Don't Leave Home Without It

I don’t know about you, but there are certain things that trigger  painful memories for me.  These triggers are as diverse as the memories that are attached to them.  One of those triggers is when I use my American Express card, which is quite often.

The three years I spent as a residential real estate agent, I had several things working against me.  One thing that was less than ideal for a Realtor was that closing sales wasn’t exactly my forte. But probably my biggest liability was that I didn’t particularly enjoy showing houses.  I always struggled with not saying things like  “This is the kitchen”, “Isn’t this a lovely dining room?”  and such as that. To some extent if you’ve seen one house, you’ve seen them all.  But in spite of those liabilities since people liked me, I did pretty well. And once I had closed the deal,  I thoroughly enjoyed helping my buyers find the best financing.  I became a virtual wizard with a financial calculator. Sometime during my  third year I thought, “Why don’t I find a way to make a living with this calculator?” So I studied for and passed the Series 7 stockbroker’s exam.  Then I affiliated with IDS Financial Services.  Three years later American Express bought IDS and it became IDS/ American Express and then just American  Express Financial Services.  I stayed there nine more years until I left to pursue other things.

As a financial advisor I had a lot of freedom in how I found prospects and clients.  Occasionally, I would participate in trade shows to get new clients.  This particular show was at the Chattanooga Marriott Trade and  Convention Center. It wasn’t cheap, but I had high hopes for a good return on my investment.  The fee for participation was $400 for the two-day event.  And then for a drawing, I provided a $200.00 American Express gift card. I wasn’t too concerned about the money because of the potential for the event. This trade show was for registered pharmacists all over the state of Tennessee.  And I had an accumulation program that was perfect  for them.  To participate the pharmacist needed only to sign a form to  draft money into this tax-advantaged account.  I was going to make out like a bandit.

The event went better than expected.  Besides the sign up for the drawing, I had candy and give aways to entice them to the table and to start a conversation.   I established a good rapport with the druggists and many of them signed for the drawing and expressed interest in the program I was offering  Of course, this activity included getting all their contact information.  So after two days, I had names, phone numbers and email addresses for about 150 pharmacists all over the state.  And these professionals had already expressed an interest in my program. Over the next several days I would have dozens of warm prospects to call on. Warm prospects who made a lot of money.  This box was a virtual gold mine.  At the end of the event, I drew a name and presented the  winner with the gift card.  Needless to say, I would have at least one hot prospect. I put my box of leads on the floor and packed up everything that was on the table, and I left.

As I was driving away, I  had a really good feeling about the whole experience  After all, I’m the one who found out about the show and I’m the one who registered to participate. And I’m the one who deserved all the benefits from the experience. My name was soon to be front and center on the weekly office bulletin.  But besides that good feeling I was enjoying, I also had the nagging feeling that I had forgotten  something. The further I drove that feeling got progressively worse.  About half way home it hit me. “Did I pick up my box of leads?”  I found the nearest place to pull over.  I checked the car and the leads weren’t there.  I don’t know what panic feels like to you.  For me it starts at the base of my spine and then quickly crawls up my torso into my neck.  Then panic explodes into my synapses and takes over my entire nervous system.  I turned around and drove back to the Trade Center as quickly as possible.  I parked in front of the building and ran into the large room where the event was held. I found  someone who was cleaning up and asked him about my box.  He said, “By now, everything left in the room is in the dumpster.”  I wasn’t sure, but I thought he said, “Everything left in the room is in the dumpster.”  Yes, that’s exactly what he said.

They say that everything happens for a reason.  I don’t normally believe that, but at least in this case, it was true.   This happened because I was a complete idiot.  The whole, entire reason for investing the $600.00 and the two days was to come home with that box of leads.  But  more important than my lost investment  were the relationships and financial windfall I had lost.  How could I possibly measure that?  I was over the initial  shock within two to three years.  Then it was just a matter of living with the consequences. 

So I’m sure you’re thinking, “If it bothers you so much, why don't you use another credit card?”  Because I haven’t told you what happened with my Visa.

Death by Rat

First of all, I didn't die.  For a few hours I was concerned that if I didn't die, I might at least get very sick, but that didn't happen either. I was fine.

If you're a bit squeamish or have a weak stomach, you may not want to read this. It's pretty gross. Because of another rodent issue yesterday afternoon, I got this horror story on my mind and decided that it needed to be told.

A couple of years ago I got a call from a man who had an unusual situation with a rat. He had put a snap  trap on a block ledge in his basement.  The trap had done what a trap is supposed to do and had caught the rat.  The problem was that the trap and the rat had fallen behind the wall down in a narrow crevice between two walls. And it was beginning to stink.  He asked if I could help him out.

When I got there, I met him at the basement door and he showed me in. The odor was apparent.  I climbed up on a ladder and confirmed with my flashlight that the rat was where he said it was. And there was the  trap on the floor containing the dead rat. The crevice was much too narrow for me to climb into and several feet deeper than I could reach. I had learned with situations like this just to stare at the problem a few minutes until a solution appeared.  And within a few minutes a solution did appear. I asked my friend if I could have a clothes hanger.  He retrieved the hanger and I went to work. I put on my work gloves because you certainly don't want to handle a dead rat with your bare  hands.  You don't want any exposed skin in contact with a rat.  Rats are nasty and carry a lot of wicked diseases. First I extended the hanger until it was straight. I held my flashlight in my left hand and with my right hand I stabbed the rat right in the gut. I then pulled the rat, trap and all, out of the crease with the hanger.  Brilliant maneuver. Mission accomplished.

I had a Walmart sack to dispose of the rat. I put the sack on the floor and shoved the rat and the trap into it.  Still going okay.  At this point, something went terribly wrong. There was a certain amount of tension on the wire when I shoved the rat into the sack.  As soon as the wire was free of its load, it did what wires do that are under stress.  In the blink of an eye, that business end of the clothes hanger, that end that had just penetrated the entrails of a decomposing rat, flew up into my face and bounced off my lips.

(dramatic pause)

I asked him if I could use his restroom and there was one in the basement.  I washed and scrubbed my face and lips with soap and water and washed and scrubbed with soap and water some more.  I took my leave with the rat in the sack and drove away. In spite of the thorough washing, I still couldn't shake the feeling of that wire bouncing off my lips and the thought of where that wire had been just seconds prior to finding my face. It still felt like something was  on my mouth. Here is a short list of diseases caused by rats: hantavirus, hemorrhagic fever, leptospirosis and of course the plague.  In the 14th century 25 million people died of the rat borne bubonic plague. That was one third of Europe's population.  If rats can kill 25 million people over five years, what can one  dead rat do to one person who puts its guts on his mouth?

When I got home I washed my mouth some more.  The next morning I washed my mouth some more. Two or three times that day I washed my mouth some more.  But by now I was beginning to think that I was going to be okay. 

There are times in our lives that things happen that we would never  have chosen to happen.   But then looking back after we've survived, it makes for a pretty funny story.  Dead rat guts on my mouth. Ha! Ha! Really funny!

Smooth Ice Cream

“When I was in high school, my math teacher Mr. Packwood used to say, ‘If you’re stuck on a problem, don’t sit there and think about it; just start working on it. Even if you don’t know what you’re doing, the simple act of working on it will eventually cause the right ideas to show up in your head.’ “ Mark Manson

When I was young child, I had an obsession with smooth things, smooth ice cream and smooth peanut butter in particular.  I’ve been told that if someone dipped a spoonful of ice cream, for example, before I could see the smooth surface upon opening, I would pitch a fit.  I would throw a fall-on-the-floor, screaming tantrum. For years I’ve chuckled at myself for being so OCD and silly as a kid.  Now that I’m spending serious time and money dealing with my issues with perfectionism, it’s not as funny.

I guess you might say that I’m “in therapy”.  Instead of seeing my counselor every six months or so like I have for twenty five years, I see him about every three weeks. I’m not doing this because I’m any more screwed up than usual.  It’s because about three months ago I decided to deal with some life issues head on.  I was tired of acting and reacting in certain situations like I always have.  My reactions were an ongoing problem for me and those I love around me.  This was not a moral problem or an ethical problem, it was a phobia that I deal with. And I was ready to get better.  When this “therapy” started, perfectionism wasn’t even on the docket.  But it’s on the docket now.

Until recently, I had never considered myself to be a perfectionist.  I just wanted to do EVERYTHING perfectly.  I didn’t want to make any mistakes.  No mistakes. None. Ever. This tendency created some positive results.  I graduated with honors from high school and then from four undergraduate and graduate colleges and universities. But along that journey there were problems. Referencing the quote above, I remember how upset I was about changing classes in the seventh grade.  In elementary school I had had one teacher for all subjects in one classroom. Easy enough to excel.  It was hard for me to wrap my head around a different class and a different teacher for every subject. My concern was that this would mean a heightened level of expectation and scrutiny from each teacher. One afternoon early in that fall term, I was working on a problem for Mrs. Mills in algebra.  This was not for a test; it was just homework.  Furthermore, she gave us the correct answers. But I wanted a perfect score.  I was able to complete the assignment except for one problem.  No matter how much I worked on it, I could never get the right answer. I even remember that I cried a bit. On the nth time through I realized that I was making a subtraction error.  I corrected that error and solved the equation. But my point is not that I made a perfect score, but that I HAD to make a perfect score.

I said that “perfectionism created some positive results.”  But it's not all positive or I wouldn’t be “in therapy.” Perfectionism is also like a demon, who torments you not by pushing you with his pitch fork toward unquenchable fire, but by constantly prodding you toward  an unattainable goal.  It's like Sisyphus who was doomed to push the boulder to the top of the hill only to see it roll to the bottom and then have to do it again and again. My counselor said, “The reason perfectionism is useless is because perfect doesn’t exist.” There is a Broadway rock opera that I discovered quite by accident.  My “Broadway” Spotify radio station introduced me to it. at the car wash.  This musical is about a family, primarily the wife and mother, dealing with her bipolar illness and her loss of a son. By the end, the point of the play is that “normal” doesn’t exist for them, so they need to all be content with Next to Normal (the title of the play). So my counselor said, in other words, “David, perfectionism doesn’t exist. Be content with 'very good'. Or better yet, be content with 'good'. " In a perfect world (pun intended) I should be content with "okay." My counselor said,"Humans make mistakes. You're a  human; you're going to make mistakes."

All I can figure is that even as I young child as I looked at my family and the world around me, I knew even then that things weren’t perfect.  So it was vitally important to me to  see that smooth ice cream before its surface was violated with a spoon. Apparently I thought that seeing that one space of perfection brought order to my existence. Or who knows, maybe I just liked smooth ice cream. Now as an older adult, I’m realizing that as perfect as smooth ice cream looks to me, eating ice cream is even better.

Compensatory Damages

comp: :"complimentary, free"
comp: "short for compensatory"
com.pen.sa.to.ry:"payment intended to compensate someone who has experienced loss, suffering or injury."

My wife and I redeemed a restaurant gift card last night at a Chattanooga restaurant where we enjoy eating from time to time.  They think very highly of their food, so we don't go there very often. But we had a gift card so we went. During this very enjoyable meal, we talked and laughed about another  Chattanooga dining experience several years ago.

If  a restaurant manager "comps the table" then normally that means to compensate for problems experienced, the dinner is now "complementary"; to the patrons it's "free." In this case it was the other definition. He "comped the table" as "payment intended to compensate someone who has experienced loss, suffering or injury."

I seldom complain about anything in a restaurant.  If I do it's usually because the music is too loud or it's too cold and not about the food.  First of all, there are millions of  people in the world who have nothing to eat, so I hesitate to complain about food.  The other reason I seldom complain is to "compensate" for all the chronic complainers.  I have come to realize that there are many people who enter a restaurant with the sole intention of getting something free. And they usually do.  So for these two  reasons and others I eat the food that is served and try to be happy with it. And like you, I've heard some of the stories about what happens to food that you send back to the kitchen.

On this night several years ago we were dining with good friends at a downtown Chattanooga restaurant.  This restaurant is near the Tennessee River and is a part of the downtown renaissance after the opening of the Tennessee Aquarium. For that matter, from this location you can throw a rock and hit the aquarium. It wasn't the first time we had eaten at this restaurant and it wasn't the last.  It was definitely the most memorable.

The seating arrangement was fairly standard.  My wife sat inside the booth against the wall and I sat on the outside.  Our guests sat the same way, So I was facing him and my wife was facing his wife. Why am I telling you this detail?  Because it's part of the story. We had all enjoyed our appetizers and entrees. But more importantly we had all enjoyed each other's company. These friends are significant friends and it had been too long since we had spent quality time together. Since we all were having a good time, we decided to indulge in coffee and dessert.  At this point I need to interject that we had had a really good rapport with our young female server.  She provided that delicate balance of good service and personal attention without invading our space.  It was just an all round good dining experience.  For coffee I ordered regular coffee and the other three ordered decaffeinated. Everything was going great until she returned with the coffee refills.  She was holding a ceramic teapot in her left hand and another in her right.  As it turned out the pot in her right hand was the decaf and the regular in her left.  She reached with her right hand to refill my friend's decaf. As she started pouring, I became aware of a very warm sensation in my lap. It took a part of a second for me to realize that as she was pouring the decaf in my friend's cup, she was simultaneously pouring the regular in my lap. Without screaming or making a scene, I calmly reached and pushed her arm out of the way.  At that precise moment our server realized what she was doing and came unglued. Since I could tell that I was more wet than injured and since it's my nature to help people in distress, I immediately assumed the role of caregiver.  By now our sweet young server was in near hysterics.  As she took a cloth napkin from the table and started toward, well,  my thigh, I again caught her arm and assured her that I was okay. At this point she disappeared and a few seconds later reappeared with the manager.  He too was rather pale and asked if there was anything he could do to relieve my discomfort.  I again assured him that I was okay and expressed my concern for our server's distress.

At this point my memory fails me if they both disappeared and reappeared again or if this conversation happened right  then.  But however it happened, the manager thanked me for my good humor and said not many people would have reacted like I did.  I realized then that he had assumed that he would soon be dealing with a lawsuit. I again assured him that there was no permanent damage and that I was going to be fine. Although I was soggy and slightly uncomfortable we continued with our coffee and dessert.  When our somewhat more composed server came back to the table, we asked for the check.  She looked at me and said, "There is no check. This is on us." I told her that that wasn't necessary, we were prepared to pay for our food, but she said again that it was the least they could do. As she walked away we had a good laugh about it and made our way to the sidewalk.

Looking back over the years, I have wondered what I could have gotten from that manager.  A free ride on one of those horse drawn buggies?  A new suit of clothes or at least payment for dry cleaning?  Or in a court of law, who knows? Whatever it was, I'm quite sure I could have gotten more than free food. But you know what? Accidents happen and it was a careless accident.  I'm quite sure that our server never made that particular mistake again.  And I always keep a watchful eye on the coffee pot. So we all learned something important that night..

Last night my wife and I decided that we don't take only ourselves out to dinner often enough. We agreed that dining alone made for an enjoyable occasion and was healthy for our relationship.  Then on the way home we called good friends in Alabama to see when we could meet them for dinner..

Clack-Clack, Where Me Are

"All of us, to some extent, borrow from others, from the culture around us. We borrow language itself; we did not invent it...Everyone compounds it with one's own experiences... and expresses it in a new way, one's own."  Oliver Sacks

70% of the world's population use a language derived from the "Latin script" or sometimes referred to as "Roman script."  These languages are based on an alphabet of twenty six letters.  This alphabet consists of five vowels and twenty one consonants.

Referring to the quote above, Sacks suggests we compound and express our language in a new way, and we make it our own.

One of my life's most heartfelt joys at the moment is a little boy who will be two in a few days. He delights me in every way possible.  One thing he's doing that delights me is his fledgling efforts to use the Queen's English.  Just yesterday at his home he climbed in a laundry basket, tucked himself face down and said, "Mommy, say where me are."  You and I might tuck ourselves in the laundry basket and and say, "Mommy, I would love to play peek-a-boo.  As I hide my head, please say, 'Where are you; I don't see you.'  ' But he didn't say that;  he said "Mommy, say where me are." Not only was what he said perfectly understandable, but he demonstrated a  powerful sense of self. He made a distinction between his mommy and himself. And he did all that with five words.

I've been writing and posting my thoughts here for about fourteen years. Since I post about twice a week and each of the posts are about 1,000 words, that means that I have posted about 1.5 million words.  That's a lot of words. I drew all of those words from a twenty six letter alphabet. If each of those words consisted of an average of five letters, then I used about 7.5 million letters over those fourteen years. As  Sacks said, I didn't invent the English language, I just borrowed it, and "I compounded it with my own experience."  If I've said anything meaningful for anyone, it was through those 7.5 million letters. But I didn't use 7.5 million letters, did I?  I used twenty six. My little friend used eight. And he "expressed himself in a new way" just as surely as I have over these fourteen years.  And who's to say who communicated more effectively?

For me, one of the most effective uses of the English language is in a book about both the English language and the Hebrew alphabet.   Frederick Buechner (beek.ner), in his The Alphabet of Grace, chronicles one day of his life. During part of the day he walked into the woods behind his house to hear "a word from God". After an hour or so, the only thing he heard was the "clack-clack" of  a limb against another limb.  He decided that "clack-clack" is often all we get and if we don't find the voice of God there, we'll never find it. He compares that sound to the consonants in our language.  He then suggests that although the vowels contain the resonance  of our language, God most often speaks to us through the blunt percussion of the consonants. He then draws an analogy from the original Hebrew language that contained no vowels.  The vowels in that language were understood and spoken.  YWVH, for example, we know as Yahveh or Yahweh. So in that ancient language the written Word of  God was literally in the  consonants.  If we then are to find meaning in our lives, it's through the day-to-day activities that seldom include trips to Mount Sinai. Clack-clack.

The children in my life have been calling me Big Dave for over twenty years.  That's what my own granddaughter calls me.  For this little boy, this almost two year old, it comes out "Dihdave." It may not be exactly right, but it's perfect. It's music to my ears. And I'll play "Say where me are" anytime he wants to play.

Emotionally Expensive--Lessons from the NICU

Sometimes when I visit the NICU, I cuddle a baby for the entire time I’m there.  At other times I cuddle a baby for a while and then visit with the nurses who have time to visit.  There are times though when no baby needs my attention; she is asleep or her parents are there. During those times I visit with the nurses as they have time between neonatal responsibilities.  We often talk about the babies in the unit, but sometimes we talk about other things of mutual interest.  Yesterday one of the nurses said something that grabbed my attention.  I thought about it when she said it and I’m still thinking about it now.

I asked her, “How do you deal with the cumulative stories of these babies?  How does it feel to take them all home with you every night?” To my surprise she said, “I don’t take them home with me. My caring stops when I leave. I can’t afford to care too much about other people’s babies who I will never see again after they leave this unit. Taking them home is too emotionally expensive.”  Wait. What did you just say?  I asked, “Emotionally expensive. Had you heard that or did you just make it up?”  She said, “I just made it up.”

Years ago I started a sentence with “I wonder”. My twenty something son said “Dad, you have a smart phone in your hand. You don’t have to wonder anything.”  For better or for worse, I have found that statement to be true.   When she walked away I Googled “emotionally expensive”.  There I found a number of articles on the subject.  I have no doubt that my friend had never heard the phrase and made it up.  Her context and the context I was reading were too entirely different things.  I understood my friend to say, “It’s too emotionally expensive. It costs me too much.”  The context of the articles I read was all in the workplace. It had to do with a person in the office who drains the energy in the room. What he gives to the workplace costs the organization too much. I gathered that it would be better for the organization if he or she wasn’t there.  S/he’s too “emotionally expensive”.

When I’m holding a newborn baby in my arms, I consider that just a few days before she was in the womb of her mother.  For nine months, and many times less, she was floating in amniotic fluid and now she’s cuddled in my arms. I’m looking down at her and she’s looking up at me.  She is very warm against my chest and my arms. Her 99.5 against my 98.6 works for both of us. I generally ask the nurse to tell me her story. Not all the stories are warm and fuzzy. For two hours or so I rock, sing softly, quietly talk non-sense and pray. This tiny baby’s life, her entire life, is for a little while in my arms. She will be in the unit for a few days or a few weeks, then she will be gone home or into foster care. I have no control over either inevitability.

In retrospect, I realize that what my nurse friend put into words, I had already figured out about a year ago. I could cast no stones at my friend who said, “I can care only so much” because without so many words, I had done the same thing.  At that time I was on the verge of resigning my volunteer responsibilities in the NICU. That double-edged sword of love and heartache was cutting too deep.  I realized that what I had no control over, I also had no responsibility for. My only responsibility was to cuddle and love those babies while we were there together. What happened after that was none of my concern.

But can’t “emotionally expensive” apply to much more?  Can’t aspects of any relationship become too “emotionally expensive?”  Can’t it apply to a marriage, a friendship or an extracurricular relationship? Physics tells us that energy can’t be lost, but it can be converted to mass.  Can’t that cumulative mass become too heavy to bear? Can’t any of us care too much for other people and events?  Our circle of caring has to include ourselves.

If you buy something that’s too expensive, you at least have the item you purchased.  If something is emotionally too expensive, you’ll have little or nothing to show for it. Frederick Buechner wrote regarding 1 Corinthians 13. “If you give your body to be burned, you’re burned up and nobody is the better for it”. Jesus said, “My yoke is easy. My burden is light.”  Maybe your burden is trying to tell you something. If you care appropriately, it works not only for those you care about, but it works for you too.  Just ask my  friend at the NICU, you can care too much. Caring is expensive, but it shouldn’t break the bank. It shouldn’t break your heart, either.

Make Me an Instrument of Peace

"If I'm laden at all
I'm laden with sadness
That everyone's heart
Isn't filled with the gladness
Of love for one another."         from He Ain't Heavy, He's My Brother by Bobby Scott and Bob Russell

Just before Christmas I was driving my wife and me to the mall.  As we took the exit for the mall, I was singing to myself Buryl Red's arrangement of "Make Me an Instrument of Thy Peace." I say "Singing to  myself", but occasionally my singing is loud enough to be annoying.  In this case, I was either singing to myself or my wife didn't seem to mind.   I learn most things by reading or by listening. But every so often something just pops in my head that I had never considered before.  Such was the case with that moment with this song. As I sang the title words "Make me an instrument of Thy peace" I had a realization.  For as many years as I have sung or conducted that song and those words, I have processed it something like this. "Make me the sort of person who can help bring peace to the world." But this time as I sang those words, I imagined the wind chimes that hang outside our den sliding glass doors.  Each chime is an instrument of music. Each chime is a particular note.   Each chime of the four chimes is only capable of being that particular note.  Although there is an argument that each chime plays music, most of us would assume that it's the combination of those four notes that makes music. It's the sounding of each of those notes played either sequentially or simultaneously that makes the music.  But regardless of any melodies or music, each chime exists only to produce that one note.  It's a Db, Eb, Gb or Ab. That note is not what it does; it's what it is. The Db may wish to play a melody, but it can only ring as a Db.  It's what it was created to be.

I continued to process my revelation as we continued toward the mall.  I thought "The prayer is not to make me useful in the effort to bring peace on earth" but "make me an instrument of peace." Make my very being 'peaceful'. Then when the wind blows or something bumps up against me, I will exude peace because I am peace.  This may seem like semantics to you, but the difference was very important to me. I suddenly realized that to bring peace to the world I only needed to be peaceful.  If I am peaceful then the world  is more peaceful regardless of any one else's disposition. It's a classic win-win.

I loved He Ain't Heavy, He's My Brother  the first time I heard the Hollies sing it in 1969. And in spite of the analysis I will subject it to, I will continue to benefit from listening to this song. But...

The writer says that he is laden with sadness that the world isn't filled with gladness. It's nice poetry. And you and I both understand the point he is making.  On the other hand, in light of my revelation, it seems to me that his sadness is not going to help anyone's gladness. Whereas, it may be true that loving one another brings gladness, unless one is an enemy, it doesn't  hold true that someone's sadness brings gladness. And now you are laden with gladness instead of sadness. If you want to contribute to the world's gladness then be glad! If you become glad, there is immediately more gladness in the world. The world has no other choice.

I'm sitting in the den listening to those wind chimes. Normally, like now,  they play a beautiful and soothing  drone of the pentatonic scale. But every now and then they play recognizable melodies. My wife is witness to the fact that one Christmas several years ago, the chimes played Christmas carols off and on all day on Christmas Eve.  I don't mean they played the whole thing. But imagine the first four notes of Joy to the World or of Silent Night.  Sometimes the notes were in rhythm and at  other times were very slow in no particular time.  But the tunes were recognizable. Since that phenomenon has never occurred before or since, I'm not attributing any sort of black magic to what happened. It just happened for reasons only the Universe can comprehend.  I do know that right now as I listen, the chimes confirm what I've been saying. Each chime exists as a note on the scale. When the wind blows, they reverberate.

Sometimes on trips when I get quiet my wife asks "What do you have on your mind?" I'm thinking, "An electron is one of the strangest things in the galaxy. How can it be two places at the same time?"  But what I say is,  "I was wondering if you could use a rest stop."

Anxiety--It's for the Byrds

"To everything (turn, turn, turn)
there is a season (turn,turn, turn)
and a time to every purpose under the heaven." Turn, Turn, Turn   The Byrds, 1965.  Based on Ecclesiastes chapter three around 300 BC (but nobody really knows).


I never would  have thought that you could catch "panic" like you can catch a cold. But apparently  you can.  Until a traffic incident in Atlanta, Georgia seventeen years ago, I looked forward to any kind of travel.   Travel by car, by bus, by rail, by air, by foot, it didn't matter, I just liked to travel.  All that changed in an instant.  Only it wasn't an instant. The situation in Atlanta lasted more than two hours and I was in a panicked state for that entire time. I would owe my apologies to thousands who suffer with actual PTSD to say that's my problem, but call it what you want to my nervous system deals with something that involves (T)raumatic and (S)tress.  Then these issues were compounded by  an automobile accident five years ago.  I literally didn't see it coming.

My job this past weekend was to retrieve my nine year old granddaughter from her father in San Diego, California and deliver her safely to her mother in Indianapolis, Indiana.   My granddaughter is no stranger to huge jets and airports as she normally flies as an unaccompanied minor. She's much more brave than I am.  But for a number of reasons, we all decided that for me to fly her home was a good idea.  It was a good idea for everyone but me.  The trip would involve for me five airports and eight flights over five days.  I was looking forward to the time with my granddaughter. I was not looking forward to the trip.  All told the eight flights eventually  included one significant cancellation and two delayed flights.  In spite of it all we managed to make all our connections and I delivered her to her mom only one day late and only a few dollars short.

I saw my counselor of over twenty five years this afternoon.  We've been working together on my travel panic issues for quite some time.  It's been two steps forward and one step back. Well, sometimes two steps back. But I'm much better than I used to be. I told him about the trip and about my incidents of panic. After I related a synopsis of the story, I said, "I give myself a solid C on the whole experience." All things considered I thought giving myself a passing grade was generous.  He looked at me, smiled and said, "I give you an A+". I pressed him with,  "But my panic at times was very real and it was pervasive. I didn't do all that well."    And he leaned forward, made sure I was listening and  said again, "You make an A+".  I asked again, "How can you give me an A?" He smiled and said, "David, you made the trip."

I was twelve years old the first time I heard the Byrds sing "Turn, Turn, Turn".  As an adolescent Southern Baptist, I was familiar with Ecclesiastes three and the passage where the song had originated. It excited me that what I had learned in Sunday School and Vacation Bible School I was hearing on the radio. I could not have known how much the song would continue to mean  to me throughout my life, especially in my older adult years. "Turn, Turn, Turn" has become a touchstone, a mantra.  It's actually the first two words that hold the power "To everything."  M. Scott Peck's runaway bestseller The Road Less Traveled begins with a sentence of three words.  I think it was those three words that made the book so successful.  He begins his book with "Life is difficult."  I've read the book twice and no other words affect as deeply as those do.  "To everything", the Byrds sing.   I learned this weekend that to say "Delta is ready when you are" is not exactly true. "To everything" is absolutely the truth.

All eight flights included a statement from a flight attendant, "Thanks for sharing your journey with us."  When the book of my life is written, there should at least be an asterisk or a footnote beside December 29, 2017 to January 2, 2018.  And that footnote should read, "He made the trip." And if it involves quality time with my granddaughter, sign me up for next weekend. I'm learning that what I feel and what I do are two completely different things. "To everything" the Byrds sang and I repeat "To everything!"  Whereas, it is true that,  "Life is difficult", it is equally true that life is very good. Delta may not be completely ready, but I am !

New Year, New Year's or New Years?

For some reason this year more than in previous years (64 of them), I have noticed people's greetings through "the holidays."  The various greetings fall into "pre-Thanksgiving", "post-Thanksgiving", "pre-Christmas", "post-Christmas", "pre-New Year's", and "post-New Year's". Just before Thanksgiving people say, "Have a happy Thanksgiving" or just "Happy Thanksgiving."  For a few days after Thanksgiving they ask, "Did you have a nice Thanksgiving?" Then after a few days that becomes, depending on religious or political orientation, "Have a Happy Holidays"  or "Happy Holidays" or "Merry Christmas."  And about a week or so before Christmas the question is "Are you ready for Christmas?"  Or "Are you ready for Santa Claus?"  Others ask instead, "Have you got all your Christmas shopping done?"  (that one is seldom if ever,  "Have you got all your holiday shopping done?" ) Then for  a few days after Christmas I heard, "Did you have a nice/good Christmas?" or "Was Santa Claus good to you?" Now for a few days before January 1st, I got the most variety in greetings. Among other greetings I heard, "I hope you have a happy new year(s)" or just "Happy New Year(s)" or "Do you have plans for New Year(s)?" After the 1st, people tend to not say anything, but those who do say something usually say "Did you have a happy new year(s)?"  And then a few days later when it's all over, people resume their normal greeting.

In case you are not sure about New Year or New Year's or New Years, here are the basic grammatical rules.  New Year means exactly that. "Happy New Year" is always appropriate as it means "I hope you have a happy new year."  "New Year's" assumes possession as is the case with any apostrophe. New Year's assumes "New Year's Eve" or "New Year's Day."  The New Year is attached to something else either named or assumed.  New Years on the other hand is only appropriate when you're referring to more than one year. Example, "We eat at the Waffle House on New Years." It's actually highly unlikely that New Years is what you intended.  So after January 1st if someone asks you "Did you have a good New Year's?" it may sound a little strange, but it is an appropriate reference to "Did you have a good  New Year's celebration." For me, just New Year works better. . On the other hand if you say "New Year's", I seriously doubt the listener ever wonders about the apostrophe or if possession is assumed.

Going back to the days leading up to Thanksgiving, which I consider to be the beginning of "the holidays" and then through the days after January 1st, people will greet you in all these ways I've mentioned before and after the event.  I would guess that each person's greeting is an attempt to be friendly and to wish you well.  Some people  attempt to be thoughtful and politically correct. Others just say what matters to them regardless of who they may exclude or offend. But for the most part I think the greetings are intended to show politeness and courtesy.

Here's one suggestion you may consider next year as  you enter "the holidays", including Thanksgiving, Christmas, the New Year and other celebrations, When you encounter a person and don't want to risk offense because of nationality, religion or personal preferences, just ask them "How're you doing?"