Category Archives: Uncategorized

We all need a day off

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Why is it that I wait until I:

  • Just. Can’t. Go. On. Before I take a break?
  • Am. Totally. Exhausted. Before I stop and rest?
  • Feel. Completely. Broken. Before I schedule time away?
Tired. So tired.

Tired. So tired.

Dry. Parched.

Dry. Parched.

Wilting. Wilted.

Wilting. Wilted.

Do you do that, too?

Is it human nature, do you think?

Or are some of us just wired to go until we’re forced to collapse?

Perhaps it comes with being a mom. Doing for your family no matter how tired you might be.

Perhaps it comes with working for (and by) yourself. Knowing that you don’t have employees to pawn work off on, yet realizing the work must be done.

By Thursday night, I felt so spent that I knew my only recourse was to take Friday off.

To renew my psyche.

So I went to the country to visit a friend.

Something about fields of corn and soybeans in full growth mode soothes my soul.

Soybean field.

Soybean field.

We sat outside. And swung. And watched her puppies.

The air smelled clean. The trees swayed in a gentle cool breeze. The sun warmed our arms and faces.

Maple shade tree.

Maple shade tree.

Then we did a bit of shopping.

I wasn’t looking for anything in particular, so I felt no urge to buy. Just to look. And, as my sister says, To touch and roll the pretty things.

To soak in the colors and materials. To anticipate the changing of the seasons based on the items displayed.

And that night I slept the sleep of an old dog — deep, refreshing, rejuvenating. Like flowers after a soaking rain.

Colorful vinca.

Colorful vinca.

Purple petunias.

Purple petunias.

Since it feels so good to take a vacation day now and then, I wonder why it takes so long for me to take one?

What’s stopping you from enjoying the present?

Just a little change??

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The other day, Mom and I took her Fancy Pants car in for service and after they finished, we decided to do a bit of shopping.

Now the morning had been beautiful, but by afternoon, storm clouds were gathering. And we were eager to get home before the skies opened.

As we were making our way across a parking lot to the car, I noticed a woman standing around. I didn’t pay her much attention, but she zeroed in on us and came right over.

“I hate to ask this, but I was supposed to donate plasma and that fell through. Now I need gas money to get home. Would you happen to have a few extra dollars to give me?”

WHAT?? A panhandler in the parking lot of a major department store?

“I’m sorry,” I told her. “I can’t do that.”

And I raced for Fancy Pants, leaving Mom — who hadn’t heard this exchange — with her mouth agape.

“What did she want?” Mom asked, as I threw the car into reverse and flew out of there.

I told her the story and glanced back to see the woman pull a new-model cell phone from her pocket and start using it.

Hmm, what’s wrong with this picture?!

Here’s a woman who claims she doesn’t have money for gas, but somehow manages to get to the mall toting a new phone??

It smelled like a scam to me.

I know times are tough, people are hurting, the economy is struggling, etc. But my late dad used to tell me stories of the Great Depression years.

When people were really hurting.

And he pointed out that NOBODY would beg for money without offering to exchange a good or service for it.

Like, if you had a laying hen and needed fresh milk for the kids, you’d barter and exchange with your neighbor who had a cow.

Everybody got what they needed; everybody saved face.

So when did it become okay to simply beg from strangers?

And why do we permit able-bodied folks to panhandle rather than working at legitimate jobs?

Perhaps because we’ve made it so lucrative. If you can get past the pride thing, you know.

But I find that rather sad, don’t you?

Casting off a burden

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Hindsight is always twenty-twenty, or so they say.

But even a crystal ball wouldn’t have kept me from shooting myself in the foot last week.

You see, I’ve had a certain client for five or six years. I not only designed his Website but also have maintained it with additions, updates, etc.

I thought we had a good working relationship.

But back in the Spring, a new fellow came on board. And started talking about “making some changes.”

Since the client is located far away from me, I figured he’d want to hire somebody local. Somebody who could be at his beck and call whenever he needed them.

I redoubled my efforts to keep him happy, doing updates the minute I got them, writing off time to keep my fees low.

Mistake No. 1. People never appreciate largesse.

And too often, the giver ends up feeling resentment.

Anyway, while I was out of town over the weekend helping Domer, this client emailed me something, noting it had to be published to the Website by a certain time on Saturday. But I’d left my laptop at home and didn’t get his message until Tuesday.

I shot him an apology email, to which he curtly responded that it was “okay this time,” but I shouldn’t let it happen again.

Huh?

The Fighting Irish and the Short-fused Italian in me exploded!

No way do I envision being chained to my computer 24/7/365. Yet that’s what it would mean, if I had to be on call for this one client.

Not to mention, how can I justify shoving my other clients aside, in favor of one who claims his work should take precedence?

So I fired him.

Mistake No. 2? You decide.

I wrote a scathing email, rewrote it (toning it down) two times, then, with a quick prayer, hit the Send button.

And worried.

Had I been too hasty? He was a paying client, after all, even if he was a slow payer.

Should I have tried to hammer out our differences over the phone? Right, and risk screaming like a Banshee at him!

What if I’d just reminded him I’m not his full time flunky? That I, too, have a life outside work? I doubt he’d have cared.

But I at least should have acknowledged my part in this and not let the resentment build to the boiling point.

Oh, well, what’s done is done. Part of me regrets my decision; the other part is jubilant over the freed-up time and emotion I’m left with.

I read something in this morning’s paper that resonated with me. “Sometimes you have to take a few things off your plate to make room for new opportunities that may arise.”

Lucille Ball said it another way. “I’d rather regret the things I’ve done than regret the things I haven’t done.”

So, without this albatross hanging from my neck, maybe I can finally find time to finish my novel!

What do you think?

Dare to Stand Out

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Have you ever felt like an aberration?

You know, like something apart from the normal or ordinary.

Take this rose, for instance.

So special

So special

Do you see it? No?

Take a closer look.

So very special

So very special

Still don’t see it?

Okay, let’s get even closer and zero in on exactly what I want to show you.

Ahh, so that's it!

Ahh, so that’s it!

We found this tiny white rosebud growing on our mostly-watermelon pink show rose bush this week.

How did it get there?

Who knows.

But as sure as the sun rises each day in the East, this white rose had sprouted and bloomed on a medium-pink mother plant.

Amazing, huh?

I guess it just goes to prove that aberrations occur in nature periodically.

From two-headed turtles to dogs who mother abandoned kittens to a musical prodigy being born into a tone-deaf family, aberrations fascinate us.

After the initial curiosity, we start asking questions.

How did that happen? And why?

Once, people took advantage of aberrations. Remember “freak shows” in circuses or oddities traveling with carnivals?

How sad.

But you know, being different isn’t so bad, really.

Who wants to be “ordinary”?

Far better to stand out, I think.

Each of us, in our own way, is special.

Different.

With different appearances, talents, abilities, strengths.

Shouldn’t we be celebrating our differences instead of pigeon-holing everybody into the same mold?

How to Win Customer Loyalty

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Do you know what might be one of the best companies in the world, at least as far as customer service?

Expedia.

Now this isn’t a paid endorsement, merely one person’s opinion.

Expedia is awesome!

Recall that Domer and I just returned from our failed trip to Ireland.

One of the hotels we’d booked (for a four-night stay) was through Expedia.

When we decided to come home early, we spoke with the hotel desk clerk and were told they couldn’t refund our payment because we’d booked through Expedia. Then they provided us with phone numbers to call upon our return.

Since then, I’ve been trying to get my money back.

Aer Lingus, the airline, turned me down. But the parking company kindly refunded me and so did the first hotel we didn’t stay at.

All I was waiting on was the abbreviated stay at our last hotel.

Yesterday, I received a call from Expedia’s Customer Service Department, wanting to know who we’d spoken with at the hotel desk and whether we’d received a receipt.

Neither of us could remember a name; we had no receipt.

The Expedia rep said the hotel told them they had no record of our leaving early.

Uh-oh. I started hearing the faint sound of Cha-Ching again.

This morning I was going to call the hotel and beg the manager to substantiate our claim.

It proved unnecessary.

Expedia just called and said they’d honor our request for a refund — whoo hoo!

I told her the only thing I had to prove we’d left early was our stamped airline tickets, copies of which I’d be glad to forward.

No need, she said. Your refund will arrive in seven to 14 days.

Happy Dance!

You know, it’s easy to see why companies with superior customer service are successful. Customer service is one of the tenets of business. It’s what enables people to return goods without hassle, speak with a real person over the phone, and feel prices are fair and treatment is gentle.

I think this quote sums it up perfectly:

There is a spiritual aspect to our lives – when we give we receive – when a business does something good for somebody, that somebody feels good about them!

— Ben Cohen, Ben & Jerry’s

Half-year Review of Goals

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We’ve reached the half-way mark of 2013, and I figured now was as good a time as any to review my New Year’s Resolutions and openly admit my failures let everybody know how I’m progressing:

1) Blog twice a week. It appears I’m on track. From what I understand, the trick to a successful blog isn’t the number of posts. It’s substance. And coming up with interesting, well-written posts twice a week isn’t easy. I admire bloggers who do. And I’m offering a sincere Thank You to those who’ve been sticking with me. I’m honored to call you “friends.”

2) Finish my novel. Nope. Not yet. I’m one of those writers who prefer not outlining — if the story bores me, it will bore my readers. But that means I have no guide as to where it’s going, so it’s not surprising I painted myself into yet another corner. I got deep into the middle of my story, then asked myself, “Is this believable?” When I grudgingly had to admit it wasn’t, I decided to go back to the beginning and rework it. Armed with a better storyline and a semblance of an outline, I’m hoping all is not lost. Whether I can actually type The End by Dec. 31 is another story!

3) Learn a programming language. Sigh. No. But at least I’ve started. I bought a few books and found some helpful sites online to teach myself the things I need to know to be competitive and successful in my business. But it’s going to take time. Perhaps I should modify the goal by moving it to an “ongoing” column with other lifelong learning and techy things?

4) Lose five pounds. I realized after I set this goal that I’d neglected to weigh myself. You know what that means? Ascertaining success is going to be next to impossible! Okay, but I’m more concerned with having my clothes fit. Not baggy and sloppy, not snug and constricting. That’s a better measuring stick anyway, right? And since I’ve already noticed improvement — my jeans almost look like the Jones family moved out of the seat, and I’ve had to start wearing a belt to keep my shorts from dropping down ’round my knees! — I’m counting this as a Win. Don’t be jealous. Be inspired. If I can do it, so can you!

5) Set up an author Website. Not finished yet, but coming along. I have colors, fonts, and skeletal design complete; my problem to date is photos. I’d hoped Domer would return photographic duties for all the times I “shot” him. But he doesn’t want to, so I’m opting for a professional. That just might work out better anyway, as it’s going to take a special person to get me to relax in front of the lens!

Ta-Da! This wasn’t so painful after all. Now, how are YOU coming with your goals for the year??

What’s your definition of “old”?

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Last week, Mom’s cleaning lady told us about a 90-year-old woman whose daughter’s house she also cleans.

This spunky senior, despite not being able to scrub her back in the tub, manages quite well on her own.

She even puts on her lipstick every day.

“You’re kidding,” I said. “You mean we still have to wear makeup at 90?”

That got me to thinking.

What’s wrong with getting gussied-up as we age? What’s wrong with wanting to present our best self to the world?

It seems to me that designers and manufacturers should capitalize on an aging population, rather than ignore them and hope they’ll go quietly away.

Take clothing, for example.

My mom is tiny. Under five feet tall.

But even “Petite” sizes engulf her. The arms are too long; so are the pant legs.

“Junior” sizes might fit, but she’s NOT a junior and doesn’t want to show as much skin as young girls do.

She refuses to wear “old lady” clothes — you know, knit pants with elastic waistbands and sweatshirts emblazoned with “Grandma” on the chest.

Sewing gives her a headache.

She’s gotten smaller, and she’s not alone. People typically lose 0.4 inches every 10 years after age 40; shrinkage is faster (1 to 3 inches) after age 70.

What are their options for looking fashionable without looking silly?

Another area of concern is graying hair.

I’ve read that going gray depends on your genetic makeup. Fully half of us are 50% gray by age 50!

Some women prefer going gray naturally. Others, like Mom and her sisters, refuse.

No silver. No white.

No “blue” or “pink,” either.

Mom used to buy the home hair color systems at Wal-Mart or the drugstore. She’d mix them up, apply, wait, then shampoo and rinse. And she’d be good to go for the next six weeks.

But she’s been having shoulder issues lately, so she’s taken her hair to the salon professionals.

Who should know what they’re doing.

Yet they can’t get the color right. Really dark hair looks freakish on an older person; likewise, reddish highlights don’t flatter Mom’s Italian skin tones.

I’ve heard it said that aging isn’t for the faint of heart. But couldn’t we do more to make it easier?

After all, we’ll all be “old” one day, if we’re lucky.

As for that spunky 90-year-old woman, my hat’s off to her.

I don’t call it vanity for her to put on lipstick every day.

Perhaps she simply wants to look and feel her best.

Or maybe it’s just a habit.

I hope that when I reach 90, if my lips don’t prune up and I can see my mouth, I’ll still want to put on lipstick!

Fancy-Pants has a hurt foot

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You can thank me for this later.

Last week, Mom had a doctor’s appointment so I chauffeured her in her fancy-pants car.

I don’t particularly like driving it. I wasn’t the one who picked it out or did the test-drive. She likes it; that’s what’s important.

Anyway, after her appointment — which went w-a-a-a-y longer than it should have, causing me to become even farther behind in my work than I needed! — I took off from my parking space, headed for home.

Yes, I was flustered. And in a bit of a hurry. But in my defense, I wasn’t driving with Road Rage. Or like a bat out of h-e-double matchsticks.

As I came to an intersection with no Stop sign for me, a battered heap of a car was stopped on my right. Fearing that Mom’s fancy-pants car wouldn’t have sufficient room to make the right turn without kissing the front end of the trash-mobile, I narrowed my turn.

Little did I realize the curb would reach out and grab Fancy-Pants by its right back foot!

An awful noise ensued, and the tire indicator light on the dashboard illuminated.

Since I’ve driven Fancy-Pants before, I assumed the light was telling me the tire pressure was uneven.

Every time the weather changes (particularly when it gets colder), this light goes on. You see, this is Fancy-Pants, and it wants to alert you that conditions are unpleasant for it.

So I hit the OK button and proceeded on my way.

At least I’d missed the trash-mobile.

Driving along, I noticed Fancy-Pants wasn’t behaving in his usual manner.

He was struggling. And groaning. And making thumping noises.

I listened to the car while Mom was regaling me with everything of importance that happened at the doctor’s office.

Then something told me to check that tire indicator light again.

Whoops! This time, the message told me the right rear tire had NO pressure.

Well, actually it indicated the number “1.”

In big orange lights.

I pulled to the curb, hopped out to check, and there it was — a tire as flat as the proverbial pancake.

We called a local tire repair shop, a guy met us and exchanged our “ruined” tire for a spare, sending us on our way.

Naturally, they have to order a special tire. We’re talking about Fancy-Pants, remember?

So my advice is this — watch out for curbs.

Particularly curbs that have deteriorated from construction or bad weather.

They’ll get you!

Give a little. Get a lot.

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People seem fond of misquoting St. Paul in saying, “Money is the root of all evil.”

He didn’t say that.

In fact, nowhere does the Bible say that.

What St. Paul wrote (1 Timothy 6:10) is, “The love of money is a root of all kinds of evil.”

It’s too easy to blame “money” for the world’s ills, when in actuality, “sin” should shoulder that accusation.

Money itself isn’t evil.

Look how many things wouldn’t be possible, were it not for money:

  • Charitable foundations that pour countless dollars into various diseases (cancer, diabetes, heart disease, and more) in hopes of a cure.
  • Scholarships for students wishing to further their education and improve their lot in life.
  • School buildings to educate the young.
  • Hospitals to heal the sick.
  • Nursing homes to tend the elderly and infirm.
  • Organizations to provide for the needs of military veterans.
  • Groups who work to house the needy.
  • Roads to make it easier to go from one place to another.
  • Prisons to confine those who are dangerous to society (and hopefully, rehabilitate them).
  • Wireless towers to help us communicate with others.
  • And the list goes on.

Where we get into trouble, St. Paul implies, is when we love money above all else. That’s God’s position, and when we elevate anything above Him (whether it be ourselves, our spouses, our kids, our jobs, anything), we’re treading on thin ice.

The love of money causes us to hoard (have you seen that TV show about hoarders? Hilarious, but sad.).

The love of money causes us to fear that we won’t have enough.

The love of money causes us to doubt in the Goodness and Providence of our Creator.

I have found that tithing a portion of my income back to charity — as soon as it comes in — blesses me a hundred times more than holding onto that money would.

More, probably, than what little I donate does for those receiving my funds.

Still, it’s a start.

I won’t kid you — tithing can be a scary thing, the first or every time you do it.

I liken it to jumping off a cliff and hoping a tree or something will be there to stop your free-fall!

But we’re called to trust God and love people, and tithing forces us to do that.

Besides, it just feels GOOD!

Spammed Again

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That does it!

When I opened my business e-mail recently, I found yet another “solicitation” from yet another stranger hoping to “connect” with me.

Romantically.

Now this would be creepy enough if the sender were a man because, as I said, it’s a business account.

But it’s from a woman.

Who thinks I’m a man.

On what planet is the name “Debbie” masculine??

Anyway, this poor misguided female proceeds to tell me ALL about herself. How loving and romantic she is. How optimistic and athletic. How her friends describe her as cheerful.

How badly she wants to find her soul mate, even to the point of searching online for him and hooking up with a stranger.

Who’s actually a woman.

Though she clearly says she’s looking for a man.

Now I realize this e-mail was probably generated by an automated program of some sort. And that there probably isn’t a real person — female or male — somewhere deep in the heart of Russia who’s looking for a long term relationship with little ole me.

Especially when that unnamed someone clearly wants to find a man.

Which I’m not. Never have been.

So dear young lonely woman, I hate to be the bearer of hurtful news, but I’m not in the market for a long-term romantic relationship with a stranger.

We all have to be true to ourselves, and that’s just not something I’m comfortable with.

I’m sure you will find your “sugar daddy” if you keep looking.

But next time, please be more careful.

“Debbie” isn’t the best name in the world, but at least in most cases, there’s no gender question about it.

“Debbie” is female.

Not male.

What’s the oddest thing to appear in your Spam Folder of late??