I still think about school every day. At least in passing. I wonder if that will ever stop. Truly, I don't need it to stop but I wonder if it will. Somedays I think about it more than others. That said, I'm not sad or regretful. I miss kids and I miss the classroom but I feel very good about my decision to change careers.
I spoke with with Taylor, one of my alumni, yesterday who called from California. She is a college student and wanted some help with a marketing project she is working on. It was great to hear the enthusiasm in her voice and it was exciting for me to be "talking about that stuff" with her.
I showed condominiums most of the day yesterday in Seattle to Ian and Midori, a couple getting ready to make their first home purchase. We looked at both new construction and existing construction in different neighborhoods. As an aside, this young couple is about is nice and pleasant as two people could be. As we drove away from one complex we went down an alley. There was a fair amount of tagging on the garages. It was quite a contrast to the new complex in which we spent the most time.
Back in my home office I was making some follow up notes to the day and reflecting on what will actually meet Ian and Midori's needs.
After awhile my thoughts wandered back to that alley with the tagging. Tagging bugs me. It bugs me because if defaces property. It bugs me because its disrespecful. It bugs me because it feeds on itself. It bugs me because there is something wrong with the people who do it. I'm careful not to say "the KIDS who do it." Who knows maybe its some crazy senior citizens from the local retirement center. Some tagging scares me because I know its gang related. I found myself thinking of a way to do a project to reduce tagging. There is one problem with that idea; I don't see 150 kids each day who might like to take on the project with me.
I'm really liking what I am doing these days. I genuinely enjoy real estate. I'm liking the change in schedule and the new challenges. I'm taking Ian and Midori out again tomorrow to look at single family homes and larger condos. I am going to make darn sure that what they purchase meets their needs and that I take care of them through the whole process.
I'm still thinking about the tagging. If it isn't tagging then I know there will be something else I will be thinking about. That part of me is a bit restless. I think that could be a good thing. I'm not sure where it will lead me.
It is almost the weekend. Please be good. Drive your cars carefully. Ride with people who drive carefully. Treat youreslf with respect. Spend time with people who treat you with respect. Treat other people with respect. Talk nice to yourself; you deserve it. I look forward to hearing from you or seeing you. Keep yourselves whole physically and emotionally.
P
Friday, October 30, 2009
Friday, October 23, 2009
Dinner with Grandma
Earlier in the week I had started to write something about aging and having just turned 59. Fall leaves, malfunctioning computer, stuff like that. It’s still there; I’ll get back to it eventually.
Our daughter, Annie, just got home from six weeks in Central America; she is quite the intrepid traveler. She is staying with us for several days. We are enjoying listening to her regale us with stories about her trip.
Katy, Annie, and I took dinner down to my Mom’s home yesterday. Our son, Joe, and his wife, Kelly, also came over. My Mom is 86. The last few years have been very hard on her in terms of aging and becoming increasingly frail. The osteoporosis has really taken a toll. With little exertion she is short of breath. She has severe hearing loss. Twice this last month I have taken her in to upgrade her hearing aids and to get them adjusted. Her hands tremble, she is very unsteady on her feet and she moves slowly. She wants very much to stay in her own home but isn’t sure how much longer she can do it.
For so many reasons my Mom is my hero.
Yesterday I was reminded how much I want to pray like my Mom. We say grace and always her prayers of supplication are for others. Her prayers for herself are always prayers of gratitude. As much as she struggles and as difficult as things have become for her, she still says prayers of gratitude. I want to pray like my Mom; I so much want to pray like my Mom.
It’s the weekend. Please be good. Drive your cars carefully. Ride with people who drive carefully. Treat yourself with respect. Spend time with people who treat you with respect. Treat other people with respect. Talk nice to yourself; you deserve it. I look forward to hearing from you or seeing you. Keep yourselves whole physically and emotionally.
Our daughter, Annie, just got home from six weeks in Central America; she is quite the intrepid traveler. She is staying with us for several days. We are enjoying listening to her regale us with stories about her trip.
Katy, Annie, and I took dinner down to my Mom’s home yesterday. Our son, Joe, and his wife, Kelly, also came over. My Mom is 86. The last few years have been very hard on her in terms of aging and becoming increasingly frail. The osteoporosis has really taken a toll. With little exertion she is short of breath. She has severe hearing loss. Twice this last month I have taken her in to upgrade her hearing aids and to get them adjusted. Her hands tremble, she is very unsteady on her feet and she moves slowly. She wants very much to stay in her own home but isn’t sure how much longer she can do it.
For so many reasons my Mom is my hero.
Yesterday I was reminded how much I want to pray like my Mom. We say grace and always her prayers of supplication are for others. Her prayers for herself are always prayers of gratitude. As much as she struggles and as difficult as things have become for her, she still says prayers of gratitude. I want to pray like my Mom; I so much want to pray like my Mom.
It’s the weekend. Please be good. Drive your cars carefully. Ride with people who drive carefully. Treat yourself with respect. Spend time with people who treat you with respect. Treat other people with respect. Talk nice to yourself; you deserve it. I look forward to hearing from you or seeing you. Keep yourselves whole physically and emotionally.
Friday, October 16, 2009
Abraham and Ramesh
Making a call to a computer company’s customer support center earlier this summer I knew as soon as the person answered that he was not likely in this country. I thought I understood him say his name but I wasn’t sure. I like to call people by name even when I’m just on the phone. I asked him to repeat his name and indeed it was “Abraham”. I asked him what country he was in and he said, “India.” I thought, come on man, that’s not your name. With good intentions I asked him what his “real” name is. He responded by asking me what he could help me with. I asked him what his family calls him and asked me how he could help me.
I told him what trouble I was having with the computer but found myself thinking, “Yeah right, Abraham, that’s not your name. Is the guy next to you called Lincoln? What do you guys do, pick names out of a hat or a bowl? Do all of you have American president names? Is there a Grover in your call center? A Woodrow? A Harry? A couple Georges? And now, how would you decide who gets to be Barrack? Or would you just go with Barry?
My mind was wandering while Abraham had me on hold and was getting help with my question. I wondered if maybe they put the names up on a white board and the customer service guys just pick a name. Jeeesh Abraham, why the heck did you pick that name? Couldn’t you pick something simple, maybe just one syllable? You know, John, Todd, Bill, Ken, Matt, heck almost anything would be more believable than “Abraham”. Were you late the day they picked names and you got the leftovers? Come on Abraham, I’m not buying this bologna.
I know Abraham, you’re the worst “rock, paper, scissors” player in the whole country. You have never, ever, won two out of three. You guys had a major “rock, paper, scissors” tournament for names and you lost every round. I bet you just hate the sight of someone holding out the palm of their left hand with a right hand fist sitting in it.
I thought, when this guy comes back on the line I’m going to get him to tell me his real name and I’m going to say it back to him. As it turned out he had difficulty getting an answer to my question so the call ended taking some time. I was starting to wonder if Abraham was really qualified to take care of the problem or to even find someone who could. My frustration with the computer problem and the length of the phone call told me it was best to stick to the business of getting the problem solved and just say simply, “Thanks Abraham” at the end of the call.
As a teacher I worked hard to learn to say kids’ names correctly. I worked to learn many middle names. I read names at graduation several times. The longest middle name I ever read was, Kaehukaiopuaena. If middle age memory is serving me correctly and I still am pronouncing it the right way, it has nine syllables. The shortest and actually most difficult name I ever read was three syllables total. There was one syllable for the first, middle, and last name. What made it difficult for me was that it was a Vietnamese name so the sounds were something I had to learn. I had the boy in class the whole year so when it was time for graduation I could say his name easily.
On those first few days of class I asked him to help me with his name. He was self-conscious from the start. I had him repeat just the sound of his first and last name over and over so I could learn it. Now how hard is that? Not too tough. It just took some practice for me to hear him say it and then to learn to repeat it. In the process I know I embarrassed him. My intentions were good and the result was good but along the way he was self-conscious. At the end of the year he wrote me a note thanking me for working so hard to learn to say his name.
Katy and I live in a new development with a Homeowner’s Association. I’m the president of the association. We had a Board of Director’s meeting and a homeowner’s meeting on Monday. I had planned to get everyone to introduce themselves and say which home they lived in. One of the homeowners introduced himself as Ramesh. We were creating a contact list so the person taking minutes asked him his last name. He said it but he wouldn’t spell it for her. He said that it was a difficult name and that he would come up and spell it for her at the end of the meeting. He was self-conscious, just like so many kids I knew through the years because there was something different about them. Sometimes it was just the sound of their name.
I let it go. Darlene, who was taking minutes, moved smoothly to the next person. I may have been the only person in the room that it bothered. Not in any earth shaking way, really, in just a very small way, I failed Ramesh. I should have asked him to spell his name for me and told him that it was important to me to learn how to spell it and say it.
There are so many experiences that are common to people regardless of age, gender, or culture. In the soil of human experience people have so many roots that bind us together. We all want to be accepted. We all want to be known. We all need to be cared for and to care for others. We may fight those things but they are still true.
I understand that no one contacts a customer service call center to say, “Hi, hey good morning, I just called to let you guys know my computer is working fine. Thanks a lot, have a good day.” People call because something isn’t working right. In some cases they have no patience to start with. In some cases they may have attempted to problem solve on their own for hours so by the time they call they also have no patience. Not being able to understand the name of the person who answers the phone doesn’t help. I get that the callers from the United States will respond better if they hear a name they recognize. I get that.
I do not live in a customer service call center. I live in a neighborhood.
I am trying to get all of the neighbors to participate in a Neighborhood Watch Program. A big part of that is for each of us to know our neighbors and to allow ourselves to be known by our neighbors. I’m driving the program at this point. It will be awhile before it has some momentum. By not getting Ramesh to spell his last name, in a tiny way, I didn’t help my own program.
Through the years in the classroom I grew to hate that self-conscious look of not fitting in for something as simple as the sound of your name.
Ramesh, at the next meeting I’ll do better. Yup, I will. I am going to get you to say your name out loud and I am going to get other people to repeat it. At first you may not like that; it may make you more self conscious. I am going to get other people to say their names out loud also. You'll smile at the end Ramesh. Yup, you will.
It is Friday. The weekend is near. Please be good. No matter what age you are. Drive your cars carefully. Ride with people who drive carefully. Treat yourself with respect. Spend time with people who treat you with respect. Treat other people with respect. Talk nice to yourself; you deserve it. I look forward to hearing from you or seeing you. Stay whole, physically and emotionally.
P
I told him what trouble I was having with the computer but found myself thinking, “Yeah right, Abraham, that’s not your name. Is the guy next to you called Lincoln? What do you guys do, pick names out of a hat or a bowl? Do all of you have American president names? Is there a Grover in your call center? A Woodrow? A Harry? A couple Georges? And now, how would you decide who gets to be Barrack? Or would you just go with Barry?
My mind was wandering while Abraham had me on hold and was getting help with my question. I wondered if maybe they put the names up on a white board and the customer service guys just pick a name. Jeeesh Abraham, why the heck did you pick that name? Couldn’t you pick something simple, maybe just one syllable? You know, John, Todd, Bill, Ken, Matt, heck almost anything would be more believable than “Abraham”. Were you late the day they picked names and you got the leftovers? Come on Abraham, I’m not buying this bologna.
I know Abraham, you’re the worst “rock, paper, scissors” player in the whole country. You have never, ever, won two out of three. You guys had a major “rock, paper, scissors” tournament for names and you lost every round. I bet you just hate the sight of someone holding out the palm of their left hand with a right hand fist sitting in it.
I thought, when this guy comes back on the line I’m going to get him to tell me his real name and I’m going to say it back to him. As it turned out he had difficulty getting an answer to my question so the call ended taking some time. I was starting to wonder if Abraham was really qualified to take care of the problem or to even find someone who could. My frustration with the computer problem and the length of the phone call told me it was best to stick to the business of getting the problem solved and just say simply, “Thanks Abraham” at the end of the call.
As a teacher I worked hard to learn to say kids’ names correctly. I worked to learn many middle names. I read names at graduation several times. The longest middle name I ever read was, Kaehukaiopuaena. If middle age memory is serving me correctly and I still am pronouncing it the right way, it has nine syllables. The shortest and actually most difficult name I ever read was three syllables total. There was one syllable for the first, middle, and last name. What made it difficult for me was that it was a Vietnamese name so the sounds were something I had to learn. I had the boy in class the whole year so when it was time for graduation I could say his name easily.
On those first few days of class I asked him to help me with his name. He was self-conscious from the start. I had him repeat just the sound of his first and last name over and over so I could learn it. Now how hard is that? Not too tough. It just took some practice for me to hear him say it and then to learn to repeat it. In the process I know I embarrassed him. My intentions were good and the result was good but along the way he was self-conscious. At the end of the year he wrote me a note thanking me for working so hard to learn to say his name.
Katy and I live in a new development with a Homeowner’s Association. I’m the president of the association. We had a Board of Director’s meeting and a homeowner’s meeting on Monday. I had planned to get everyone to introduce themselves and say which home they lived in. One of the homeowners introduced himself as Ramesh. We were creating a contact list so the person taking minutes asked him his last name. He said it but he wouldn’t spell it for her. He said that it was a difficult name and that he would come up and spell it for her at the end of the meeting. He was self-conscious, just like so many kids I knew through the years because there was something different about them. Sometimes it was just the sound of their name.
I let it go. Darlene, who was taking minutes, moved smoothly to the next person. I may have been the only person in the room that it bothered. Not in any earth shaking way, really, in just a very small way, I failed Ramesh. I should have asked him to spell his name for me and told him that it was important to me to learn how to spell it and say it.
There are so many experiences that are common to people regardless of age, gender, or culture. In the soil of human experience people have so many roots that bind us together. We all want to be accepted. We all want to be known. We all need to be cared for and to care for others. We may fight those things but they are still true.
I understand that no one contacts a customer service call center to say, “Hi, hey good morning, I just called to let you guys know my computer is working fine. Thanks a lot, have a good day.” People call because something isn’t working right. In some cases they have no patience to start with. In some cases they may have attempted to problem solve on their own for hours so by the time they call they also have no patience. Not being able to understand the name of the person who answers the phone doesn’t help. I get that the callers from the United States will respond better if they hear a name they recognize. I get that.
I do not live in a customer service call center. I live in a neighborhood.
I am trying to get all of the neighbors to participate in a Neighborhood Watch Program. A big part of that is for each of us to know our neighbors and to allow ourselves to be known by our neighbors. I’m driving the program at this point. It will be awhile before it has some momentum. By not getting Ramesh to spell his last name, in a tiny way, I didn’t help my own program.
Through the years in the classroom I grew to hate that self-conscious look of not fitting in for something as simple as the sound of your name.
Ramesh, at the next meeting I’ll do better. Yup, I will. I am going to get you to say your name out loud and I am going to get other people to repeat it. At first you may not like that; it may make you more self conscious. I am going to get other people to say their names out loud also. You'll smile at the end Ramesh. Yup, you will.
It is Friday. The weekend is near. Please be good. No matter what age you are. Drive your cars carefully. Ride with people who drive carefully. Treat yourself with respect. Spend time with people who treat you with respect. Treat other people with respect. Talk nice to yourself; you deserve it. I look forward to hearing from you or seeing you. Stay whole, physically and emotionally.
P
Friday, October 9, 2009
Auntie Helen
Let me begin by saying I’m not sad. I’m glad. My Aunt died at 6:15 AM on Tuesday morning. She was 84 years old. Again, I’m glad.
Auntie Helen, my dad’s sister, was the youngest in a family of 5 kids. Their parents, my grandparents, were immigrants in the early part of the 20th century. My dad and his siblings grew up on a subsistence farm that did not have electricity or indoor plumbing. Plain and simply, they were poor. They had a well, an outhouse, and a wood burning stove in the kitchen. My grandfather was a coal miner for part of his life. Still, the family had to rely in part on what they grew, caught or killed. They lived here, in western Washington, a couple hours from Seattle. Today, that seems remarkable to me yet I know it is so. Both of my parents and all of my aunts and uncles were ESL kids. My dad grew up speaking Polish at home and my mom spoke Italian. They learned English at school.
Auntie Helen had asthma. Her doctor recommended that she move to a drier climate when she was a young woman in hopes that it would ease the symptoms. Seeking respite from difficulty breathing, she lived in Denver, Colorado for decades.
Growing up I remember her coming to visit pretty much every other summer. She would stay for a week. We would hike and fish; those are very good memories for me. As a young woman Auntie Helen was a good downhill skier. She even raced competitively. She had a dry sense of humor. She enjoyed opera music.
Where does a life go? Where does health go? And in particular, where does basic sanity and mental stability go? I don’t know. I just don’t know.
Auntie Helen’s health has been deteriorating for the last several years. This past June her friend, Betty, found her on the floor one morning. Auntie Helen was disoriented and had to be hospitalized. She was there for two weeks. During her stay she had a PEG tube (a trans-abdominal feeding tube) inserted. This was the only way they could ensure that she was getting any nourishment.
The doctors also diagnosed her with moderately severe dementia. How does this happen? Where does a person’s mind go? I don’t know. I just don’t know.
The part of me that looks at problems and wants to fix them sometimes thinks I can “fix” anything. I get frustrated when I can’t. At times it is unreasonable or downright impossible for me to fix some things. I have trouble accepting that at sometimes. Even after all these years of experience of not being able to change something just because I want to, you would think I would be calmer about it. It still can make me angry.
I was angry that Auntie Helen was suffering. There was little to nothing I could do about it.
I’m not angry she died and I’m not sad. I’m glad. My belief is that there is another life and that she is happy now. Very happy.
When I struggle with things like this that I can’t change at all the only thing I know to do is follow Mother Teresa’s advice, “Begin in the place where you are.” To that end I resolve to be a good person, a good husband, a good father, a good friend, a good son and sibling. I don’t know what else to do. I just don’t know.
It is Friday. Tomorrow is the weekend. Please be good. Drive your cars carefully. Ride with people who drive carefully. Treat yourself with respect. Spend time with people who treat you with respect. Treat other people with respect. Talk nice to yourself; you deserve it. I look forward to hearing from you or seeing you. Keep yourself whole physically and emotionally.
I am glad.
CYLP.
Auntie Helen, my dad’s sister, was the youngest in a family of 5 kids. Their parents, my grandparents, were immigrants in the early part of the 20th century. My dad and his siblings grew up on a subsistence farm that did not have electricity or indoor plumbing. Plain and simply, they were poor. They had a well, an outhouse, and a wood burning stove in the kitchen. My grandfather was a coal miner for part of his life. Still, the family had to rely in part on what they grew, caught or killed. They lived here, in western Washington, a couple hours from Seattle. Today, that seems remarkable to me yet I know it is so. Both of my parents and all of my aunts and uncles were ESL kids. My dad grew up speaking Polish at home and my mom spoke Italian. They learned English at school.
Auntie Helen had asthma. Her doctor recommended that she move to a drier climate when she was a young woman in hopes that it would ease the symptoms. Seeking respite from difficulty breathing, she lived in Denver, Colorado for decades.
Growing up I remember her coming to visit pretty much every other summer. She would stay for a week. We would hike and fish; those are very good memories for me. As a young woman Auntie Helen was a good downhill skier. She even raced competitively. She had a dry sense of humor. She enjoyed opera music.
Where does a life go? Where does health go? And in particular, where does basic sanity and mental stability go? I don’t know. I just don’t know.
Auntie Helen’s health has been deteriorating for the last several years. This past June her friend, Betty, found her on the floor one morning. Auntie Helen was disoriented and had to be hospitalized. She was there for two weeks. During her stay she had a PEG tube (a trans-abdominal feeding tube) inserted. This was the only way they could ensure that she was getting any nourishment.
The doctors also diagnosed her with moderately severe dementia. How does this happen? Where does a person’s mind go? I don’t know. I just don’t know.
The part of me that looks at problems and wants to fix them sometimes thinks I can “fix” anything. I get frustrated when I can’t. At times it is unreasonable or downright impossible for me to fix some things. I have trouble accepting that at sometimes. Even after all these years of experience of not being able to change something just because I want to, you would think I would be calmer about it. It still can make me angry.
I was angry that Auntie Helen was suffering. There was little to nothing I could do about it.
I’m not angry she died and I’m not sad. I’m glad. My belief is that there is another life and that she is happy now. Very happy.
When I struggle with things like this that I can’t change at all the only thing I know to do is follow Mother Teresa’s advice, “Begin in the place where you are.” To that end I resolve to be a good person, a good husband, a good father, a good friend, a good son and sibling. I don’t know what else to do. I just don’t know.
It is Friday. Tomorrow is the weekend. Please be good. Drive your cars carefully. Ride with people who drive carefully. Treat yourself with respect. Spend time with people who treat you with respect. Treat other people with respect. Talk nice to yourself; you deserve it. I look forward to hearing from you or seeing you. Keep yourself whole physically and emotionally.
I am glad.
CYLP.
Friday, October 2, 2009
The New Garbage Day
Good morning,
In our old neighborhood the garbage got picked up on Monday. I went around the house on Sunday night and collected the trash and the recycling. Now our garbage gets picked up on Thursday so I get things put out on Wednesday evening. I tried through the years to remind myself to take out my head trash on Wednesday nights also. It of course works better sometimes than others but it helped to have a routine even though I knew their would be more head trash to take out next week just like their was garbage and recycling.
Now that the garbage is picked up on a different day it has disrupted my routine. Some weeks I think to take it out on Wednesday. I have had to be reminded to take it out on Sunday. The same is true for my head trash. I need to remind myself to take it out. Just like house garbage it accumulates unless I get rid of it. I CAN take it out but I have to remind myself to do it and I have to work at it.
Trust always that you have worth and value. You had worth and value before you had consciousness.
It's Friday. The weekend is near. Please be good. Drive your cars carefully. Ride with people who drive carefully. Treat yourself with respect, spend time with people who treat you with respect, treat other people with respect. Talk nice to yourself; you deserve it. I look forward to hearing from you or seeing you. Keep yourself whole physically and emotionally.
CYLP!
P
In our old neighborhood the garbage got picked up on Monday. I went around the house on Sunday night and collected the trash and the recycling. Now our garbage gets picked up on Thursday so I get things put out on Wednesday evening. I tried through the years to remind myself to take out my head trash on Wednesday nights also. It of course works better sometimes than others but it helped to have a routine even though I knew their would be more head trash to take out next week just like their was garbage and recycling.
Now that the garbage is picked up on a different day it has disrupted my routine. Some weeks I think to take it out on Wednesday. I have had to be reminded to take it out on Sunday. The same is true for my head trash. I need to remind myself to take it out. Just like house garbage it accumulates unless I get rid of it. I CAN take it out but I have to remind myself to do it and I have to work at it.
Trust always that you have worth and value. You had worth and value before you had consciousness.
It's Friday. The weekend is near. Please be good. Drive your cars carefully. Ride with people who drive carefully. Treat yourself with respect, spend time with people who treat you with respect, treat other people with respect. Talk nice to yourself; you deserve it. I look forward to hearing from you or seeing you. Keep yourself whole physically and emotionally.
CYLP!
P
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