I'm a list maker. Going to the store lists, things to do lists, details for the party lists. It's how I keep myself intact.
Pretty much guys think we're nuts, although I do know one whose inside kitchen cabinets look like a butterfly bush. Everything that keeps him on target is listed on those scraps of fluttering paper taped at the top: who he lent books or DVDs to, when he bought things and when it's time to reorder stuff. It was actually kind of gratifying to see.
Some time ago, I took to heart some advice about partnering. I was told: write down the qualities I love about people in my life, roll them all together, and when I find someone with those qualities, hang on tight. So here goes, from one hopeful visualist to another: my five fingertip match.
Intellect and wit. This is because of dad. Thinking inspires curiosity, challenges us to grow and integrate. Wit is the icing.
Humor. Humor is ballast. I picked this up from everybody in my life. Everything is better with a smile. Laugh lines are proof of a life fully enjoyed.
Spirit. A life of authenticity, founded by love and integrity, that focuses on quietly listening to God with humility and faith. My mom, Aunt, and friends taught me that.
Heart. A heart that expands but not contracts, that's how my children taught me to love: in a criticism-free zone.
Body. Love with all that you are. No bumper guards.
Jul 23, 2007
Jul 19, 2007
Tripping Up
I was nervously walking back to my car from the courthouse in downtown Stockton. The overflow juror parking lot was four blocks away and it was winter so it was nearing dusk at 5pm. It's a rundown part of town, with people hanging around, and trash, and boarded up and barred windows. I was lost in thought and hurried on ahead, alone.
As I crossed a street coming up to a long block with a bus stop and some street people who were hanging around at the corner, I felt conspicuous in my jury duty dress and heels. No one said anything, and I didn't cast my eyes in their direction other than a sideways glance at their feet as I approached. It suddenly felt like all eyes were on me.
Maybe that's what contributed to tripping as I stepped from the street onto the uneven sidewalk. Man, I went flying. My purse opened and the contents spilled, including my wallet holding the credit cards. My stockings split open and I scuffed my shoes and my hands. No one offered to help me up and there was that seizing moment of panic when I scooped up proof of my financial security and double-stepped it back to the car.
A man I know has broken his son because he was unwilling and unable to forgive himself for resenting his little boy. His son was expected to yield to his father's unresolved issues about his own childhood. His son did nothing wrong. The father could not find a way to put his son first or strive to discover new ground to bring them together. Over the years, callouses formed on their hearts. The man's need to control his son mattered more than the soft heart of the little boy desperately wanting his love.
Tripping up is part of our journey. We're clumsy. We make mistakes. We overplay our hand. We struggle through failures and triumphs. God is the stabilizing bar to our humanity. When we let ego rule, we don't feel for an outstretched hand.
I've thought about that day in Stockton. I didn't bother acknowledging the downtrodden people milling around that corner. How many times a day do you think that happens to them? Would one of them have stepped forward, do you think, if I had humanized them with a look or greeting? Me, too.
When life knocks us out of whack, we need a compassionate steadying hand. Maybe if I'd given them the dignity of a nod, they might have helped me up. And when they did, and I brought their faces into focus, perhaps they may have even noticed and mentioned the silver Visa card lying on the sidewalk that I overlooked.
As I crossed a street coming up to a long block with a bus stop and some street people who were hanging around at the corner, I felt conspicuous in my jury duty dress and heels. No one said anything, and I didn't cast my eyes in their direction other than a sideways glance at their feet as I approached. It suddenly felt like all eyes were on me.
Maybe that's what contributed to tripping as I stepped from the street onto the uneven sidewalk. Man, I went flying. My purse opened and the contents spilled, including my wallet holding the credit cards. My stockings split open and I scuffed my shoes and my hands. No one offered to help me up and there was that seizing moment of panic when I scooped up proof of my financial security and double-stepped it back to the car.
A man I know has broken his son because he was unwilling and unable to forgive himself for resenting his little boy. His son was expected to yield to his father's unresolved issues about his own childhood. His son did nothing wrong. The father could not find a way to put his son first or strive to discover new ground to bring them together. Over the years, callouses formed on their hearts. The man's need to control his son mattered more than the soft heart of the little boy desperately wanting his love.
Tripping up is part of our journey. We're clumsy. We make mistakes. We overplay our hand. We struggle through failures and triumphs. God is the stabilizing bar to our humanity. When we let ego rule, we don't feel for an outstretched hand.
I've thought about that day in Stockton. I didn't bother acknowledging the downtrodden people milling around that corner. How many times a day do you think that happens to them? Would one of them have stepped forward, do you think, if I had humanized them with a look or greeting? Me, too.
When life knocks us out of whack, we need a compassionate steadying hand. Maybe if I'd given them the dignity of a nod, they might have helped me up. And when they did, and I brought their faces into focus, perhaps they may have even noticed and mentioned the silver Visa card lying on the sidewalk that I overlooked.
Jul 17, 2007
Buying Dinner
My son is moving into his own place on Saturday. It's a nice place. Don't get me wrong, I've enjoyed having him home as an only child for the first time since 1985, but there are clues when it's time.
He settled here after college, for a few months until he found his niche. A few tactical shifts and a slight derailment lengthened his stay to 16 months but he recovered nicely and is now working in his major field with a solid framework as a future. We're at T minus 3 days ... and counting.
There's pluses to the big heave-ho. I get my garage back, for instance, and one of the bedrooms and my dog, who has a love affair going on with him and all but ignores me except at mealtime.
I'm sure my son will appreciate not living here. I've been actively dating for the past year and he watches over me with a mix of concern and dread as the dinner dates and card-playing evenings and hikes have come and gone. He seems caught between wanting to leave me alone and not being able to.
He's coming along, though. He and his girl survived a double date with my sweetheart and I. We had a ball during dinner at a Mexican restaurant but I did catch his assessing expression at times. And when he picked up the tab, WELL ... that was a thrilling moment for me. Hey, I recognize the international symbol of adulthood and appreciate the obvious importance my eldest son placed on the evening with a man I care for.
People ask me how it feels to have him moving out. Like a double cartwheel on soft cool grass, I say. There is important stuff happening here. You bet I remember how exciting it felt to be net free (even if it IS on microfiche).
Living with an adult son has given me something unexpected: an opportunity to glimpse his core self, his heart, and his spirit from the full height of adulthood. I wouldn't have a chance to know some of these things if we hadn't been roomies, and I'm not talking about just learning he is awesome at whipping up a perfectly seasoned stir fry at a moment's notice.
Thanks again for that dinner, and all the others we've shared. You make me proud.
He settled here after college, for a few months until he found his niche. A few tactical shifts and a slight derailment lengthened his stay to 16 months but he recovered nicely and is now working in his major field with a solid framework as a future. We're at T minus 3 days ... and counting.
There's pluses to the big heave-ho. I get my garage back, for instance, and one of the bedrooms and my dog, who has a love affair going on with him and all but ignores me except at mealtime.
I'm sure my son will appreciate not living here. I've been actively dating for the past year and he watches over me with a mix of concern and dread as the dinner dates and card-playing evenings and hikes have come and gone. He seems caught between wanting to leave me alone and not being able to.
He's coming along, though. He and his girl survived a double date with my sweetheart and I. We had a ball during dinner at a Mexican restaurant but I did catch his assessing expression at times. And when he picked up the tab, WELL ... that was a thrilling moment for me. Hey, I recognize the international symbol of adulthood and appreciate the obvious importance my eldest son placed on the evening with a man I care for.
People ask me how it feels to have him moving out. Like a double cartwheel on soft cool grass, I say. There is important stuff happening here. You bet I remember how exciting it felt to be net free (even if it IS on microfiche).
Living with an adult son has given me something unexpected: an opportunity to glimpse his core self, his heart, and his spirit from the full height of adulthood. I wouldn't have a chance to know some of these things if we hadn't been roomies, and I'm not talking about just learning he is awesome at whipping up a perfectly seasoned stir fry at a moment's notice.
Thanks again for that dinner, and all the others we've shared. You make me proud.
Jul 9, 2007
The Odometer Chick
I have another update in the teen-seeks-a-car series. I swear, these stories write themselves.
My son, after the first two fiascos, was undaunted. Immediately he found another Ford Ranger, nice shape, nice price, and called. The woman who answered gave him the rundown on the ex husband and needing to sell it (What IS this with ex's leaving their cars behind? My ex took everything he wanted when he left - including the chain saw). Anyway, she told him the mileage was 120K and could show the truck at 8pm.
No problem! My son re-arranged his evening plans and gave her a call around then to arrange a meeting spot. Eight wasn't good for her now but 9 was, so he bided his time and called just shy of 9. Gee, could they make it Saturday at 11? She didn't realize 9 was so late...
That really should have been his first clue.
On Saturday, boy did eventually meet truck around noon - and the woman behind it. The truck was a beaut and he eagerly looked it over as she chattered on about how it should have been listed for $1K more and what a bargain it was. He had checked the blue and the price was about right for 120K, and he told her so, and was just about ready to arrange for our mechanic to put it up on the rack when he noticed the miles: 205K.
What the heck? He challenged her on the price and miles, and she hedged, and then finally 'admitted' the mileage really is 120K but 'the odometer sticks and that's why it shows 205K'.
She should have paid attention in math. (He passed.)
My son, after the first two fiascos, was undaunted. Immediately he found another Ford Ranger, nice shape, nice price, and called. The woman who answered gave him the rundown on the ex husband and needing to sell it (What IS this with ex's leaving their cars behind? My ex took everything he wanted when he left - including the chain saw). Anyway, she told him the mileage was 120K and could show the truck at 8pm.
No problem! My son re-arranged his evening plans and gave her a call around then to arrange a meeting spot. Eight wasn't good for her now but 9 was, so he bided his time and called just shy of 9. Gee, could they make it Saturday at 11? She didn't realize 9 was so late...
That really should have been his first clue.
On Saturday, boy did eventually meet truck around noon - and the woman behind it. The truck was a beaut and he eagerly looked it over as she chattered on about how it should have been listed for $1K more and what a bargain it was. He had checked the blue and the price was about right for 120K, and he told her so, and was just about ready to arrange for our mechanic to put it up on the rack when he noticed the miles: 205K.
What the heck? He challenged her on the price and miles, and she hedged, and then finally 'admitted' the mileage really is 120K but 'the odometer sticks and that's why it shows 205K'.
She should have paid attention in math. (He passed.)
Jul 8, 2007
This Relationship is Over
This is wonderful -- found anonymously - where else? - on CraigsList. ENJOY!
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Dear Silver Mercedes C280 in front of me on Oak Street,
I'm sorry, but this relationship simply isn't working for me. Among other things, relationships are built on trust and mutual understanding, and frankly I don't see those qualities in you. I
respected your right-of-way when you entered the same lane in front of me on Oak Street from Masonic, but with that right-of-way comes certain responsibilities.
Surely you've been down this road before, Mercedes. Surely you must appreciate the synchronized traffic signals that allow us to glide through town unfettered by the block-by-block stop-and-go of our freewayless city. Yet still you seem oblivious to the appropriate rate of speed necessary to keep pace with the synchronization. Do you not recognize all the other car-on-car relationships around you? They all seem to understand how this whole thing works. Don't think I can't see you sipping your latte up there, and is that the New York Times folded against your steering wheel? I have needs, Mercedes -needs you seem in no rush to fulfill. So help me, if one of these lights turns red before we reach it, I'm not forgetting it any time soon.
Have you any idea how embarrassed and frustrated I am when the other traffic on our little thoroughfare see how you're holding me back? I'll tell you right now, I know what lies in my future -Octavia Boulevard, the Central Skyway and eventually I-80 East to the 4th Street exit. Frankly, I just don't know that you have what it takes to be in front of me through that.
So let's be adults about this. I need this lane for the upcoming turn, so please just quietly change lanes or turn on to a side street, and let's put this all behind us. Don't make me honk.
Regretfully,
The Silver Volvo XC70 behind you
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Dear Silver Mercedes C280 in front of me on Oak Street,
I'm sorry, but this relationship simply isn't working for me. Among other things, relationships are built on trust and mutual understanding, and frankly I don't see those qualities in you. I
respected your right-of-way when you entered the same lane in front of me on Oak Street from Masonic, but with that right-of-way comes certain responsibilities.
Surely you've been down this road before, Mercedes. Surely you must appreciate the synchronized traffic signals that allow us to glide through town unfettered by the block-by-block stop-and-go of our freewayless city. Yet still you seem oblivious to the appropriate rate of speed necessary to keep pace with the synchronization. Do you not recognize all the other car-on-car relationships around you? They all seem to understand how this whole thing works. Don't think I can't see you sipping your latte up there, and is that the New York Times folded against your steering wheel? I have needs, Mercedes -needs you seem in no rush to fulfill. So help me, if one of these lights turns red before we reach it, I'm not forgetting it any time soon.
Have you any idea how embarrassed and frustrated I am when the other traffic on our little thoroughfare see how you're holding me back? I'll tell you right now, I know what lies in my future -Octavia Boulevard, the Central Skyway and eventually I-80 East to the 4th Street exit. Frankly, I just don't know that you have what it takes to be in front of me through that.
So let's be adults about this. I need this lane for the upcoming turn, so please just quietly change lanes or turn on to a side street, and let's put this all behind us. Don't make me honk.
Regretfully,
The Silver Volvo XC70 behind you
Jul 6, 2007
CraigsListforCars
This has been an educational experience watching my son look for a used vehicle online. He has his parameters. It has to run, of course, and have all the hardware like doors and a windshield and a radio antenna. Tires would be good, and brakes, and an engine. And it has to be as cheap as possible.
But there is one more critical component: it has to have 'the cool' factor. For me, cool means air conditioning, in addition to being affordable, reliable, and clean. For him, cool means it is lowered to scrape height, with two mufflers (neither of which seem to work), a great stereo system, no back seats, a souped up engine and painted an electric blue. It has no a/c - meaning, when it's 104 out, the wind blowing at you is just as hot at 25 as it is at 110 when you're chasing an ambulance.
When I declined their very generous - and value priced - sale offer of $4,000, the owner (who was a Sheriff's Deputy) said, 'it's because of his age, huh'. Of course not. It's because it comes with its very own book of tickets and a tshirt bearing a radar gun with the words PICK ME.
Astonishingly, this was a step up from the last vehicle he saw. He found a 2001 Ford Ranger in cherry condition with 50K miles for $2000 ($8000 under fair market price). The woman selling the vehicle had a deadline of Friday before having to hand it over to her ex and wanted to meet any interested parties in an anonymous parking lot at 6pm on the 4th of July. Oh and bring cash.
I'd bring a Rottweiler, too, if I were going ... and back up ... and maybe a gun...
But there is one more critical component: it has to have 'the cool' factor. For me, cool means air conditioning, in addition to being affordable, reliable, and clean. For him, cool means it is lowered to scrape height, with two mufflers (neither of which seem to work), a great stereo system, no back seats, a souped up engine and painted an electric blue. It has no a/c - meaning, when it's 104 out, the wind blowing at you is just as hot at 25 as it is at 110 when you're chasing an ambulance.
When I declined their very generous - and value priced - sale offer of $4,000, the owner (who was a Sheriff's Deputy) said, 'it's because of his age, huh'. Of course not. It's because it comes with its very own book of tickets and a tshirt bearing a radar gun with the words PICK ME.
Astonishingly, this was a step up from the last vehicle he saw. He found a 2001 Ford Ranger in cherry condition with 50K miles for $2000 ($8000 under fair market price). The woman selling the vehicle had a deadline of Friday before having to hand it over to her ex and wanted to meet any interested parties in an anonymous parking lot at 6pm on the 4th of July. Oh and bring cash.
I'd bring a Rottweiler, too, if I were going ... and back up ... and maybe a gun...
Jul 5, 2007
Option E
My son wants to buy another vehicle. He needs one because the truck he didn't license, insure or register was tagged and towed. He bought it from his brother at the bargain price of $500 which, when you take into account it gets 8 mpg and consumes a case of oil a week, was grossly overpriced. It looked like it had been shelled and then survived a Basenji being locked inside.
Before the great 'towing incident of 2007', we had discussed his options: a) register and license the vehicle; b) register and do a non-operational use permit; c) park it in the driveway off a public street; or d) let me donate it to charity for the end of year tax write off.
Apparently he chose Option E. Option E? ...Ah yes, the do-nothing plan. I discovered Option E the day he informed me his truck had been stolen from in front of a friend's house. Stolen? The most valuable part on the truck was the toolbox and that could be unbolted. I recommended he call the city.
Ahhh, Door #E opens up into a black market economy! Once the city takes possession of the vehicle, the towing company can charge anything it wants (per day) until the owner attends to the issue. They have it GOING ON!! So THAT'S how they fund those big fancy tow trucks with all the gadgets.
Towing companies aren't choosy about little things like matching up registered owner names, I guess: they gladly took from a 19 year old the $530 to untangle their fees for a vehicle not technically his. He had no choice but to pay the fees, because his much older, much bigger, and much stronger brother was the registered owner and the lien would be have been in his name.
But wait, there's more!
In the all-or-nothing world of Option E, he also had to bring the registration current before the vehicle, the one he didn't own, would be released. Since the truck wasn't even worth the $530 he had already paid, let alone the additional $239, he left it with them. He probably could have gotten a $15 non operational permit, but at the risk of getting the truck back, I decided not to mention it.
Is anyone in the market for a used toolbox in perfect condition?
Jul 4, 2007
Sitting Still Enough to Listen
We want to be successful communicators to have a life of connections to our friends and family, work and world. But communication is a genuine challenge when how we express ourselves is as unique as our experiences, education, upbringing, and the conclusions we've drawn in life. When we're not 'on the same page', building bridges can be tough.
Being misunderstood is one of the hardest things to solve. What's inside isn't always easy to express. We teeter between being tedious and vague, in a place where what is said is not always what is heard.
Written communication is even worse. Lost is the inflection and conversational rhythm of active communication. Playful sarcasm is wonderfully funny live but loses most of its punch in print. Things can be read literally or misread altogether when you've only got one eye turned to the page.
I've misunderstood and been misunderstood at times and I wonder if the speed of life makes it easy to not take the time to listen and process. Admittedly, I am restless to get to the heart of the topic and sometimes miss the subtleties that tie the bow.
So here's my plan: hone a more focused listening style. That means minimizing distractions like driving, washing dishes, paying bills when I'm actively communicating. It also means being present in the moment with the communication itself, listening to what's being said rather than what I want to hear.
That should keep me busy for a while. What was that? Oh sure, let me know how I do.
Jul 1, 2007
Dollars with Sense
You know, I've had just about as much of Paris Hilton as I can stand. Say it with me: people who take ethical shortcuts in life end up somewhere they don't expect. Even worse than the choices is the lack of remorse other than being caught.
The media barrages us all the time with the lowest common denominator without qualification. Filling our heads with sensational stories of corruption and violence, during family hour, without the insightful parables of goodness coming out of moral decay, is wrong. Whose fault is it all this crap is being shoved down our throats? Ours.
All we seem to be able to manage is idly standing by wringing our hands in despair at the decay of this country when we spoon feed our children these examples to live down to. I resent having to explain to my 8 year old about the Gay Freedom Parade before he is old enough to hear the talk about the birds and the bees, because I had the misfortune of turning on the 6:00 news while making dinner. Where is the national conscience and common sense to put that on the 11:00 news?
Children are sponges and we are their filters -- not just their parents, all of us. Parents struggle to monitor and qualify what is seen and heard, set family boundaries and steadfast values, and the media undermines them, as though they have no moral obligation to its society. Where is the protective cultural framework that gave us our strength, the deep roots in God, Family, Country? This is why our societal fabric is shredding. HELLO?? Everywhere other than church and at the dinner table, we're shown how to take what we want without consequence.
But I was thinking ... what might happen if we only endorsed entertainment and news with values-based story lines? What if we bit the bullet and sacrificed the immediacy of our no-holds-barred entertainment fetish to establish a baseline here? In other words, practice personal restraint by not buying it at the movies, on DVDs or computers or TV. Free or not, we control market share, and that makes the world go round.
I'd like to see the day when PBS, Disney, History, Discovery and HG TV dominate the ratings for 60 consecutive weeks. Watching the media scramble for funding sources would be so entertaining, we probably wouldn't even miss all the murder and treachery. If we play our cards right, we might be able to also jettison all the sexual dysfunction ads...
Social reform is easy in a country driven by greed. Our voices wouldn't be a whisper, they'd be a shout. America would respond in a hurry if we leveraged our dollars with sense. The ball's in our court.
The media barrages us all the time with the lowest common denominator without qualification. Filling our heads with sensational stories of corruption and violence, during family hour, without the insightful parables of goodness coming out of moral decay, is wrong. Whose fault is it all this crap is being shoved down our throats? Ours.
All we seem to be able to manage is idly standing by wringing our hands in despair at the decay of this country when we spoon feed our children these examples to live down to. I resent having to explain to my 8 year old about the Gay Freedom Parade before he is old enough to hear the talk about the birds and the bees, because I had the misfortune of turning on the 6:00 news while making dinner. Where is the national conscience and common sense to put that on the 11:00 news?
Children are sponges and we are their filters -- not just their parents, all of us. Parents struggle to monitor and qualify what is seen and heard, set family boundaries and steadfast values, and the media undermines them, as though they have no moral obligation to its society. Where is the protective cultural framework that gave us our strength, the deep roots in God, Family, Country? This is why our societal fabric is shredding. HELLO?? Everywhere other than church and at the dinner table, we're shown how to take what we want without consequence.
But I was thinking ... what might happen if we only endorsed entertainment and news with values-based story lines? What if we bit the bullet and sacrificed the immediacy of our no-holds-barred entertainment fetish to establish a baseline here? In other words, practice personal restraint by not buying it at the movies, on DVDs or computers or TV. Free or not, we control market share, and that makes the world go round.
I'd like to see the day when PBS, Disney, History, Discovery and HG TV dominate the ratings for 60 consecutive weeks. Watching the media scramble for funding sources would be so entertaining, we probably wouldn't even miss all the murder and treachery. If we play our cards right, we might be able to also jettison all the sexual dysfunction ads...
Social reform is easy in a country driven by greed. Our voices wouldn't be a whisper, they'd be a shout. America would respond in a hurry if we leveraged our dollars with sense. The ball's in our court.
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