How Altruistic Are Stockroom Clerks, Anyhow?

My 16-year-old son found himself unexpectedly unemployed after holding an office job for a year.  He wants pocket money flowing again, so he's trying to find a summer situation which will carry over into the next school year if he's lucky.

Today he went on a local supermarket's web site to fill out an application.  He asked me for advice about the legal type questions, and then it got really interesting.  After he chose the kind of job he wanted (the overall support tasks -- stock, janitorial, collecting carts, servicing the can/bottle machines, etc.) he was asked to answer a long series of personality evaluation questions -- how much do you agree with this statement, etc.  I have taken this kind of questionnaire before, but I've been working in a professional environment for over 25 years.  Examples:

• "I put other people's feelings and desires before my own."
• "Most people want to quit their job more than the boss realizes."
• "Most people would use a company credit card to buy personal items."
• "Unfortunately, I would probably have to change jobs again within one year."
• "Most people make mistakes and I would have no problem making mistakes on the job."
• "When given a task, I would always seek to do it the way I see fit."
• "I take pride in performing to the best of my ability."

I guess they want to see whether the answers correlate together to make a common personality type, and whether they think it correlates with the type of job sought.  I sure hope they remember that the applicant is 16 and doesn't have many choices available to him.

The best part:  he had to stop before it was complete so he could leave for driver's ed, so he'll have to fill most of it out a second time.  Sigh...

Nothing Comes for Nothing

This Cryptoquote actually appeared in Wednesday's paper -- July 4, 2012 -- but I haven't gotten around to posting it 'til now.  There are plenty of ways to express this as a terse generality, since freedom is but one example of a desirable and important result in life.  I'll forgive the outdated reference to "men" from the 1700s of course...

Those who expect to read the blessings of freedom must, like men, undergo the fatigue of supporting it.


Thomas Paine

No Good Deed, Part Two

I'd written a post a couple of months ago about spraining my ankle when heading to volunteer at a soup kitchen.  Pure irony, of course, that I got "punished" for it, unless you believe in divine intervention, but even at that moment, it would've been kind of ridiculous since the soup kitchen is in a church.  

This morning I read a news article which indicates a deliberate instance of someone's being punished for doing a good deed.  A young lifeguard dared to run over and assist in the rescue of a swimmer who was just outside his patrol zone.  The swimmer was ultimately fine, but the lifeguard lost his job because he was perceived to have risked the safety of the people in his own zone.  Two other lifeguards quit in protest of management's decision.

Maybe if our society weren't so punitive and judgmental and litigation oriented, more people would step forward to help others on general principle.  Fear of "Good Samaritan" lawsuits has stopped many people from giving assistance to injured strangers.  Fear of becoming a crime victim has deterred many people from stopping on the side of the road to see whether someone could use a hand changing a tire or calling a tow truck or possibly even an ambulance.

Back to basics would be awfully nice.  This is Pollyanna, signing off.

No Phone Booth Needed

Remember the good old days when a superhero (heroine?) jumped into a phone booth to change into the super costume?  No?   Well OK I'm just admitting to my advanced age here.  Anyhow...

Saturday one of my sons cleaned out his cave of a closet.  Hadn't been done in years.  Among other items, a few old school backpacks were in there.  It was apparently too much trouble to empty them after the mad dash for summer vacation.  We reclaimed several erasers and rulers and glue sticks and pencil cases and pairs of scissors and dozens of pens and pencils.  (Shopping this August should be a breeze.)

Wasn't all buried treasure, though.  One of these backpacks smelled like a wet rodent died in there.  Well maybe I haven't exactly ever come across a decomposing squirrel, but I'm taking a guess.  After the entire bottom of the closet was emptied, and after we were sure said "backpack of death" was double bagged and placed outside the house, we went to work on the closet floor with disinfectants and deodorizers.  Yesterday we continued that process, with the bedroom windows wide open after the rain had ceased.  It was definitely getting more bearable.

Last night, five minutes before bedtime (the kids', not mine) I went to check on the situation.  The closet seemed improved when I stuck my head in (yes, I know, oh the bravery) but the room still smelled foul somehow.  I found that a corner of the rug seemed to be the culprit.  I turned it over, and sure enough there was a brown stain that had seeped through to the backing.  By this time, my son appeared beside me.  I looked up.  "Would you care to explain this?"

"Uh...I think I spilled some iced tea there a couple of months ago.  But I sprinkled it with Carpet Fresh and it seemed okay."  Yuh.  This, from a kid who doesn't realize that his b.o. could sometimes knock a buzzard off a manure spreader.

In a fit of superhuman strength, I grabbed the 9 by 12 foot rug and yanked it out of the room.  The mattress and boxspring had been in the middle of it, but I didn't care.  I managed to roll and fold it so it fit in a large trash bag, and covered it from the other end in another large trash bag to contain the odor.  Son was upset that he had "rug dust" all over his room but again I cared not.  I was too impressed with my super powers and was doing Mrs. America poses in the hallway.  Nah, just kidding about that part.

Let's see whether the room still smells like a sewer tonight.  If it does, we might be able to sublet to one of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.  Or all of 'em.

Lunch Banditry

My office has 100+ employees.  Many of them are very highly educated, holding PhD degrees in science.  Some of the rest of us have degrees in technical disciplines.  I think you have to hold at least a high school diploma to work here at all.  But the sort of thing that's stuck in my craw today goes back to preschool or possibly kindergarten.

When did people begin to forget about "if it doesn't belong to you, don't touch" as a corollary to the Golden Rule or an application of the Ten Commandments or just plain common sense of getting along in the world?  We have people here from various parts of the United States and many countries around the globe.  Are there really pockets of civilization where children are being raised to think that it's okay to take food or drink out of a common refrigerator/freezer without having put said food or drink there in the first place?

I understand that some people believe in "finders keepers".  An unlabeled item might be interpreted as an invitation.  Occasionally somebody will bring in something and put a note on it saying "please take" or "help yourself" and then the invitation is obvious.  But it sounds as though most of the stolen items have been clearly labeled.  If you can drive your car to get to the office in the morning, you should be able to see well enough to read Mary's name on her lunch container or Cliff's initials on his jug of milk.  The Facilities department also requests that we write a date on each item so that, when the monthly cleaning takes place, they will be able to easily identify items that are no longer appropriate for consumption.

All you have to do is ask around to get the waterfall of war stories started. "Who's had their stuff taken from one of the refrigerators?" J found that someone had eaten part of her leftover Chinese food one day.  Not merely rude, but also gross. J had eaten half of the full portion the day before, and so the pilferer acquired J's germs and left some in return.  Sometimes the food is removed from the container, and sometimes the container is taken too.  If it's Tupperware, that's probably a $10 bill to replace it, in addition to the cost of the food and the added time and expense of running out to buy lunch unexpectedly.  I should mention that this is significant because our office is a good 10-15 minute drive from any store or restaurant, and we have no cafeteria on site.  Though we have vending machines, a Cup O'Noodles and a bag of chips is not viewed by many as a nutritious or satisfying meal. Some have medical conditions or food allergies and bring special concoctions from home.  They may not easily be able to go into the 7-11 or pizza joint to get a viable substitute lunch.

We also seem to have big problems with milk.  Several milk co-ops exist, but the participants swear that the milk disappears much more quickly than it should.  Who else is using it?  Some people stock those flavored creamers too, with the same results.  We kid about watching the fun which would ensue if we replaced the vanilla creamer with vanilla Ex-Lax.  But that would be a case of two wrongs.  I can't say I would think it completely outrageous, however, to see someone feel justified to commit a small act of revenge after enduring years of being victimized by petty theft.

Did I say "victimized" when discussing small thefts of food and drink?  Yes.  People feel violated.  Imagine being one of the people whose lunch disappears every so often, and always wondering whether it will happen again today.  Imagine walking around the office and wondering whether this person who smiles and seems friendly is one of the sneaky milk bandits.

I'm not a coffee or tea drinker, and like my diet soda at room temperature (okay so if you've ever read my blog before, you probably know I'm a weirdo already).  I guess it can be risky not to refrigerate milk, and you might be risking your health if you use the "non dairy creamer" in the can on the counter.  As for my lunch and my afternoon fruit, I keep those in an insulated cooler bag which travels to and from work with me daily.  I could keep an ice pack in there if I had a need for a small container of milk.    But should any of this really be necessary?  Why can't people just respect each other's stuff?

Maybe the bandits don't see it as an issue of respect, just a teeny bending of the rules which doesn't really matter in the grand scheme.  Maybe a bandit means to contribute towards the milk co-op but forgets.  Maybe a bandit is a poor planner and gets caught starving with no extra time to run out for sustenance.  Maybe a bandit has no grocery budget to speak of (okay, unlikely).  We might feel sorry for a few people under these circumstances but I would not consider that justification for their acts.  It's possible that there is occasionally intent to victimize someone in particular, but the people who seem to suffer theft often are among those who are generally well liked.  Do we have bandits who just don't give a damn about other people as a rule?  Are these the same people who leave disgusting things behind in the rest rooms?  (Whoops, I'd better remain focused on this rant before beginning another.)

Things may go from bad to worse, as we are enduring a period of construction which has forced the entire office to use one refrigerator for the time being.  Will the Ex-Lax plan be launched at last?  Will someone set a trap with the moldy bread they found at home?  Will people mix their own bodily fluids into their food in order to gain smug satisfaction should it be stolen?  Stay tuned.

Con Queso

This morning I decided to skip my usual oatmeal and treat myself to an egg sandwich on the way to work.  I ordered one egg scrambled with cheese on an onion roll.  As I took the first bite while pulling the car onto the highway entrance ramp, something was missing.  No!  Maybe it was just the one edge of the sandwich.  Pulse quickening.  Second bite.  SIGH.  They forgot the cheese.

Eggs just don't taste the same when they're not surrounded by my beloved cheese.  When I get the occasional burger or taco, there's just got to be cheese or, to me anyway, what's the point?  I've often said I'm a cheeseaholic, but there are tried and true food combinations that just should not be separated.  [Imagine that; the spell checker informed me that "cheeseaholic" is not a recognized word.]

Had I been completely impulsive and torn into the sandwich before I'd left the curb, I would've gone back in to the shop...but I was more than a mile down the road and would've had to get off at the next highway exit to make a U-turn and go all the way back and...    Long story short, I just put up with the fact that I had sweet dough with yummy onion pieces and poppy seeds, and a thin flat slab of scrambled egg, not too much but not too little...and no gooey salty sticky cheese to complete the taste experience.

Hey, at least it wasn't raining.

Crystal Clear

Some chunk of something had created a chip, and subsequently a fast spreading crack, in my windshield last week.  A mobile auto glass unit arrived at my office this morning to give me a replacement.  It had been so many years ago the last time I needed a new windshield, I didn't remember anything about the experience.  In case you're curious, I'll share:

• It only takes half an hour to remove the old one (with a large screwdriver and crowbar) and install the new one.
• All that holds in your windshield is some really strong glue.  Anyone else find this a mite scary?
• Two small strips of orange tape provide an assist for the first 24 hours.
• No driving at high speeds for at least 45 minutes because the adhesive needs time to set, and if you have a collision the windshield may pop out.  (Now THAT'S scary!)
• No putting the car up on a lift for three days, since the jostling may cause the windshield to detach.
• Wipers should always be replaced soon after getting a new windshield.

One thing's for sure -- after a couple of rainy days, it's a lovely day to spend a few minutes outside chit chatting with the windshield guy!  Happy Friday!

Never Having to Say You're Sorry?

Hmm.  I think that "Love is never having to say you're sorry" line from the Love Story movie is a lot of happy hogwash.  Love includes, at least in my book, being considerate of others' feelings.  This ought to entail the occasional apology.

Normally I don't go around looking for people to apologize to me for this and that, because it's kind of obnoxious to stand there and engage in foot tapping while someone gets ready to stammer out "Sorry."  But every so often I am galled that no apology is forthcoming and I get frustrated.  There are a few people who are near and dear to me in other ways but the concept of an apology doesn't seem to be in their realm, except if they do something like bump into you accidentally.  But somehow it's uncomfortable or impossible for them to apologize for doing something that hurts on an emotional level (or neglecting to do something, which causes a different kind of hurt).  Is this a lack of capacity?  Or is it laziness?

I know it's best not to retain anger because it allows others to rent space in my head, and it affects me adversely, but it sure is stressful at times to feel like people think I should just put up with whatever they feel like dishing out.  Hey, I know -- maybe venting on my blog will help!

Babies and Bathwater

I occasionally recall a management seminar tidbit I heard long ago:  "When things go bad, don't go with them."  I think it's great advice.

We're going through a period of major change where I work, on several fronts.  We're tearing apart our building, moving to a new online HR system, and retooling the way we do annual raises.  We've set up a temporary office where we will have some employees housed during either one or two three week stints when our building will be unusable, and have been testing there.  We've recently done an operating system upgrade on the office desktops, and have been doing the same with the company owned laptops.  It's busy and stressful, but it's not just about getting a bunch of things done in a short amount of time.

There's disagreement as to whether we really need to be putting an addition on the building, and whether the company can afford it.  Some employees are looking forward to a chance to work in the temporary office, and others will only go there grudgingly if forced.  Raises have not been overly high the last few years because of the economy, and there is grumbling about being in the same boat this year.  Some say the new HR and salary system will make a bad situation worse, and this seems to be the straw that breaks the camel's back in the view of quite a few people in my office.

Seems like whenever there is unrest at work these days, a discussion about a particular issue brings forth a litany of other complaints, such as those I've already mentioned (but there are more).  I know I don't have a lot of patience for prolonged complaining, as I have grown very solution oriented over the years, but in general I don't think it makes sense to build a heap of seemingly unsolvable issues when only one is currently being discussed.  It would make sense if we were building a fire and they'd all get burned up in a little while.  But in this case it brings people less hope of forward progress.

I, Pollyanna, then become cranky when I try to offer options to solve a particular issue and I'm told "well, what does it matter anyway because all this other stuff is so hopelessly messed up."  It is true that I can only change my own behavior and not that of others.  Will I have to just ride out the next several months in relative calmness and sanity, and let people slowly realize that they should jump on the bandwagon?  One way to find out.  At least today is mostly over.  :-)

Shhhhh!

Last night I attended a "pops" concert at our high school, hosted by the music honor society students and teacher advisors.  My tenth grader was at the door with some of his cronies, collecting donations for St. Jude's Children's Research Hospital -- very worthy cause.  They only asked for $3 but many of us threw more than that into the buckets.

Quite a few talented singers, dancers, and musicians performed.  Jazz, rap, vocal, broadway show, funk, rock, grunge rock, and country were some of the genres represented.  Most of the acts involved singing, and most were accompanied by a single instrument.

As such, when people in the audience started jibber jabbering, even at the pitch of a whisper, it could easily be overheard and was disruptive.  Near to where I was sitting, I noticed one of the high school's teachers with his daughter.  He is involved with the PTA and attends many evening events at the school.  He is blind.  I smiled quite a few times as I saw and heard him setting an excellent example for his daughter, commenting between acts on how good they were, applauding enthusiastically, and clapping along when this was encouraged.

I also found myself wondering how annoying it must be to have to rely completely on your ears for enjoyment, and have this diluted by other people's jibber jabbering.  Luckily the talking within several rows of us did quiet down, but I had been ready to politely ask the talkers to muster the kindness to be silent.  I thought of this again during the second act, because I sat closer to the stage after the intermission and noticed several proud parents videotaping.  Think of how much fun the playback must be, with the dilution of jibber jabbering.

As far as I could tell, a good time was had by all.  I was able to quell my own impatience after a little while.  In my opinion the second act was even better than the first.  Nice job, students!

Pitching In

Yesterday was a Red Flag Day. NY metro area at high risk of fire because of prolonged dry conditions and high winds. Akin to a high terror alert.

Yesterday afternoon a massive brush fire started on Eastern Long Island, near Brookhaven National Lab and my office, a bit northeast of us. Local roads were closed for safety reasons and for access by emergency vehicles. As I exited the building to head for home around 5pm, I could smell the smoke. I headed all the way south to take a different route home because news reports told of lane closures on the Long Island Expressway due to other fires. The traffic report on the radio cautioned that the carpool lane on the Expressway was closed all the way going east, from Queens, to allow emergency vehicles to pass.

Even on the southern route home (Sunrise Highway and the Southern State Parkway) there were many fire department vehicles heading east to assist. I saw several Nassau County squads in the 45 minutes I was traveling. I was very impressed. I commend the teamwork and cooperative efforts, knowing that many of these fire departments are staffed by volunteers.

No Good Deed

I know I'm a card carrying klutz but I think my best friend called it right on this one. Yesterday morning, my son and I were headed to the Methodist church in town to help out with their weekly Sunday soup group (feeding those who need a complete nutritious meal). Upon walking downstairs to the kitchen, I missed the last step and twisted my ankle. Not the worst sprain I've ever gotten but it definitely curtailed my activities for the rest of the day and evening. I'm wearing an Ace ankle brace today and have my foot raised. Will I bowl Saturday on my league? Who knows.

My friend made a Facebook comment to the effect of "it just figures that you were doing something good at the time." Yup, no good deed goes unpunished. I'm not really that cynical about good deed doing -- I actually do quite a lot of it -- but it IS kind of funny.

Beginnings, and Endings

A few months ago, an old friend of ours from our volleyball group where hubby and I met took a promising new job in Wyoming. He and his wife, another volleyball cohort, had been living in the Carolinas with their two sons for quite some time. Wife and sons were to join him in Wyoming in a couple of months, after the school year concluded. Exciting new beginning to an already satisfying life.

Before the weekend, our friend suffered a massive stroke. From the outset the prognosis was bleak, and by Saturday he was in hospice care. On Sunday he was gone. This is the fourth friend to pass at a young age from our old gang, and he lived by far the longest, at just over 50. Sad and scary all together, and what a waste. Fantastic guy, husband, father. His easy, explosive, contagious laugh is still with me even though it's been a while since the families have gotten together. Sigh.

I'm not one for bucket lists, but I do believe in telling your loved ones that they are loved. I'm not one to live each day hedonistically as if it were my last, but I do try to live each day as if this were the one people will remember when they think of me. If you're one of my loved ones, I really hope you know it in your heart.

Taking Stock

My oldest son, in tenth grade, has been amassing documentation for his National Honor Society application. Had any of my kids been interested in joining the Scouts it would have been easier to collect credentials of leadership and community service. But the boy did okay. Captain of soccer team, teacher selected student of the month and quarter, first chair clarinet in 8th grade band, soup kitchen volunteer since 9th grade. We dug out letters of acceptance to French Honor Society and the like, letters of thanks for participation in charity walks, programs from summer theater arts shows.

Sure, it's taken a bunch of time to find everything and make copies, but it's also been fun for my son to recall all his involvement and distinction. Wouldn't it be neat if we all took stock in our accomplishments and activities every so often, just for the sake of doing it? Might be a good emotional pick-me-up on a rotten day.

Torture

I think I have more of a window into what it's like to be insane.

I was recently on a business trip for five days. It's hit or miss with sleeping in hotel rooms to begin with, but something of a personal nature cropped up while I was there, and it began to trouble me greatly. During the day, I was heavily involved with working, including talking to dozens of people and unpacking boxes and walking here and there. At night, in my room, I was left alone with my thoughts.

I was caught off guard by the physiological symptoms of my mental anguish. Stomach lurching, heart rate quickening, body trembling...and naturally the stress of worrying about not being able to function the next day because I was lying awake torturing myself during the wee hours. I was truly my worst enemy.

Luckily I was able to leave a big chunk of my troubles behind when I packed up to go home, but I still find it quite unsettling that I was unable to control their effects on my nervous system. I will have to watch for this in the future. Last night, the first in my own bed, I crashed hard. But tonight?

Sending Me Packing

A colleague and I are driving to Boston on Sunday morning for a business trip. This is a huge undertaking for my company. At least 50 employees travel to this meeting every year -- condensed matter physics, the largest of our topical meetings. 8700 attendees have preregistered, and hundreds more always register on site.

Two coworkers have asked us to take suitcases for them, to avoid airline hassles of checked luggage so they can merely skip by with a carry-on bag. We're taking so many work related things anyway, and it's only the two of us, so we're happy to oblige. I have the two suitcases in my possession, ready to go. Five day trip. Both are half the size of mine! Boy am I humbled.

Now, I realize I need more room because I bring several skeins of yarn for crocheting. And I have reading materials. And a bathing suit, and workout clothes. And pajamas. And four work outfits and some casual clothes. But I thought I was a pretty low maintenance kind of gal. Guess not.

&%$#@

Anyone who knows me personally is well aware that I don't mind peppering my speech with cuss words on occasion, for amusement and variety and for the simple reason that they have precision. However, as a rule I don't use them to hurt people. As a lover of language, my vocabulary is such that I would much rather use five dollar English words to insult someone...but I don't intend to be insulting as a rule either.

I am becoming increasingly appalled to see widespread use of name calling online, via Twitter, Facebook, blogs, etc. where it would merely be appropriate to agree to disagree. Even if someone else is immature and says something provoking, so many people keep taking the bait and rising to the challenge of who can be more vicious in the ongoing dialogue. I remember the game "Got Ya Last" growing up...but it was a kid's game and should have remained a kid's game.

This morning I became aware of a stream of comments on a professional (industry) blog that deteriorated into the questioning of people's intelligence and integrity. The Twitter component, where people have only 140 characters in which to make a single point, was characterized by swear words and "making it personal." Mind you, this was all expression of difference of point of view and philosophy on a work related topic.

I know we're all human and therefore imperfect, but do we really need to be having a contest to see how immature we can become and how low we can stoop? Our kids are watching us on the Internet too, as they are in the home and the car and the supermarket etc. and do we really want to give them that example? Sigh.

Fisticuffs and Stupidity

Within a week, our family has had two new school disciplinary experiences: detention and in-school suspension. I guess that's pretty good for the length of our tenure as parents; our oldest is 15. The first event was due to the silliness of a gaggle of guys, without giving thought to how their private joke would be perceived when viewed publicly. The second event came about because of a loss of temper and composure after some verbal sparring at the lunch table. Getting into a fist fight at school is apparently a highly punishable offense these days, and we were advised that local law enforcement is often called in to consult. In the seventies it seemed like standard schoolyard justice for everyday minor conflict. Who knew?

The dean of discipline (yes, we have those nowadays too) only gave our son one day of in-school suspension for the fist fight because it's his first time. He said that most kids do not repeat this. However, they have a small group of habitual fighters who stay in trouble until they graduate high school -- if they graduate. As a card carrying pacifist, I can't imagine getting into ONE fist fight on purpose, no less making a career of it. What I want to know is: what is the tipping point for these kids? Do they throw in the towel and figure that they're not capable of any other way of solving their issues? Or do they enjoy the badass reputation, in spite of its drawbacks? Are there contributing factors of low self esteem and perceived lack of potential in life?

We have counseled our son to think hard next time about how "worth it" it is to pick up his hands to someone, and how "worth it" it may be to develop a personal strategy of forcing himself to calm down when he realizes someone has just lit his fuse. And we are hoping there are no repeats.

Oooooh, Growin' Up

The kids are now 15, 13, and 10. Older two are bona fide teenagers. Youngest thinks he is, as a matter of association and assimilation.

During the late sixties and early seventies, my formative years brought constant reminders from my "elders" that kids were to be only occasionally seen and rarely heard. "When I want your opinion I'll give it to you" always brought a laugh but contained a liberal dose of the truth. Overall, things are different in American culture these days, probably way too much so. But I do try to be sensitive to my kids' feelings because I recall what it was like and I want them to have a stronger sense of self than I had. I didn't build the confidence I needed as a young adult until I was WAY into my twenties...at least fifteen years behind schedule according to me.

So where's the happy medium? I'm struggling with it much more lately, as the kids are becoming much more forthright with their comments about the adults in their lives. This one is lazy, this one doesn't practice what she preaches, this one thinks he's all that but is very limited, this one has no business telling us what to do because her life is a mess and her kids are screwed up. Mind you, their observations are impressively accurate BUT they are very drilled down and do not take into account all the extenuating circumstances that we gr'ups have to face in this millennium.

Luckily, most of these impressively accurate observations are shared in the safety of our own home, such as during dinner table discussions. Some complaints about their father are shared with me in confidence, and I shudder to think what is said about me (though I do encourage them to tell me what I can do to become a better human being). They must be reminded that they are allowed to have all the opinions they want, but they must be respectful and careful if they dare to share their negative opinions with the adult objects of their criticisms. This is particularly true if said adults have the authority to inflict negative consequences!

I'm sure I'm not doing it 100% correctly, but I hope I'm improving on my own childhood. Time will tell.

The Choice Isn't Yours

I just finished Jaycee Dugard's memoir, "A Stolen Life." She was abducted on the way to school when she was eleven and did not resurface until 18 years later. She lived in a squalid collection of sheds and tents in a large hidden backyard, and bore her captor's two daughters when she was 14 and 17. At an age when many of today's youth are just leaving the nest, she'd endured a lifetime of abuse and somehow managed to retain enough strength and kindness to have done well nurturing children and pets.

Of course she reflects that, as a kid, she was relieved not to have had to go to the dentist or to deal with social issues in school while she was living in captivity, but she also did not have the opportunity to grow into an adult who had experience making decisions and standing on her own two feet. She had no choices. When she was taken out of that environment by law enforcement officials, she was not at all equipped to function in the world. Thankfully, help has come from many different sources including excellent reunification therapy. It sounds like she and her family will do just fine.

It occurs to me that many people, having their kids' best interests in mind, shelter them to a great degree and they have the same kinds of anxieties and uncertainties about going out into the real world. What kind of bread or milk to buy when heading into the grocery store? Does this sweater go in the washing machine or to the dry cleaner? What happens if the deli person makes a mistake -- eat the wrong sandwich or speak up? etc. etc.

No one has the magic wand to create a capable adult. Building this impressive creature is a process. Bit by bit, through trial and error, reinforcement of good and dismissal of bad, laughter and tears. It should be done to a large extent before the adult goes out into the world, though. If not, we get the "sink or swim" situation, and it's tough for a person to calmly sort out possible alternatives and choose the right one when in the middle of a "fight or flight" moment. Monday morning quarterbacking can be painful if done on one's own, and can erode confidence if it contributes to "poor poor pitiful me" instead of being a learning tool.

I endeavor to recall this incredible woman's words as I continue to do the parenting thing.

Cannons Roar

Is it fear? Is it anger? Is it lack of confidence and trust in oneself?

I think if there were a toolkit called Conflict Management for Dummies (is there? LOL) it would have more than a hammer and a blindfold. Or, it should have more. So help me, I grew up in a house where one parent had a hammer and one had a blindfold. Worse than that, the one with the hammer also had a bullhorn. After spending 40+ years working on my interpersonal relationship skills, and fully with the realization that this process will never be finished, I am continually astounded when I see and hear others attempt to solve conflicts via one of these two methods but not attempt to avail themselves of the myriad options in between.

What does anyone feel when intimidated, threatened, or attacked? Fight or flight, I'm thinking. Is anyone motivated to explore creative solutions for mutual benefit under those circumstances? On the other side of the coin, is anyone motivated to change behavior when the other party in a conflict runs away?

What makes sense to me is: when I would like something different to happen, the first thing is to see whether changing my own behavior will help, and will also not be harmful or counterproductive. Usually it is a combination of a change in my behavior which helps influence someone else's decision to change his or her behavior. But what influences someone else to decide to do something differently -- something that will positively affect me?

I don't think my yelling or screaming or crying or engaging in self mutilation will get the results I want from the other person. If the other person cares a lot about me, sometimes it is enough to say I'm being hurt. But often it is necessary to present, in a non confrontational way, the side of the other person and how it will be beneficial to him or her to do something else -- or to at least entertain the thought of doing something else. If you can get the person to think about it, and be comfortable enough to suggest an alternative which would also be mutually beneficial but more attractive to his or her point of view, everybody wins.

Can I change the world? Who knows. Just in case, I'm going to pick up my bullet proof vest from the dry cleaners.

Give 'Til It Hurts

Normally I donate blood at our local Long Island Blood Services office -- on a Saturday morning I make an 8:00 appointment and I'm outta there in 45 minutes, one pint low. But I do try to patronize the PTA drives in our school district, particularly when one of the kids is looking for signups. Last night I had a 5:30 appointment at one of the elementary schools, timed so I could leave work at 4:30 and arrive in plenty of time.

I arrived 15 minutes early and was heartened at what I saw. About eight people waiting for medical, with three people on duty there. Only a handful of people waiting to go behind the curtain. This looked vastly better than last year, when the entire experience took me two and a half hours, start to finish. If not for my commitment to the schools, I wouldn't have returned this time. So I was glad I gave it another try.

After a little less than half an hour, I was through medical. There were ten people waiting to be drawn at that point. Let's just say it was a good thing I had my crocheting bag. Over the next 45 minutes, only three donors were taken behind the curtain. During this time the elementary school "little doctors" had come around asking for signups for the March 29 drive at the high school. I was hesitant but I wrote my name down as a maybe.

By the time I was called to go in, it was 7:00. I got a very personable phlebotomist named JoAnna, who apologized for the delay and was willing to explain to me how the staffing for the drives is determined. She suggested that the administration inflate the prearranged donor count (appointments made in advance) by a certain percentage (based on past turnout) so that LIBS staffs the drive appropriately to cover walk-ins in addition to appointments. She also said that quite a few of the donors are nasty when they have to wait a long time. Now I admit that part of me had certainly been annoyed to have to wait a while, but I tried to keep my evil twin locked up. The conversation with JoAnna, had while she was prepping me for the venipuncture, helped to melt away my frustration. And it caused me to reflect upon the fact that the frustration, shared by many donors, can overshadow the whole point of having a blood drive -- giving something back to the community.

After making it through a short stay at the canteen -- and I can't recall the last time I'd had yummy Sun Chips before that -- I stopped at the check-in desk to speak with the PTA representatives on site. I mentioned that this had been my "second chance" with the school blood drive experience and last time I was promised a shorter wait this time...but it's hard to go home and have much of your evening left when you're there for two hours and ten minutes after your appointment, and you've got to eat dinner before you can do anything else. I tried to be constructive, passing on the recommendation from the chat with JoAnna, pitching it in the context that I'd seen several donors decide not to stay because they were unable or unwilling to wait it out.

Luckily the PTA reps were also aware of everything that had gone on, and had their eyes on the overarching goal -- to get the donations while keeping good will alive. They'd already been talking about how to create a better flow during the high school drive in March. As they are also volunteers who chose to staff the event that night instead of being home with their families -- as well as the time it took to plan and recruit -- I thanked them for their efforts. In turn, they thanked me for mine.

I left with a smile on my face, and a Pollyanna kind of hope that my appointment in March doesn't turn out to be another frustration. After downing two bottles of water, I treated myself to a rare decadence on the way home: a McDonald's cheeseburger, onions only, via the drive through. That was about all I could fit, after the Sun Chips, the water, and the taste test of pecans and cashews at canteen with a gal from a local chocolate company. Buuuuuurp.

Time to Change

OK fess up. How many of you 40 and 50 somethings thought of the Peter Brady solo in the song "Time to Change" just now? Funny, the things we remember...

My original motivation for that title was very different, of course. At my tender age in my late forties, I have had the pleasure and wonder of working for the same boss for 18 years. He retired at the end of December. He was a wide lens visionary. He has been succeeded by his former second in command, who is more detail oriented, sharply focused, and historically more demanding and less patient. Although he has pledged to carry forth the prior culture of the department as much as possible, significant changes are on tap.

What, me worry? Some say I'd be well advised to worry. Well, I might be a bit concerned, but what will I do about it? I'm taking the constructive, proactive approach. I'm trying to anticipate what it will mean for the group I lead to fit in with the groups who already reported to our new boss, and ramp up accordingly. It will be a faster pace but there will be more opportunity for learning and for increasing the effectiveness of my group. It will be more challenging but should be more exciting.

My office is a fantastic place to work, and I believe that my reaction to the curves in the road ahead will partially determine how much it stays a fantastic place for me -- not to mention the seven people who report to me. I owe it to them too, as well as to my family -- even if the economy and the job market weren't so tough right now.

Kicking, screaming, whining, backstabbing, resisting, sabotaging? So much effort to shovel it against the tide, and for what? To be known as a complainer or subversive or do-nothing or obstructionist? Uh uh, not me. I'm going for the good stuff.

Forget Regret or Life Is Yours to Miss

The title is a snip from the lyrics of the finale of one of my fave musicals, Rent.

I was reminded of it last night as I was doing puzzles before beddy bye time. Here's a Cryptoquote that made a lot of sense to me:

Forget the past -- the future will give you plenty to worry about. -- George Allen, Dr.

I'm not sure which Dr. George Allen it was, but he had good perspective.

Lost My Appetite

You probably know by now that Friday is my night not to cook. Our decision about what and where to eat was influenced last Friday by the fact that one son wanted to go to the rec program at the middle school at 7PM and another son and I wanted to go the benefit rock concert at the high school at 7PM. A local sandwich shop seemed best.

One guy was making sandwiches. A man and a woman, possibly the owners, were milling about doing whatever in the back of the store, but could be seen by customers. After we waited for the one guy to finish helping the people in front of us on line, he began serving the five of us. As we were waiting, the woman in back had come out front to fill up supplies in the sandwich making area and putter around doing other things. The sandwich making guy glanced over at her several times but said nothing. As he finally finished one sandwich and moved on to the second, I turned to my oldest son and remarked that his dad and brother might be done eating before we even got our food. But there was still only the one guy, and at this point it was not clear that the other guy or the woman were on duty to serve customers.

A woman got on line behind us. She asked me if there was only the one guy serving, and I said yes. Lo and behold, the woman behind the counter asked the woman behind us what kind of sandwiches she needed. At this point, I repeated my comment, directly to sandwich making guy: half my family would be done eating before I got my food. Couldn't the woman behind the counter help finish our order?

Sandwich making guy and sandwich making woman did not acknowledge me at all! The woman behind me on line was incredulous, but was also in a hurry so she made quick apologies to me and called out her order. Several minutes later, sandwich making guy was finished with all five of us and said "sorry for the delay." Too little, too late. I informed him that he really should speak to sandwich making woman because what she did was bad bad bad. This remark too went completely unacknowledged. I guess the woman really is the boss or the guy is primarily interested in collecting the hourly wage and not how well the business is actually doing.

My husband and middle son were indeed finished by the time I got to the table with my food. The kids got a lesson in customer service, should they ever have this kind of a job. This sandwich shop is definitely off the list. Decent food, decent location, oh well, not willing to put up with the service or lack thereof.

What a Run!

After missing most of the regular season of football, I have rekindled my passion these last two weekends during the playoff games. Didn't hurt that both local teams were still in the running when we began, wink wink. I think the kids are surprised that Mom, who almost never watches TV, has been glued to the screen during much of these games, albeit with a stack of photos to snip and place in albums or my latest crocheting project. Mom also knows a lot about NFL football, it would seem. Huh?

Wasn't always that way. Growing up, I was scared of football and thought it was for refrigerator sized guys who didn't mind taking the risk of getting killed or maimed out there. Then I went away to college and moved into a dorm complex where recreational coed two hand touch football was part of the culture. Each floor of each wing of each of the five buildings fielded a team. Each floor designed its own jerseys, which usually had a team name with a double entendre (football + sex, typical). Each player's jersey had on the back of it a number plus a name -- generally not the player's actual name but often another attempt at humor, subtle or otherwise. For instance, one year our team was called Second Coming. My "name" was Ready to Receive. My roommate's was Attraction. Get it?

Another interesting feature of coed dorm football in our residential college was that the team on the field at any given moment had to be at least half women, and a woman had to be the quarterback. Good grief! Well, since I couldn't run/catch/throw but was on the tall side with bony elbows, I was put in as a blocker. The first semester of my "career" our team had zero wins so we qualified to play in the Soup Bowl of our division -- the honor for the two worst teams. As luck would have it, all the other females with more athletic ability than I were unable to play that day, so I was elected to be quarterback. YIPERS! All I could reasonably do was either hand off the ball to someone who could run or hit someone with a short pass just off the line of scrimmage and hope that person could run. Well...it turns out we actually won the Soup Bowl 7-0. Some people felt we should've lost so we could be proud of a consistently losing season. Et donc, c'est la guerre.

After all that, I realized that there was a lot more to football than breaking bones and quickly became a lifelong fan. I'm looking forward to the real Super Bowl in a few weeks. Gotta get crackin' with cooking etc.!!!

Wait...Free Isn't Really Free?

Last night I polished off several Cryptoquotes (or Cryptoquips or whatever the various newspapers call them) before closing my eyes and finding sleep. I really liked this quote. What a wonderful world it would be without blame or abdication.

I think of a hero as someone who understands the degree of responsibility that comes with his freedom. -- Bob Dylan

Food Kills

I'm really torn up about the dichotomy between needing food for survival and hastening one's death by overindulging. Of all the people I know who have had weight reduction surgery, only one seems to have a fighting chance of continuing down the path of good health by reducing through subsequent diet and exercise. The others have regained and in some cases added extra to their former physiques.

As a former teenaged chub, I had my "end of rope" moment when friends in the college dorm were trading clothes before heading out to a party, and I was too fat to participate. This was the last straw piled on the heap of self-hatred and desperation. But it took three months of salad eating (when my love of veggies had not yet kicked in) and walking many miles each day to dump the fat. Over 25 years later, my intense fear of regression has kept me on the honor system and in my usual sized clothes. I guess everyone who's fought demons has some sort of defense mechanism to make sure the fight stays won, in order to retain ultimate control.

I have been trying to guide a young teen with weight struggles and see all the signs of the vicious struggle I recall. Eating to comfort emotional state of despair...when the despair came from being overweight and perceived as unattractive in the first place. Feeling of unfairness when others eat the high calorie foods or the large portions and don't have a weight problem. Attempt to deflect sympathy and attention by saying it doesn't matter, when it's really all encompassing. Planning the next meal, even if it's a so-called healthy one, really as a symptom of a focus on food 24/7. Snacking when alone, or when expected to be alone, and feeling pathetic when someone discovers the secret. Temporarily succeeding with a new health plan engenders feelings of euphoria and relaxation, and a desire to celebrate with the one thing that pleases us the most: a sugary or fatty treat. Depressing realization that we've failed...or we think we have, and we magnify the failure in our minds. All is lost now. etc. etc.

I fear this young teen will have to hit rock bottom before finding a personal reason to "make it stick." Trouble is, teens are having heart attacks and developing diabetes and high blood pressure and other conditions which can seriously curtail good health for the rest of their lives. I hope time will not run out for this fine young person. I wish the same for all others who are living this struggle, whether or not I know them personally.