Happy Thanksgiving

There's a dog that lives near us that is missing its right front leg.   I've seen the dog out for walks and it seems to get by just fine.   In fact, the casual observer may not even notice that there's a leg missing.   I saw the dog in his yard last night.   He was sniffing along the fence, checking out the perimeter like most dogs do.   At one point, the dog leaned a shoulder against the fence for balance as he lifted a leg and marked a spot.   Up until that point, it hadn't occurred to me that missing a front leg would pose special difficulties for a male dog in need of some relief.   I was heartened to see that the dog had learned to cope so well.

What does this have to do with Thanksgiving?   Well not much, really.   I can't recall the dog's name right now, but if I owned him, I would definitely call him "Tripod".

How ya doing?

"How ya doing?"
"Good, thanks. And you?"
"Great, thanks."

How many times have I heard or been a part of that exchange?   It's really not that different than two people saying hello to each other.   It's become understood that just because someone asks how you are doing, it doesn't mean they really want you to tell them.   It's just a nice thing to ask, and we all want to be nice.   Likewise, since we know the response they are expecting, the nice thing to do is give it to them, even if sometimes we aren't doing so great.

Every now and then, you meet someone who is completely sincere when they ask this question.   They honestly want to know how you are doing.   I'm always thrown off a little bit by these people.   I give them the standard response and then realize they're still waiting for more - for details.   These people are rare. They are the caring souls that make this world a better place.

Yesterday, I learned that one of these people had passed away.   I feel sad for his family, for my family, for anyone who knew him, because I know how greatly they will miss him.   I can't think of a time when he didn't ask me how I was doing.   He would then follow it up with questions about what I was doing and why.   Honestly listening and caring about the response - such a simple thing but such an extraordinary gift.

The next time I ask "How ya doing?", I'll try to follow his example and really listen for the answer.

That can't be me

I was sorting through some pictures on our computer recently.  There were quite a few to go through.  Back in the film days, the camera only came out for vacations and special occasions.  Now, anything can merit a snapshot.  The boys are especially quick to grab the camera.  Their favorite subjects seem to be the cats and each other.  I remember one of them using a film camera once.  It took about a minute and a half before the 24-exposure roll of film was used up.  Even then, they didn't fully grasp the finality of the situation, hoping instead to be able to go back and erase some earlier shots to free up some room on the film.

So there I was, sorting through pictures, making folders with meaningful names like "Misc Oct 2008".  I'm happy to say I didn't run across many pictures of myself.  For vacations and such, I'm often the one with the camera and thus I'm seldom actually in the shot.  I don't particularly like looking at pictures of myself.  Everyone but me is so familiar looking.  There's my dear family with a guy who kind of looks like me, but kind of doesn't.  He'd at least look more like me if he'd part his hair on the same side.  That's the real problem - I've gotten used to the mirror-image me.  I know the image I see in the pictures is what everyone else sees everyday, but it's not how I see myself.  Everything's flipped around from where it should be and it just seems wrong.  And another thing, that guy in the picture could stand to lose a couple of pounds.

I prefer to continue basing my self image on what I can see in the bathroom mirror, not what the camera reveals.  If I can't see the beginnings of a bald spot on the top of my head, then for me, it doesn't exist.  And with a little help from PhotoShop, it won't exist in the picture either.

Hot Drinks

The building where I work has a little break room with a few vending machines, including one for coffee.  When no one is actually buying a drink, the little display on the coffee machine scrolls the following message: “The Best Coffee in the World”.  Could I really be so lucky as to have the world’s best coffee so near by?  No, it turns out, I’m not that lucky.  I tried the “coffee” from the machine and it is not the world’s best.  It is hot and it is a liquid.  The similarities to coffee end there.  Even though I chose the strongest option, the color was a sort of translucent light brown.  It had no real odor or flavor and yet somehow managed to produce an aftertaste.  I don’t know if it contained any caffeine or not but evidently there’s something in it that gives me a headache.

The machine offers a couple of free “complements” that you can add to your drink.  They are labeled “Sugar” and “Whitener”.  It’s curious that a machine that was so cavalier with the truth regarding its coffee is painfully honest about the “whitener”.  No claims that this stuff will affect the flavor in any way.  All it’s going to do is make the color whiter.

The machine also dispenses hot chocolate, vanilla latte and something called “Butterfinger”.  As you can well imagine, I was intrigued by that last one and had to try it.  It was very much like drinking a Butterfinger candy bar.  I’m not sure who decided that the Butterfinger was a good candidate for a hot beverage flavor, but it wasn’t too bad.  The orange foam was a tad unsettling, however.

Semantics

One of N's favorite activities is building things out of boxes. I'm not sure why he likes it so much since it inevitably involves at least one or two meltdowns when things don't go as planned. He is quite creative and often the design he envisions goes beyond the capability of mere cardboard. At that point, the passion of the artist erupts in fits of fury as he attempts to force the material to succumb to his will.

He was having one of these battles recently. I let it go for awhile, hoping it would resolve itself – this hardly ever happens. Finally, I stepped in and tried to help - always a dangerous action. Sometimes he wants help and sometimes he doesn't. I figured I would start by showing him that I recognized how he felt. Unfortunately, I chose my words poorly:

• Me: Hey, Is that thing not working out?
• N (crying): It won't work! It keeps flipping up and now it's totally ruined!
• Me: Can I help you?
• N (still crying): It's not going to work! This is the worst day of my life!
• Me: Listen, I appreciate the fact that you are frustrated...
• N (shouting): You're glad I'm crying? (with extreme incredulity) You're glad!?
• Me: That's not what I said.
• N (accusing now): Yes it is! You said you appreciated it. That means you're glad. You're mean, Dad!

Another fine parenting moment. I had successfully converted his sadness and anger toward a piece of cardboard into hatred towards me. Maybe not exactly what I had planned but at least it was something I could work with. I was pretty sure I could get him to stop hating me. That cereal box, on the other hand, was never going to magically mold itself into a cat drawbridge.

I tried to explain that appreciate had other meanings, but I was met with looks of suspicion. I felt like a politician trying to distance myself from an unfavorable remark that everyone knew I had said (e.g. "I never said he was un-American"). N was not in the mood to hear it, and my explanation only served to fuel his skepticism.

Since that night, N and I have discussed the various meanings of the word appreciate. I think he understands what I was trying to say but he maintains that I should have said it differently - I wholeheartedly agree. Of course, now that we've discussed its usage, whenever I see him upset, I tell him I appreciate how he's feeling. It usually works to diffuse the situation as he gives me a knowing look of mock admonishment.

For reference:

ap•pre•ci•ate

transitive verb appreciated -•at′ed, appreciating -•at′•ing

1. to think well of; understand and enjoy; esteem
2. to recognize and be grateful for; be thankful for
3. to estimate the quality or worth of, esp. favorably
4. to be fully or sensitively aware of; notice with discrimination
5. to raise the price or value of

N heard #1, I meant #4.

What's that say?

Due to a condition beyond my control (aging), I’ve found that I now need to use reading glasses.  I’ve never needed glasses before.  In fact, I don’t really like wearing glasses – not even sunglasses.  This is mostly due to the fact that I don’t have a good head for them.  My noggin is just too darn big and I suspect that my ears are uneven.  I received a pair of reading glasses as a joke when I turned 40.  I didn’t need them at the time but over the next few years I found myself occasionally popping them on when the print was fine and the light was low (and no one was looking).  Mostly, I could get by without them by holding things out at arm’s length.  Finally, last year, my arms weren’t long enough to compensate.  Suddenly, it seemed, I needed my reading glasses all the time.

I now have about eight or nine pairs of reading glasses.  I keep a couple pairs at work and the rest are somewhere in the house.  I figure if I own enough pairs there’s a reasonable chance I’ll be able to find one of them.  They still don’t fit on my head properly, but like so many things related to aging, vanity has given way to necessity.

Don't talk to me, I voted

It turns out the local “get out the vote” chapter has an office in the same building where I work.  Yesterday the halls were filled with excited, energetic young people “mobilizing”.  There was much hustle and bustle as they came and went in small groups.  I admire their enthusiasm, but I found their intensity just a little frightening.  I was glad that I’d voted before coming to work.  My little red “I Voted” sticker served as a sort of protective bubble – allowing me to walk freely among them without concern

Halloween

We had a pretty good Halloween this year.  B’s costume, which was ordered online, finally arrived in the mail on Friday.  I had been a tad worried it might not make it in time.  B, on the other hand, was surprisingly calm about the whole affair.  The web site had stated “guaranteed delivery by Halloween” so he felt confident everything would be fine.  As it turns out, he was right.

N went as a robot – homemade from cardboard boxes and other items we scavenged.  N is always building something out of cardboard, so it was not surprising that he wanted to make his own costume.  I must admit, I really enjoyed helping him with this.  Okay, there was one uncomfortable moment when, as I was rattling off various design options, N looked up at me and said, “Dad, am I going to get to do any of this?”  I promptly shut my mouth and let him take charge.  In the end, N characterized our relationship this way, he comes up with the ideas and I figure out a way to make them work (thank you, duct tape).

The robot costume was pretty cool.  N got many compliments throughout the night.  The boy who lives next door made a point of telling anyone who would listen that N made it himself with his dad.  I’ve always liked that boy.