Outside My Comfort Zone

I've found yet another trait to add to my list of self-improvement to work on: Outside My Comfort Zone

This list is way too long and so, I guess, I should add that to my list: Shortening My List

Perhaps I am listing too much?

In a recent blog I stated that I listed so much in one direction, on the topic of soft versus crunchy cookies, that I rivaled the angle of the Titanic just before she disappeared into Davy Jones Locker. Now I can see that I am listing about listing.

And so, today, as I take a little car ride that is Way Outside My Comfort Zone, I'll have work to do.

Gotta go. I have a list to make.

Ancora Imparo

Max

I miss Max.

Max was our incorrigible English Springer Spaniel, who happened to be very lovable and unforgettable. I have pictures of him in my office and I do not think that a day goes by that I don't think about Max.

I've been pining for another dog and the desire to have another dog hasn't diminished as I hoped it would. Yes, a dog is work. A dog has to be walked more than once a day. A pet costs money. Most pets shed. (You should see the hair my long-haired cat leaves behind!) Frances, the grouchy cat would have a cow, literally, if a dog appeared in our household. You have to spend time training a dog. Yada, yada, yada.

However...........................

A dog loves you no matter what kind of foul, lousy, bad, or low mood a person is in.
A dog is always glad to see you.
A dog is indisputably faithful.
A dog lowers blood pressure.
A dog will sit willingly with you.
A dog gives unsolicited kisses.
A dog doesn't need an invitation to "talk".
A dog senses his human's mood, without having to announce what the mood is.
A dog's fur is calming to pet.
A dog guarantees at least some kind of outdoor exercise every day.
A dog likes to play.
A dog's eyes see into your soul.
A dog's eyes don't care what they see in your soul.
A dog understands tears.
A dog understands laughter.
A dog understands hurt.
A dog understands quiet.
A dog will celebrate with you.
A dog will mourn with you.
A dog will think with you.

Max liked to be read to.

Max, I miss you.

Ancora imparo

Roasting the Nuts

Have you ever eaten raw nuts?

Raw nuts are purported to be really good for us. No artificial additives and no additional oils are used to process raw nuts. I suspect the nuts are simply transported on a long conveyor belt to some machine that smashes (OK, cracks) open the shell to gain access to the nut meat. Then, somehow, the nut meats are separated from the shucks, again by machine, to another conveyor belt full of nuts that get a final human-eye sort before moving on to the packing part of the process. Very orderly, neat, and, hopefully, sanitary. The final product is the genuine, nutritious article, no salt added, though somewhat devoid of distinctive flavor - very unlike nuts roasted with oil and salt.

Now, take these raw nuts, lay them out flat on a surface that can withstand heat, and subject them to high temperatures for a period of time until they begin to emit their own oils and aroma. Remove them from the heat source, letting them completely cool. This process results in a final product that is crisp, flavorful and still healthy.

Aren't we 'human' nuts similar? The newspaper and television news shows are full of "nut" stories - stories about greed, avarice, murder, deception, evil, envy, theft, and the no-less-frustrating stories that stem from stupidity, thoughtlessness, mistrust, ignorance, and apathy.

God's process for us is a bit like being packaged in a nut factory. In the end, we are placed on God's conveyor belt, defrocked, then washed clean - all reduced to the lowest common denominator of life - that of universal humanity. The belt-of-life chugs along, nuts and all to the processing plant where we undergo the final sort of God's eye, before being packed into vessels that He can use, regardless of race or creed. He subjects us to heat trials, high temperatures and our final result is that we are flavorful, healthy, and useful. Still nuts, but not raw any more. Roasted, instead, to perfection.

I can see that I am still in the 'raw nuts' stage, waiting to see what my usefulness is to Him. I can feel the heat, though. Temperature's rising!

Ancora imparo

Proper Cookie-Eating Technique

I pride myself on not being too old to learn something new. Hence, the name of my blog - Ancora imparo. This past weekend, The Little Voice gave me a lesson in cookie-eating technique that made me proud.

I'd like to think that my family has been raised to appreciate the art of cookies: What makes a good cookie, the joy of eating raw cookie dough (I'll address the health concerns of that in a future paragraph.), the pros and cons of soft cookies versus crunchy cookies (I'm so far on the side of soft cookies that my angle of list rivals that of the Titanic just before she went under.), allowing your children to dunk their cookies in milk, understanding that cookie consumption MUST be accompanied by a glass of milk - preferably chocolate, and, that certain types of cookies demand a particular style of eating. It is regarding this last point that The Little Voice made my buttons want to burst!

My significant other and I traveled, this past weekend, to visit The Little Voice and his parents.
I had asked the question of his mother what cookies the cookie-maker should make if the cookie-maker made cookies and she replied, without hesitation, "Red and green cookies."

This is a recipe that has been with me for over two decades and remains a family favorite with my offspring, and, I'm thrilled to say, with my offspring's offspring. The cookie is a simple sugar-type cookie dough wrapped around a chocolate kiss, giving the cookie the shape of a Christmas tree. Long ago, I modified the recipe, dividing the dough into equal parts, adding red food coloring to one half and green to the other. These red and green cookies will be part of my holiday food preparations as long as I have breath. This past Christmas, The Little Voice learned to love and appreciate these delicious morsels as well.

During our visit, after lunch, The Little Voice asked his mother if he could have two cookies, one green and one red. She melted and said "yes", so my significant other and I sat down at the table while The Little Voice ate his cookies.

His technique was inspired and instinctive - nibble at the sugar-dough part while slowly turning the cookie clockwise, stopping only to retrieve fallen pieces of any significant size, all the while smiling from ear to ear. Pause intermittently to drink enough milk to wash down the cookie, resume chewing and, with a triumphant air of achievement, arrive at the chocolate prize in the middle, saved for the very end. Lick all crumbs from fingers, check again for fallen crumbs, and polish off the glass of milk. This, my friends, is masterful cookie consumption, which, I believe, must be genetic.

Lastly, to all the doomsdayers and naysayers regarding eating raw cookie dough, I say that it hasn't killed me yet and it will be the last vice I cling to. Here's to continued cookie dough consumption............even better with a cup of coffee!

Ancora imparo

In Awe and Thanksgiving

I am in awe and thankful for a message I heard from a twenty-six year old recently.

This young man delivered the message at a church service held on a mostly-weekly basis at a Big Ten University in the Midwest. (That description may be redundant.) The theme of his message was restlessness, one that I can readily identify with.

Now, this is not the reason that I solidly connected with the content, although it could be significant that I was predisposed to identify with the topic. I know that God placed this young,campus missionary squarely in my path for a reason. A reason that was instantly apparent that night and,as I suspect, will produce more reasons as time passes.

As with all good messages, sermons, speeches, etc., there were a number of 'take-aways'. I even took notes, which, for me, signals a high degree of attention and identification. God clearly spoke through him, using him to communicate to a rather wide range of ages and stages. My hope is that God also communicated to the communicator that his campus missionary work is of the utmost importance to Him.

The fact that the message content moved across a wide demographic is further evidence of many things:

• God used him.

• God spoke through him.

• He was exceptionally well-prepared, which really appealed to me. This message was better prepared, presented, and, obviously God-inspired, than most sermons I have sat through from men and women more than twice his age.

I left realizing that I had been spoken to by God through this young man, that my restlessness is OK with God, that my restlessness can be a positive chapter in my life, AND that I should not "get caught up in a counterfeit adventure".

Ancora imparo

I Found One!

I love my daily morning newspaper. I mean, really love my daily morning newspaper.

I know it is not green to receive newsprint on a regular basis. I don't know if my newspaper uses recycled paper for its production, but I do know that my paper is faithfully recycled by my significant other and myself on a weekly basis. What the big green garbage truck does with my recycled paper and cardboard, I do not know. I naively believe that it is properly disposed of but I cannot say for certain.

As I slowly become green, my consciousness level about the world's climate is rising and I have actually given some thought to giving up my beloved morning habit of reading the newspaper. Somehow, my freshly-brewed coffee tastes better when I am turning pages of newsprint. This thought is also spurred on by the content of the news, currently. Every form of media I encounter is full of bad news that is discouraging, dis-spiriting, demoralizing and, often, disgusting.

And so it was, with great joy, today, that I read an uplifting news article, in the sports section, of all things. A section that I rarely have any interest in other than reading about yet another 'famous' athlete that has fallen from grace with someone or everyone. (Have you ever noticed that athletes and politicians seldom fall from grace with themselves? Incredible egos or the ability to self-deny?)

The story is of two basketball teams who meet for a game under the difficult circumstances of the death, on game day, of the mother of one of the players. It is a story of compassion and humanity, on the parts of the teams and their coaches.

My personal thanks and admiration go out to the DeKalb High School basketball team and the Milwaukee Madison team that played recently. The young people and adults involved proved that there is heart left in this currently-tarnished world.

For this human, the world has regained a little humanity.

Ancora imparo

Dust-Bunny's View

I noticed a new view of the world for the first time this morning.

I mean, REALLY noticed this view.

When you are on the floor, exercising, you get to see the world from about four inches above the carpeting. What struck me were all the obstructions I would encounter if I was only four inches tall and trying to navigate through my home. I realized that, for the most part, the legs on furniture were really ugly. I noticed that carpeting covers up tons of dust, whereas when the sunlight hits hardwood flooring, dust particles and pet hair appear as topographical components. (No wonder I sneeze frequently.) I found the cemetery plots for several deceased beetles that masquerade as lady bugs and realized those beetles were possibly trying to crawl to their last meal..........a hidden piece of popcorn from the recent viewing of a movie. Lastly, I discovered that the underbelly of stuffed furniture has fuzzy 'legs' dangling everywhere. This discovery fascinated me. The fuzzy tendrils are connected, somehow, to the upholstery. I tried pulling on one and didn't like the reaction I felt............that of a loose thread from a garment seam. I envisioned the entire bottom falling out of the sofa.

What I did incidentally experience, while viewing this "brave new world" of four inches above the floor, was feeling very comfortable, safe and relaxed.

WHICH lead me to think about the world around me and how small and insignificant I am in proportion to the buildings, infrastructures, communities, cities, networks, etc. that we humans encounter each day. Yet I am able to move about from place to place, avoiding potholes, human beetles, political drivel and the fuzzy tendrils that lurk here and there. I have my senses and sense............yet.

For that I am thankful.

Ancora imparo

Rut Removal

I never realized what a rut I was in until several hours ago.

It hit me squarely between the eyes that getting in a rut - and staying there - is an easy place to be. The unsettling part is that I wasn't aware of being in the rut.

A routine or schedule can morph into a rut.

I'm all for routines and schedules. In fact, I might even say I thrive (or maybe depend is a more accurate word) on routines and schedules. Keeping a routine or following a schedule has facilitated my transition into the world of no paycheck. (That whole topic, the no-paycheck-world, is fodder for another blog.) This transition has not been without its blips and bleeps and, most certainly, has not been easy or tranquil. I have fought the transition tooth and nail, but thought that, for the most part, I was making progress. Until today, that is.

Arriving at the position of a rut is an eye-opening event - an event that is unwelcome and unwanted, sinister in nature because the "rutter" may not be cognizant of "ruttism" setting in. That would be me! I would characterize a rut as the ugly step-sister of the routine. Routines signify a willingness for change and adaptation. A rut signifies stagnation and lack of flexibility - a lack of desire for new experiences and new places.

When I became a "changling" today, my whole outlook underwent a metamorphasis. I got out with my significant other at a time of day that we do not ordinarily venture out at, we ate lunch at a restaurant that we do not ordinarily frequent, had great conversation with friends we do not lunch with frequently, then left the restaurant to run errands of a different nature than the norm.

All in all, a great day.

Different is good.

Ancora imparo

The Asterisks of Life

Have you ever paid much attention to the lowly asterisk?

At first glance, it doesn't seem to carry much importance with it. It looks like an ink dot that some tiny particle splashed into, creating the little tendrils that identify the mark as the asterisk. Even the name is odd and difficult to pronounce fluidly. I hear the word mispronounced more than I hear it said correctly.

Does the asterisk have a purpose?

Actually, its function is very important, serving to draw attention to various bits of information or to draw the eye to another place for clarifying details.

Where am I going with this discourse on the asterisk?

Well, in the traditional Protestant church bulletin, the asterisk plays a critical role to relay to the congregation exactly when to stand and when to sit. Without this liturgical clue, people would be haphazardly sitting and standing and the congregants would look more like Jack-in-the-Boxes than worshippers. The alert pastor or liturgist gives verbal cues to the congregation - commanding them to sit or stand for hymns, the Call to Worship or the Benediction. When the officiant does not cue his or her flock, you can see the uncertainty of the people, with some sitting, some standing and some frozen in a squatting position that resembles a pose more often found in the water closet. The worst snafu of all is when the bulletin has the proper double asterisk indicating "congregation standing" or does not have the double asterisk, indicating the congregation should remain seated, and then proceeds to ignore the lowly asterisk (or lack thereof) and gives the opposite verbal cue. The resulting up and down motion resembles horses on a merry-go-round while the flock figures out just what to do.

That is exactly what happened at a service at my place of worship this past Sunday. Laughable if it were not so annoying. The people - the pastors - who compose the content of the bulletin should pay attention to what THEY put there. Just pay attention to the paper before them. This is not rocket science, just the ability to read and process. The congregation will appreciate this attention to detail.

There. I feel better.

Just sign me Ancora imparo and Annoyed

360 Degree View

I had the opportunity to mentor a younger person this morning over breakfast.

This person is sixteen years younger than I am and, although I could be the parent of this person, I rather think of myself as an older sibling. Our conversation is always lively and never lacks for search of a topic or opinion. We laugh and pray together.

Later this morning, I received a phone call from my friend, who asked me if I would help draft a job-related response sheet regarding job performance. I readily agreed, we set a time to meet and ended the phone conversation. A few minutes later an idea came and I called back with the suggestion to work through a modified 360 degree job performance view.

Afterward, I thought about the concept of the 360 degree job-related view of someone and it made me wonder what God's 360 degree viewpoint is of.......moi.

Would I survive God's job performance review? Perhaps a better question is - do I deserve to survive a job performance review by my maker?

I don't have an answer, but I sure do have questions for myself. What kind of Christian person am I? Do I measure up to God's standards? Do I even know what God's standards are? If I don't, I have no one to blame but myself.

I think I'll compose a God-related "bucket list".

I'd better get started on it!

Ancora imparo.

On The Same Page?

I'm beginning to think that 'being on the same page' with another person or group is difficult.

I am continually amazed at how different people hear conversations differently. Two or more people can walk away from a discussion and there will be as many versions of what was spoken or decided as there were people involved.

Why is that?

I do not think this is a gender problem because same-gender conversations can be just as misunderstood as mixed-gender conversations. Which makes me wonder if it is a personality issue? Do Type-A's listen differently than laid-back individuals? Does age come into play?

Whatever the reason(s), there is no mistaking the outcome of a lack of clarity between individuals that were present at the same meeting. Frustration, disorganization, power struggles - even hurt feelings - can all come into play when the parties involved leave without clarifying the clarifications clearly.

Did I make myself clear?

Ancora imparo

Is It St. Valentine or St. Hallmark?

I tried something this year for Valentine's Day.

The people I care most about received a self-produced card made mostly from construction paper, those heart-shaped paper doily-things, and a glue stick. For extra emphasis on how much I care, I purchased some self-adhesive wooden hearts and stuck them on each card. This procedure has here-to-fore been reserved for my favorite little voice, but this year I extended it to the favorite adults in my life, including my significant other. I don't know how the recipients felt about my efforts but I really enjoyed returning to my youth (second or third grade, probably) and getting my hands sticky. And, I secretly enjoyed the non-corporate approach by not supporting St. Hallmark's Day.

Why, you may ask, did I take this approach this year?

Well, the point of creating my own juvenile-looking cards had nothing to do with saving money, although that certainly was a by-product. I started out just making cards for my favorite little voice and then just got "into" the process and kept going. As I stated earlier, I really enjoyed being youthfully creative, even though the cards were, most certainly, primitive.

What I did think about this morning, after reading yet another day's worth of dismal economic news in my daily paper, is that I did not add to the economy by purchasing cards from St. Hallmark. Our slumping economy seems to affecting most people I know - some more than others, but the effect is noticeable everywhere I turn. Reading my beloved daily newspaper is becoming more disheartening, and often downright maddening, each day.

Bailouts, lack of ethics, poor judgement, political blowhards that are too far removed from the common people, bankruptcies, foreclosures - where does it end?

I get so frustrated and then.................................... I remember the little voice.

Ancora imparo

Does Job Security Equate To Excellence?

I'm torn - can't decide where job security leaves off and mediocrity sets in. Or does it?

If an individual knows job security is a given, does that nudge that person towards mediocrity or can excellence still be achieved, and, more importantly, maintained?

What drives an individual toward excellence? Is excellence a bi-product of having the stress removed that is connected to the question of keeping one's job? Or, does the presence of knowledge that 'I will always have a job, unless I become a convicted felon or commit some egregious act' allow a person to slide toward indifference and mediocre job performance?

Curious questions with even more curious answers, I suspect. This dilemma has been around for decades, and maybe even a century or two. And, I'm confident that the questions will continue to pervade the work place for many years to come. What is important is that quality workers, in any job category, continue to be rewarded and encouraged and that mediocre/sub-par workers be pushed and prodded to move towards excellence or suffer the consequences. Excellence and mediocrity should not be monetarily rewarded similarly, as our society is currently doing in many professions.

With our withering economics, the survival of the fittest companies and individuals must be encouraged and the CEO's compensated within financially responsible limits. This fiscal responsibility should translate into the world of sports and celebrities, as well as the world of the union workers.

I am tired of seeing excellence blurred into the lines of poor performance and mediocrity. Poor performers have too long rested on the laurels of being rewarded the same as every one else.

My soap box is dissipating.

Ancora imparo

That Little Voice

My significant other and I heard "that little voice" last night.

This is the voice that can melt our hearts, lighten our moods, bring a smile to our faces, and make us think of moving. There is no other voice - yet- like it. When you hear it, the voice is often excited, elated, euphoric, exclamatory...........all of these descriptives........all at once!

The voice loves to sing and is very good at matching pitches, even at a young age. You might hear the ABC song or a nursery rhyme - whatever the voice is singing, you will recognize the tune. Music to our ears!

This is the voice that our memories recall during the day - any day - and the corners of our mouths will instantly turn upward.

At the end of a audio or visual visit, this little voice says "Goodbye, Luv you." It brings back memories of other little voices from years ago. This is the voice that somehow makes growing older a little less annoying, for without growing older, we would not be able to hear......

That little voice.

We luv you, too!

Ancora imparo

Servant Leadership

Servant leadership is both a blessing and a curse, I've decided.

Much of my adult life has been spend in servant leadership. Certainly public school teaching positions qualify as servant leadership. In fact, leading any group, as a volunteer, comes under the umbrella of servant leadership.

Sometimes I long to just be a volunteer, not a leader of volunteers. To me, there is, inherent in the term 'volunteer', the ability to cease being a volunteer. Yes, there are hundreds of thousands, perhaps millions, of volunteers across our nation, and, even more if you consider world-wide. I look at Habitat For Humanity, which to me is a gold-standard of volunteerism. The same for the Peace Corps, Red Cross, and USO. Lending one's self is the ultimate in sharing and caring.

Locally, I can think of dozens, even hundreds, of volunteer positions in schools, churches, food pantries, soup kitchens, literacy councils, Boys and Girls' Clubs, Scouting, 4-H, nursing homes, hospitals, libraries..... The list is endless.

But, the bottom line is that the volunteer has the control over his/her time. I believe that, if you interviewed most volunteers, they would agree that flexibility is a prominent reason for volunteering versus having a paid position. Volunteers can go on vacation, choose to take a road trip, take a tour bus into the city to see a musical or visit a museum. This is not the case for the servant leader.

The leader, who is a volunteer as well, has accepted the unspoken expectation of sempre fi, always faithful. Or, to put it another way, always present. The volunteers that I lead are skilled, dedicated and thoughtful participants.............who can come and go at their leisure and, I envy that!

But, I really envy their flexibility of time and choices.................................

OK, enough whining.

Ancora imparo

The Trouble With Cookies

Cookies are problematic for many people, aren't they?

They get deposited to the strangest places. They come from many different directions. Cookies mess up your system and, if you carry around too many, everything moves slowly.

Oh! I'm sorry. Did you think that I meant electronic, web-type cookies? No, no! I'm talking cookies; peanut butter, oatmeal-raisin, sugar, chocolate chip, double-chocolate macadamia, macaroons..............literally hundreds, maybe thousands of cookie-types.

My trouble with cookies is that I like to eat them. I try not to make cookies very often because I know I have this inborn weakness for them. I keep my cookie fetish in check by simply not keeping the sweet treats in my house. A cookie is to me as an alcoholic beverage is to an AA member. I seldom make them, but when I do have to (or choose to, as a food psychologist would surely point out to me) I can usually keep my unrestricted urges to one or two cookies ingested. Once the cookies have cooled, I have to freeze them quickly in order to keep my hand from sneaking into the cookie jar. Or, as frequently happens, the cookies are for a specific purpose and get removed from the condo immediately.

Today, however, was truly a disastrous caloric day. My internal governor became somehow disabled and the heart-shaped sugar cookies that I baked literally leaped into my hands and, somehow, found their way into my mouth. I cannot explain this phenomenon. I think I read about this malady once in a romance novel. It is called "cookie-to-mouth" disease. I don't even want to think about how many useless calories I let into my body. Worse yet, I don't want to think about how many hours it will take me on the treadmill to work off the cookie calories.

Let's see...............hmmmm. I'll do the math.

Oh, this is not good.

Obviously, NOT Ancora Imparo!

The Need For March

My significant other and I need the month of March to arrive.

We are tired of the dreariness of February. January had cold and snow, it is true, but at least the snow of January was white. You know the saying, "white as snow"? February often brings slightly warmer temperatures where we live and that often translates to gray skies and very dirty piles of snow. There is little uglier than dirty snow - except maybe for my car's carpet floor mats. They are crusted with a dirt/salt combination that has crystallized into a substance that resembles the dirty snow along every street, driveway and parking lot.

February's skies are often dull, with clouds blocking out precious rays of sunlight, leaving humans desperate for Vitamin D. Valentine's Day helps bring us out of our doldrums slightly but it is then easy to return to the idea that spring may never arrive.

Ah, spring. She promises but can she deliver?

Ancora imparo

Bringing The Past To Life

My mother saved everything.

When I was growing up and, into my young adult years, I teased her about this unmercifully - to the point of berating her, probably. I can remember being, what I would now describe as, awful to her. Fortunately, I realized this early on in my adult years and spent years apologizing to her.

She was the classic mom. She loved me no matter what. With her I could be mad, sad, glad - you name the emotion and she would listen - no matter the time of day or night. In fact, I'll bet I was one of those kids that are described as 'if she would have been first, she would have been last!'

Anyway, from time to time, as I go through boxes from my storage room, I find treasures that my mother saved. It has become very apparent, over the years, that my mother saved nearly every letter or postcard that I ever mailed home. As I come across these bits of correspondence, it is as if I've been transported back across a time warp to my college years and beyond. In college, I wrote home on a regular basis, sometimes more than once a week, I see. Reading my writing brings my college experience back to me in living color. I don't know if I'll keep all this material once I've read it now, but it is as if my mom is perched on my shoulder saying, "See. This is why I saved it. I'm still with you." It is like reading my life history from a period of time.

Kind of comforting, in a weird way.

Thanks, Mom.

Ancora Imparo

Change Is Harder Than I Thought

It is confession time.

I'm having trouble with change. Always have and, I guess, I always will.

All my life I've had to deal with change. Much of it was externally imposed, some of it was internally imposed.

I understand that every human being has to deal with change so that realization makes me sound like a whiner, which I could be accused of being at the moment. I keep telling myself, "So, deal with it!"

I've survived the big changes. Moving from Michigan to Wisconsin. Leaving family behind. That was hard.
The death of my mother. That was and still is hard. I don't think you ever get too old to miss your mother. (Sorry, Dad. I love you and miss you, too.)

Moving from Wisconsin to Illinois. Giving my up my friends in Wisconsin and my full-time teaching job. That was gut-wrenching, or so it felt like at the time.

Having to put my dog to sleep. Tough, tough, tough.

Choosing to leave the teaching profession. Very bad decision that I am still dealing with.

So, those are the big changes and I've survived. You would think that I could get over the following little changes that make me sound like a real whiner...........................

The "look" of the new light bulbs. Giving up cable television. Thinking about canceling my newspaper subscription. Giving up my favorite brand of reisling wine - I only go through one bottle every seven days so I am not a lush, but I am fussy. Thinking about always sitting at my desk to watch television on my tiny computer screen.

I keep telling myself to grow up. No one is sick or dying. I know all this.

The world is good. These are truly tiny changes. I am a pampered, spoiled, over-indulged, self-absorbed human being.

Get over it.

Ancora imparo

This Makes No Sense To Me!

We're surrounded, daily, by entreaties to become more "green". "Save the environment" is the clarion call by the experts on television, newspapers, magazines, lectures, and the web. Recycling efforts are all the rage. I'm doing my part, albeit bit-by-bit, to become more environmentally educated. So why, I foolishly ask, do I watch my Waste Management employee, weekly, dump my carefully sorted recyclables into one giant hole in his big, green truck. Can you look me in the eye and tell me that, somewhere down the line, people or machines actually sort my paper/cardboard from the glass/aluminum/plastic 1's and 2's?

Let me move to the ecologically friendly light bulbs. Expensive, to be sure. Can the people who really need to save the money afford to buy these bulbs? And, why, can't someone design them in a shape/style that has less twists and turns. For people with allergies, these dust traps are just that. They are impossible to remove the dust particles from and, they last so long that the dust can collect for years.

Next, let me move to the national political and economic scenes. This "bailout" package is a farce. With little regulation as to how a corporation can spend bailout dollars, the environment will be ripe for more Merrill Lynch boondoggles and taxpayer ripoffs. The former chairman of ML should be, at the very least, ashamed and personally mortified at his own actions.

The legislative confirmation of Timothy Geithner to be our Secretary of the Treasury should be an embarrassment to President Obama and every senator and congressman who voted for Geithner's confirmation. I agree with Connan O'brien's joke that with two of President Obama's nominees to cabinet positions bowing out this week because of unpaid taxes or penalties, the lesson to our young people is this: You had better pay your taxes, because if you don't, the highest job you can ever hope to hold to is Secretary of the United States Treasury.

These things make no sense to me. Do they to you?

Ancora imparo

New Tricks For The Old Dog

Kicking and screaming into the electronic age? That may be me.

My significant other and I are looking at cancelling our cable service. Now, on the surface, that doesn't seem too difficult. Just make the phone call, you say?

There are alternative ways to receive internet service and we own one of those. A little "air card". OK. That is objection No. 1 overcome. One for him and purchase another for me.

There is the obvious alternative to a "land line" - the cell phone and we are set up for that. OK. That is objection No. 2 overcome.

Objection No. 3: Cable television service. Hmmm. We don't watch a lot television, but much of what we do enjoy is produced by a cable network.

It turns out that two of the three traditional networks have full episode players available. And, after an afternoon of research, most, if not all, of the cable networks have full episode players available as well. So, Objection No. 3 can be overcome, too. Leaving our cable service entirely will mean that our ancient analog television will need a converter box. Yes, I am embarrassed to admit that our television is the "fat" kind, that is about two feet deep. We don't exactly go running into buy the newest electronic gadgets, as you can see. We both own laptops with small"ish" screens. I guess I can get used to seeing two-week old episodes of shows on a small computer screen. Sure - I think.........................

It is just that change is hard. You get used to a routine way of doing a task or experience, then comes a new routine. New buttons to push, new procedures, new sequences. This old dog learns slowly when it comes to electronics or anything that is remotely mechanical. Ouch.

New, new, new. I think I like vinyl records, rotor telephones, and fat televisions on wire racks with giant rabbit ears. That's the dinosaur talking again.

Am I "ancora imparo"?

Good Service

I found something that is becoming more rare these days..............good service.

Driving around today, doing what felt like a million errands, I found my filthy, dirty car more filthy and dirty than I could stand. The roads were mostly free of snow melt, so I decided to stop in the 'big city' to get my car washed instead of the small-community car wash I had planned on frequenting later.

It's been my experience, at my 'normal' car wash, that the employees might, and I do mean 'might', care about their work but the finished product, my clean car, doesn't reflect a strong desire for excellence. My litmus test of whether or not my car is clean, to my standards, is how much time do I spend in the parking lot of the grocery store near the car wash, wiping down my car, ridding it of water spots, road dirt, and interior smudges and dust. At this car wash, it takes me ten to fifteen minutes to detail my car to my satisfaction - post car wash.

I remember a USA Network 'Monk" episode where Monk, the obsessive-compulsive private investigator, has amnesia and gets a job at a car wash. He is so successful that a local newspaper writes an article about him, thus alerting his friends to where he is and they come and rescue him. The 'Monk' character's obsessive-compulsive tendency for attention to detail makes him perfect for auto detailing. I would like to clone those tendencies and transplant them into the employees at the car wash I frequent the most.

But, I digress. Back to my story. The young man who worked on my car today was amazing. He had no incentive to pursue excellence, other than his own inner drive to do a good job. As I observed him from inside the building, through windows that he could not see into, I watched him go above and beyond any expectations I might have had. Here is a young man, working in a job that possibly pays minimum wage only, working under the watchful gaze of no supervisor, maintaining his own standard of excellence. When he came to the door to find me, I thanked him for his attention to detail and told him I appreciated it. His beaming smile, on his young face, accompanied a "thank you, mam".

At this car wash, the employees get to keep the tips they are given. They do not have to put the tips in a communal 'pot'. Good thing for him.

Ancora imparo

Confession Time

OK. Here it is. I'll put it right out there.

I HATE CAT LITTER.

I do feel better having removed that from my chest. Actually, I should have typed: I HATE CHANGING THE LITTER BOX.

Does anyone else out there in cyberspace feel the same way?

I know, I know. You can buy litter boxes that supposedly clean themselves. (I'll believe the long-term reliability when I see it.) What I'd like to have is a tiny creature that lives in my laundry room closet, whose only job in life is to keep the litter box clean and who will change the litter once a week. Of course then, it might be easier to simply not have a cat. (Cat lovers need not harangue me. My crotchety old female cat isn't going anywhere soon.)

It is just that I am so very tired of cleaning the litter box and, even more tired of cat litter being strewn about my rugs, carpet, and hardwood floors. There is no joy in going barefoot because stepping on particles of clay cat litter is downright uncomfortable and only serves to make me say pithy little words of complaint when my foot finds a piece. There is even less joy in discovering cat litter from the soles of my feet in my bed sheets.

If your shoe finds a particle and crushes it, then there are hundreds of tiny particulates that get dispersed in a wide area. Did I mention that I don't like sweeping the floors with a broom or vacuuming, either?

There is also the matter of the cat litter being picked up by stocking feet. At first blush, one might ask what the problem is with cat litter and stocking feet. If you are one of these questioners, then, obviously, you have never had a tiny, annoying piece of cat litter get in your shoe. It feels exactly like a pebble, only usually having sharper edges.

Furthermore, do you know what has been applied to cat litter in the cat box? This realization is gross to begin with and does not need further thought or reflection.

There is one positive use for cat litter, though. In the winter it makes for improved traction under your car's tires. I do not believe there are any other positive uses for the stuff. The last I heard, it did not work well as dietary fibre.

Why can't cats use toilet paper?

Ancora imparo