season and I prefer to say “Merry Christmas,” instead of “Happy Holidays,” as I want to be clear as to what holiday I am celebrating. I said “Happy Thanksgiving” on the 24th of November; I will say “Happy New Year” at the end of this month and the beginning of the next, but for now it’s Christmas.

You may not always agree with what I say, but if we understand each other we have a better chance of finding common ground. As Dennis Prager states, “I prefer clarity over agreement.”

Merry Christmas.

Thursday, December 15, 2011

Mrs. Claus

Walking through one of the malls the other day I noticed that Santa was sitting by himself, bearded head in gloved hand. There was no one on his lap and no one in line waiting to do so. I found this troubling. Santa should not be sitting by himself. Why is no one talking to him?

I considered approaching the old fellow and asking him if he needed some company. I could have pulled up a chair next to his green throne – no need to sit on his lap, and I doubt very much he would have sat on mine.

We could have talked about anything he wanted. For starters I would have asked him what he wanted for Christmas, and then we could have moved on to a discussion of child-labor laws and their effect on child-like elves. Perhaps I would have some explaining to do about this year’s behavior, or maybe I could have told him about the summer I met his wife.

I was working at a nursing home as an orderly. I took advantage of the situation and engaged the residents in conversation whenever I could. One woman was especially pleasant to talk to.

Although her legs were too weak to support her, her mind was strong enough to carry a conversation. She was short and round and her eyes sparkled behind her round glasses that sat just above her round, glowing cheeks. And to complete the circle, her hair was drawn back in a bun that outlined her happy, round face.

She was known to everyone as Minnie – but I knew who she was. She was Mrs. Santa Claus, who else could she be? I asked her once why she thought I addressed her as Mrs. Santa.

“Because I’m so fat,” she said with the trademark belly-shaking laugh.

“No, that’s not it.” I said laughing with her. Although I guess it was partly true. “No, it’s because you are so happy.

“How else should I be?” she asked.

Clearly, there was no better alternative. In our talks I found that she had led a busy life. In addition to keeping house at the North Pole she enjoyed gardening, baking, sewing and mending.

After the summer ended I went back to college. I never saw her again, but I will never forget her either. Thirty years passed and I found myself back at the nursing home again, this time visiting my father, and then later, my mother.

Often, during these visits we would include another resident in our conversations. It was usually rewarding. Naturally, I met some wonderful people. But, after my folks passed on I quit going to the nursing home, maybe because I wasn’t strong enough to push past the pain, or maybe I was just being selfish and lazy. But that’s going to change.

This week I am going back there for a little conversation. There are many people waiting for a visitor to share some time with. We all have someone we know who would love to see us, and if not, there is someone we haven’t met yet in a hospital or a nursing home who would love a visitor.

Everyone needs someone to talk to, even Mrs. Santa Claus and her husband.

Friday, December 9, 2011

Dish

For most of my years in elementary school I went home for lunch, as the church school I attended was only a few blocks away. Some of the kids brought their lunch; others ran the three-quarters of a mile to get a “hot lunch” served across town at the public school.

Mom served my lunch in front of the TV. I will still eat in front of the TV once in a while but now its supper, not lunch. But last week there were problems. The satellite dish had been malfunctioning for several days.

All of the suggestions for trouble shooting were followed (except shooting it): unplug the receiver for 10 seconds (I went for 11), clear any obstructions away from the dish (there were none), check to see that the sky was clear (whatever, it’s November) and to make sure the TV was tuned to the right channel (of course it was). I finally grew frustrated enough to call.

After about 20 minutes on the phone they promised to have a technician come over the following day.

“Would you prefer to have the appointment between the hours of 8 a.m. and noon, or noon and 4 p.m.?”

“Can you be more specific?” I asked.

“You can choose to have a morning or an afternoon appointment.”

“So, it’s one or the other huh?” I said.

“Or you can choose another day.”

“Will that narrow the time field?”

“No.”

“Morning.”

The next morning I called my office to say I would be in sometime between 8 and noon. Thus, I began to wait for the arrival of the repairman. I tried to position myself so I would have a clear view of the road in both directions. When I discovered that this was not possible, I stood by the window and kept my eye on the driveway.

I grabbed a book to pass the time but found it hard to concentrate. So I busied myself by walking around the house and looking out the windows. I was going to sit and watch some TV while I waited until it dawned on me – that’s why he’s coming. So I and Grandfather clock ticked away the morning wasting time waiting for a guy to get my preferred time-wasting activity back on schedule.

He finally showed up about 11 o’clock that morning and did some stuff for about an hour. He left confident that he had fixed the problem. That night the TV went blank, and I was back on the phone – flustered. They apologized and offered to waste another one of my mornings. After a few minutes we came to an understanding, and I was assured that my house would be the first stop the next morning.

Time flies, it is fleeting, it’s money, on our side, of the essence, only a matter of, and there is none like the present. I was ready to be firm with the second repairman and let him know a thing or two, but according to Emerson “Life is not so short but that there is always time enough for courtesy.” So I was courteous and, as far as I can tell, he fixed the trouble.

On his way out the door we talked a little business, and I gave him my card. I told him he could call the office to make an appointment. When he does, I will give him a choice: sometime between 8 and noon or noon and 4. “Revenge is a dish best served cold.” I saw Khan say that to Captain Kirk on TV.

Thursday, December 1, 2011

Now where was I

A couple weeks ago I was at my desk checking on the state of the world when I got sidetracked by a story titled, “Walking Through Doorways Causes
Forgetting, New Research Shows.” That kind of fragmented title has me asking, “Forgetting what?” But, I guess that’s the problem. They don’t know because they forgot.

Susan Guibert of the Notre Dame News reported on a study conducted by Gabriel Radvansky, a psychology professor there. She writes: “We’ve all experienced it: The frustration of entering a room and forgetting what we were going to do. Or get. Or find.”

According to Professor Radvansky this is because doorways are the culprit. “Entering or exiting through a doorway serves as an ‘event boundary’ in the mind, which separates episodes of activity and files them away.”

Radvansky concludes that walking through a doorway triggers lapses in memory.

I would submit that there is an exception to his conclusion: bathroom doorways; because once the decision to enter that room has been made there can be no turning back.

The forgettable reseach study included only college students; presumably all in their late teens and early 20’s. If college students have memory issues now they are going be in big trouble when they are older and have more to forget. What are they teaching these kids? Perhaps some memorization exercises are in order.

I think Notre Dame’s absent-minded professor should have expanded his research beyond that of walking through doorways and studied other causes for sudden memory loss. Walking smack into a door, for instance, will suddenly dislodge everything from your mind other than the pain you are experiencing. Getting interrupted while talking can make a person forget what they were going to say.

It’s easy to get distracted, especially if you’re easily distracted. Look at this, listen to that, go there, come here (“just a minute”); the diversions never seem to stop. We are beset with dozens of things that demand our attention. If I’m not careful I can get so lost in a song on the radio or a conversation with a passenger that I can sit through all three colors at a stoplight.

Writers can often get sidetracked from where they started to where they want to be – sometimes even between paragraphs. Often when I sit down to write, I start with one idea and find myself pulled along by another. It’s known as chasing or going down a rabbit trail.

Rabbits seldom stay on the straight and narrow. They hop from here to there, stopping only momentarily before they start off in another direction. Their trails are hard to follow, and they often seem to be headed nowhere in particular.

Rabbits are very fleet-footed; lucky for them as they have no natural defenses. But for all their hopping around rabbits have very little to think about: eating, staying alive, and keeping up their reputation of going forth and multiplying. As Emerson said “All the thoughts of a turtle are turtles, and of a rabbit, rabbits.”

Cousins of the turtle and rabbits are the tortoise and the hare that were made famous in one of Aesop’s fables. The moral of that fable is that you should concentrate on what you’re doing and don’t be distracted, for slow and steady wins the race. Or you might lose your place.

Now where was I?