Proud Mother

Today I went into the non-profit Carter had volunteered at during her Durham time this summer. It was her last day of “working” there having spent over a hundred hours in order to qualify for the Mayor’s Award. Getting actually 104.5 hours of work meant she had to be there everyday she was not at camp or on vacation. Due to her working nine hours or more most days she was able to finish early so she can have three days off before school starts.

I was hands off in this little “job”, but really wanted to see her in action for a few moments so I went in just before five o’clock rather than sitting in the car to wait for her to come out today. Carter was on the phone helping a “client” when I came through the door. The real employees greeted me and I introduced myself as “Carter’s Mom.”

Both women at the front desk jumped up to shake my hand and tell me what a good job Carter had done and how much they were going to miss her. These are the words a mother longs for. I stood at the reception desk and listened to Carter helping the person on the phone. It was like listening to her speak a foreign language.

Kids Carter’s generation don’t talk on the phone much; at least my child does not. If ever she has a need that involves the phone she usually begs me to do the calling. I was thrilled to hear her have such an adult conversation with a stranger.

I know that doing this volunteering was not her first choice of a summer activity, but now that it is done Carter says it was great experience. I am thrilled she learned so much about working for other people and about herself. The worst thing about working is getting that first job. Most jobs want you to have experience before they will give you a job and how do you get experience without having a job? Even non-paid internships often require prior experience.

Kids need to have opportunities to learn how to work for other people they are not related to. A good work ethic is one that is best developed at a young age, but our society has made it virtually impossible for young people to get jobs. Volunteering is great, but not everyone can afford to volunteer. Many young people need to earn money.

If you have any need to hire people please consider creating a job that you can hire a teenager to do. Yes, they take more training and yes it may be harder on you, but you will be doing the world a great service if you can give a young person a job. Also, my Dad always had a great motto about working, “Be nice to the people who work for you, you never know when you will work for them.” You may be training the next Bill Gates.

More Doggone Progress Needed

I love vacations, but I miss our sweet dog Shay Shay when we go away. I am sure we miss Shay more than she misses us since she goes to live with sweet Mary and all the other playmate pups she is caring for while we are gone.

Last night Carter and I stayed at new hotel called EVEN that was very dog friendly. The place had only been open a month and was bright shiny new, but they welcomed guests with their dogs. I met three different dogs in the lobby and the elevator and they made me miss our puppy. I would love to take Shay on a vacation with us since there seem to be more and more hotels for pooches.

The only hole in the dog vacation plan is that restaurants do not let dogs in and I do like to eat while I am away. In England dogs are welcomed everywhere, especially if you have a King Charles Cavalier Spaniel, which is considered the royal dog, although I think the queen has corgis. A meal at the pub is always nicer with your best friend at your feet.

I don’t think it is really a health hazard to not allow dogs in restaurants. I think my dog is cleaner than others in my family some of the time. Now that all dogs take flea and tick killing medicine it seems like the pest risk is low. Service dogs are allowed everywhere by law so what’s a few more? We used to have smoking and non-smoking sections; we could have canine and canine free areas for those people who might be allergic. Restaurants could always reserve the right to refuse to allow badly behaved dogs to stay.

I just can’t see traveling with a dog in the summer since you can’t leave your baby in a car for even a few minutes to run in a store and buy something, let alone eat a meal. Being allowed to bring Shay Shay in a restaurant with me is also figure friendly because I am bound to share my meal with her. In fact it probably would be increased revenue for the restaurant because I am more likely to order a steak for her while I get the salad.

So who do I lobby to change the no dogs in restaurants policy? I can bet that the first state to do it will see a major upturn in tourism. Nothing helps get changes faster than the promise of more tax revenue.

I know there is a loophole in the whole system and that is all I need to do is train Shay to be a service dog and have her wear a little yellow vest but that is not the answer for the whole country. If hotels have gotten there it’s time for restaurants to get in the game.

Pay Attention

After the last camp breakfast and hugs good bye we drove off from Washington Maine. Russ was driving for a very short first leg to the Rockland airport where he was flying out of. Thankfully he did not mind sitting at the tiny airport for a few hours watching the old bi and single wing planes flying in and out so Carter and I could get a good start on our drive home.

I took over the driving from there so Carter could spend the car time texting her friends. It turns out that was a good thing since about an hour down the road a girl driving a red SUV in the middle lane decided at the last minute that she needed to take a left hand exit just past the actual exit. Since I was in the left hand lane I was in the direct line of this clueless driver. Thanks to my constant scanning sense for bad drivers doing worse things I was able to slam on the brakes while taking the same left exit as the red SUV and just barley averted a total crash.

It was an incredibly scary moment. The girl in red realized her almost fatal mistake as we passed by her and she mouthed “sorry.” Carter burst into tears. I was shaken up to, but kept the car moving and circled back around to get back on the south bound route. It was a good learning moment for a new driver. Being alert to the dumb stuff other people might do is as important as not doing dumb stuff yourself. I am just thankful that I was driving because we only averted disaster because my reflexes took over. I drove the whole rest of the trip making our half way home hotel without any other incident.

Now that Carter and I are tucked safely in our matching double beds spending our last night sharing a room together for the summer I am having a moment to contemplate how lucky we are. I know that if I had been at all distracted when the girl in red made that bad move we wound have crashed into her going 60 miles an hour. I hope tomorrow’s drive will be much less eventful.

Order of Importance

In the craziness that is my family this is the message I get on my blog today from my Dad.

I saw Forsyth Michie at Wukka’s funeral in Ivey, VA on Saturday. She looked great. She told Mom and me that your blog caused her to lose 50 pounds! Did you know that? She credits it all to you! Isn’t that wonderful? Hope camp is fun….XOO Dad

Back ground for my non-family readers, Wukka is my father’s cousin and Forsyth is his daughter.

First let’s start with what I did not know in order or importance:

1. I did not know that Wukka had passed away

2. Therefore I did not know about the funeral

3. I had no idea that Forsyth had lost 50 pounds

4. And I get none of the credit.

I do know that Forsyth reads my blog so publicly I want to say how sad I am for the loss of your father. He was a first class gentleman and character and a stellar example of what a real Michie is like.

My favorite story about him is when he was a history professor at Salem College and his afternoon class started before “As the world turns” ended thus causing some of his students to be consistently late for class. When he questioned them about their tardiness the girls told him that they were late because they were watching that show.

Wukka, thinking that “As the world turns” must have been a current events news show then told the girls it was fine for them to be late as long as that was what they were doing. During a school break Wukka was home at 1:00 and decided he would tune into this important world events show that so many of his students were watching. It came as quite a shock to him to discover that “As the world turns” was a soap opera.

When the young women returned to class from break he scolded them, but they replied that they had never misrepresented what the show really was. Nonetheless class started on time forever after that with no excused tardiness.

To all my other family members I want you to know in advance that if I miss sending you condolences on the passing of your loved one I am sorry. My sisters and I have have more times than not had similar messages from our parents about some family story and when we asked them where they heard it they tell us it was at someone’s funeral. Somehow the information that someone has passed got lost in translation.

Good Habits Can Easily Fail

For two and a half years I have mostly eaten a healthy diet almost everyday. I basically gave up processed sugar and most white flour even though, given my choice they would be at the top of my “what am I craving?” list. There is no other way for me to have lost 100 pounds and kept it off since my natural state is more balloon like than heroin chic.

I also have been fairly disciplined about working out, not because I like it, but because I like to eat and I know that of at this confirmed stage of menopausal middle aged white lazy ass life if I am not moving constantly I am gaining weight no matter how little I put in my mouth.

Now I am at camp which for most people would be an active-a-rama-thon of running, jumping, swimming and dancing. Well, maybe yesterday when I played SCAG a game of kicking a soccer ball through giant croquet like hoops 100’s of yards apart and scoring it like golf, that’s what the name SCAG stands for, Soccer, Croquet And Golf. Although it is some good walking it is a fairly slow game with lots of standing around waiting for your opponents to kick, so in essence it is not much exercise. Then I went for a two hour hike of the 300 acre camp. Again it was a slow meandering walk with an instructional talk so I hardly broke a sweat. In the afternoon I sailed, well you know how much movement was involved with that. By the end of the day I had gotten only about 18,000 steps, many thanks to the post dinner kickball game. Sounds good until you throw in the eating.

At camp we eat family style. You walk in the dining hall and the food is already sitting at your table. Although there are plenty of healthy vegetables and always a salad made from greens from their own gardens there is also usually a homemade bread and some potatoes and then a yummy and naughty dessert. If I were eating at a restaurant I would have no trouble keeping away from the foods that call my name but somehow at camp I eat what is on the table, even though I mostly stay away from those things without trouble at home.

Perhaps if I had a scale and got on it every morning and saw what was happening to me I might be better at passing the corn bread on to my neighbor. Today I hit an all time low. I ate a blueberry muffin for breakfast, even though there was homemade yogurt that comes from the milk of the camp cow, which I also ate. Then lunch came. Feeling the guilt of my muffin I skipped the bun for the chicken sandwiches and the cole slaw and just put the grilled chicken on my salad. Hooray, my normal-at-home-healthy-guilt-free-lunch.

I needed that since I had hardly moved all day spending morning activities getting a massage, needle pointing at fiber arts and cutting out my cheese board at wood working with an electric scroll saw.

Just as I was feeling like I was under control a large pan of gooey chocolate walnut brownies was placed right in front of me. Next to me sat Ruth from New Castle, England who I have come to learn likes sweets too and across the way was Micheal who said the reason he ran five miles that morning was to counteract his love of sweets. One small brownie led to another and another half and then some finger licking a cup of coffee with real cream and one more bite of brownie. How quickly hard fraught habits can disappear.

Feeling full and slightly sick I forced myself into a swim suit and walked to the lake to paddle boat myself to loon island a good forty five minute bit of work and then swam back and forth to the dock four times. No way I worked off even one small brownie. It’s time to not succumb to the allure of food that is just placed in front of me. God, it’s almost time for dinner.

Just Play Even If It Is Embarrassing

The first time we came to family camp five years ago it was because I was jealous of Carter’s time at Camp Cheerio and I wanted to relive my childhood favorite time of summer camp. Russ found Camp Medomak family camp for us to enjoy together. We have been coming back ever since.

At first it was great for Carter to be able to try activities with fun counselors we did not have at home like sailing, or archery. Russ and I also got to learn new things like paddle boarding without having the investment in equipment.

As the years go on what we do at camp has changed a little. We no longer feel compelled to participate in every activity. Carter may sit on her bed and watch her favorite youtubers and laugh out loud and that is just fine with us. It is her vacation too so she is free to go on and do whatever makes her happy.

One of the benefits I see now as Carter is getting older is her ability to share a cabin with her parents without much complaint. I figure that if she can sleep though her father getting up at six in the morning to go get coffee at the farm house and log on to his computer, or her mother getting up in the middle of the night to walk off a leg cramp and use the bathroom then she is going to do just fine in a dorm in college. No matter how hard we try to embarrass her she still hangs with us and for that I am thankful.

Since I like to participate in activities and Russ does not I am thrilled when Carter pipes up as Russ is saying he is not going to play kick ball after dinner with, “just humor her and play if you want a good night’s sleep.” Nothing makes me happier than my child doing something I like even if it is not her first choice. What is even better is when she finds out she really likes it. Even better than that is that her father joins in and has fun too.

So tonight by the luck of the draw we all were on the same team and played our hearts out. It is not often that a teenage daughter will cheer for her mother running the bases that surely is a sight no one wants to see. We may not have won the game against our opponents, but I feel like we won just for playing together.

Playing Is Everything

I know my daughter is in a good vacation mood when she asks to play a game with me. At dinner tonight Carter announced to the table that I liked games more than her or Daddy. Our friend Warren, who we are staying with a great game lover too who I have been competing with over many games for almost forty years piped in, “Carter, that is not true, games are a close second to you and your Dad.” Warren is right. Husband, daughter, games. Or Carter would prefer, daughter, husband, games.

After a great dinner at Primo’s where they grow lots of what they serve including the yummy yard bird I had and a trip to Dorfman’s for ice cream Carter was in such a good mood that she demanded a Mexican Train Dominio game. So in the corner booth of the HoJo room Warren, Carter and I competed heartily while Russ looked at 1954 hardcover Rockport phone book. He read aloud the copy from the ads in the book deciding he liked the one for Russell’s Funeral Home that boasted “all modern equipment.” When I die I don’t really care what equipment will be used on me, I won’t be there to know.

After a few rounds of the game the magic disappeared and Carter left the game in favor of looking at photos on Russ’ iPad of at least ten years worth of vacations. Carter’s departure left me and Warren to battle out the remainder of the game. We came to the sad realization that this was our last night in Rockport with Warren at the Howard Johnson’s. It’s been a great few days. We walked the breakwater today, rocked in the chairs on the front porch, told stories and cooked at eaten way too much. These are the days that Carter talks about when she reminisces about vacation.

Sad as we will be to leave we are looking forward to family camp. It is best not to over stay our welcome and leave while our host is still having fun with us so we can be invited to come back. Being a good guest is way more important than being a good host. But having such a warm and thoughtful host who plans out all the meals, shops in advance of our arrival, makes the guest rooms the most comfortable and caters to our every whim is hard to beat. You would think I would let him win at dominos as part of my “good guest” plan, but no. Remember games are very important to me. Daughter, husband, games, winning, host, in that order.

Lobstah!

It is no cliche to say that you have to eat Lobster when you come to Maine. I try and get it as often as I can, but I went two lunches and one dinner and a breakfast before I got my first one. It was worth the wait.

Warren has a local place he gets his lobsters from and I have to say it pays to have a friend as a local with a good connection. He took me over to pick up our BIG soft shells and the nice woman who owns the place not only had set aside the ones with the biggest claws, but threw in an extra one for free because it had a small deformity on one claw and she thought she would not be able to sell it. Who says Yankees are not nice?

After snacks on the front porch of the local cheese curd and Maine Blueberry soda for Carter we went to the HoJo’s room to enjoy our dinner. The things were so big I could only eat my lobster and a little zucchini. Warren put on the juke box after dinner and I was so drunk on my lobster that I danced behind the HoJo’s soda fountain singing “last dance” with Donna Summer into the ice cream scoop and embarrassed Carter to no end.

Hey, I need the exercise after my big dinner and there is nothing better than dancing the calories off. Now it’s time for some serious game playing. The perfect end to a great night.

Worth The Drive

Carter and I spent many too many hours in the car making our way from Baltimore to Hamilton, MA without putting one tire on I-95. Although we avoided the inevitable traffic jams and truck squishing of one particular route we had our fair share of road shut downs and bridge repairs that added hours to our trip.

The worst part of the trip for me was in the state I grew up in, Connecticut. Although the highway had three lanes most of the time and signs instructing drivers every few miles that the right lane is for slow drivers, the middle for travel and the far left for passing, not one, well maybe one car actually paid attention to what is normal highway etiquette. Not in Connecticut — The left lane was completely full, all the time with drivers who were not the fastest, the middle had the slowest and the right lane had the passers. I can bet you the psychology of those drivers in the left was, “do you know how many taxes Ai pay in this state? I own this road. I am going to pass someone because it is my right. Who cares if I should actually be a different lane. I like this one and AI am from Connecticut.”

After eleven hours of driving we finally arrived at my boarding school friend Stori’s house. Stori has a daughter Samantha who is Carter’s age and this is the first time they have ever met. Stori and I have been talking about this happening for a long time, but somehow it never happened, until today.

It took about forty two seconds after meeting and they were off, discussing their shared love of music, Sam even likes Jake Bugg, Carter’s favorite obscure Brit, how crazy their mother’s are and life as an only child. After dinner they walked themselves to get ice cream and came back best of friends. It was like the friend you make when you are three because you realize you both have pink sandals on and therefore must be soul mates, but even better because they are old enough to know if they really like each other.

So Stori and I were quickly dismissed. Now here we sit thrilled that our daughters, who are the same age we we’re when we first became the best of friends, have met and formed an instant bond. This outcome is more than worth the hellish drive and the entitled Connecticut drivers I endured to get here.

Send It Back Without Guilt

Last night I went to a local establishment with four friends to celebrate my friend Sara’s birthday. Celebrating with food is a regular occasion around here. I have to be very careful to remember that someone else’s birthday is not my excuse to go off the rails so I try and stick to my normal eating even at parties, which is not always easy.

My trick to evenings out is that I order two starters and try and withhold from the rest. I must admit I did dip my spoon in the complimentary birthday desserts and they were well worth whatever thousands of calories they had.

But let’s back up and talk about the rest of the meal. I started with a favorite, Burrata, the mozzarella cheese with the cream center, served with yummy tomatoes. It was the perfect summer taste on a hot night. To follow it I ordered the Ahi Tuna with peppers, as did two of my other friends.

After enjoying such a good first course I was completely taken aback when a small hunk of white tuna was placed in front of me. Since I only planned on eating two small starters I wanted every bite to be perfect. I looked at the very over cooked fish, which should have been served dark red and barley warmed on the outside and knew it was wrong. The other two servings to my friends were the same hot mess.

I took a bite and declared it inedible and announced I was sending it back. My much nicer friends were not as inclined until the I summoned the waiter who had not delivered the fish and showed him the bright white flesh. An audible gasp came from the waiter. “This is not right,” he said. Then all the fish went back.

From my vantage point only I could see the chef as she looked at the dishes and threw a towel at the sous who was obviously responsible. It took just a few moments since the cooking time on the dish was supposed to be barley a minute, but some perfect tuna arrived at our table with the apologies of the chef. Following that course the kitchen sent an unordered dessert with their compliments — An apology without making a big deal of it.

I know I am a difficult customer. I am quick to voice my complaint so that an establishment has an opportunity to make me happy right then and there. I also will return and give them more business. What I do the next time is give implicit instructions about how I want my order. So to ensure this same mistake does not happen to me I will tell them that I want my tuna very rare.

I eat lunch every Wednesday at the same place where I play Mah Jongg with my friends. I always order a salad with the most specific instructions on how I want it — extra lettuce, freshly grilled hot chicken, dressing on the side. I am sure the kitchen has a dartboard with my picture on it, but I am saving them many thrown away salads because they get it right if they follow my request. I can’t expect people to be mind readers and know exactly what I want. It is much easier to tell them and be happy than it is to get something disappointing, keep my mouth shut and never return. Yeah, there is little chance I will ever keep my mouth shut, I just hope my friends will still eat with me.

If the Good Die Young I’m Gonna Be Bad

u

When my friend Danny passed away I pulled out a photo album from our wedding to get a picture of him. I opened it up and as I flipped through the pages I came upon the one I was thinking of. Strangely the three other pictures on the same page were all of friends of mine who all left this world much too early. My college roommate Lauren who died of breast cancer, my friend Herb who I went to school in France with who had an aneurism and my beach housemate Art who died of AIDS. All those friends went in their thirties. Now Danny with cancer at 59. Somehow it seems like way too many good people dying too young.

I guess that these people had done what they were put on this earth to do fast. At Danny’s service today there was a universal feeling about what a wonderful guy he was and not just because he was gone. He truly was always kind, thoughtful and full of humor to every person. Based on this ratio of the really good people going young I am going to slow down my doing any good works, cause if the good die young I’m going to be bad.

After the emotional roller coaster of this day I went back to my friend David and John’s for the comfort of old friends. We went to a great new restaurant and followed it up with a walking tour of the neighborhood. When we got home we celebrated David’s birthday with some tiny tarts. I broke down and had one bite of the chocolate and one of the lemon curd. I think this counts as my being bad for today, but I’m going to have to find some non-food ways to be bad if I am going to be alive for the next forty years.

The Silver Lining

I spent today in the car driving to Washington DC so I can attend Danny Koch’s memorial service tomorrow. Since I lived in DC for ten years, coming back is like coming home. Add to that I am staying with my friends John and David who I introduced and have been best friends for the last 30 years.

David was out on a trip when I got here but John welcomed me as only a friend who has known me since college could do. We went to meet my sister Janet and her girlfriend Sophie for dinner at a great restaurant called Range. At last I got to meet Sophie. Since I was sick on Christmas day I am the last person in my family to get to know her. I have really been missing out. Even John knew Sophie long before I did since he is friends with Janet. It is funny how the people in my life intersect without my being involved.

After dinner John and I went back to his house and David arrived from the airport. Suddenly I am twenty five years old again. I may have had to make this trip for the saddest of reasons, but the silver lining is I am having a wonderful reunion with so many people I love.

Life is short. We never know when our time is going run out. I am going to use this opportunity to spend time with people who make me happy, make me laugh and make a difference in my world.

Good Lighting is Everything

As I am trying to whittle down my thousands of photos from Africa to a few hundred for a photo book that won’t bore the casual friend who asks about the trip one thing is clear; the lighting is almost the most important factor in determining a great photo from a so-so one. This is not news to me and out in the bush I had limited control over what I could push my camera to do. If only I had taken more lessons on actually how to use the powerful equipment I owned I might have been able to do more, but overall I think I got more than enough great material.

As I age I find that lighting is a crucial element in my everyday life. When I was younger I did not appreciate how great my eyes were. So many times my father would say something positive about my “young” eyes and what they could see. I never had to wear glasses until I was about 45 and then the deadly readers became required.

At first if I had bright enough light I could make due when trying to read tiny writing on a hotel bottle of shampoo, or is that body lotion I am about to put in my hair? Now even a thousand watt bulb does not help me in that situation. Why don’t hotels realize that old farts in the shower are not wearing their reading glasses and at least make the “S” in a 32 point font or bigger?

Today, while playing Mah Jongg in the dark Dover Bar at Hope Valley, yes we play games in a bar when it is closed to drinkers; I was doing my normal multitasking and needle pointing while playing. Since I was already working an 18-mesh canvas, which to you non-stitchers means the tiny little petit point canvas, I had my strongest readers on. The ornament is one of Africa in celebration of our trip and it has a grey mountain as well as a different grey elephant on it. In the dark of the bar I stitched two whole threads of one grey called Heron, on the mountain and then two whole threads of the other grey called Steel Grey on the same mountain.

Only when I went to pull a fifth thread from my bag did I realize that I had used two different colors. I showed my friend Christy the canvas and asked her with her young eyes to see if I in fact had made this error. Even she at first thought it was all right, but did question it. I went to the next room where I could use the power of the sun to examine my work. Yes, I had used two different colors — it was a rookie mistake.

It was then that I pulled out my “Bra Light”, actually a baseball cap light Russ had given me, and clipped it to the ever-steady intersection of the underwires of my bra at the center. Bright light shone on my gaff and I was able to cut away the offending yarn and start over.

Why was I not wearing my bra light in the first place? My eyes are too old, the existing light was too dim, and my Mah Jongg friends needed something good to laugh at. Me with an illuminated cleavage is good fodder for ridicule. Here is what I know, I want good strong light when I have tiny work to do, I want soft gentle light when anyone is taking a picture of me and I want just enough light to recognize my winning Mah Jongg tile as it is being thrown. All that light is not the same; perhaps I am doing too many things all at once.

Reality Bites

I was just in the middle of a great dream during my jet lagged induced nap and I heard a phone ringing. A phone ringing? I had not heard a phone ringing for the last twelve days while in Africa. Where I am? I instinctively reached over to my right and picked up my cell phone and said hello.

“Mom?” It was Carter !!! Oh no it was Carter at camp, where she does not have access to a phone unless something is wrong. “Mom, I’m alright, but I fell and hit my head.” Still feeling drugged up from thirty hours of flying starting in Zambia yesterday through Joberg to Atlanta and finally home today it took me a minute to process what was going on. After talking to Carter a few minutes she passed me on to the camp Doctor who told me she thought Carter did not have a concussion, but they are taking her for an x-ray just to see how they might need to modify her camp activities.

I asked to talk to Carter again since I am now an expert at telephone diagnosis when she falls. This fall did not involve a horse, thank goodness, but just a low ropes course and a group of tires. Carter did not sound confused or disoriented in anyway, but just getting to talk to each other after two and a half weeks of camp induced silence did make her sad for us.

There is nothing worse than being away from home when you are sick of hurt. Mom and Dad are really the best medicine. Two years ago when Carter went to Taiwan during the summer and lived with a family and went to school she got a stomach bug and was sick for a day. Russ and I happened to be in Seattle celebrating our twentieth anniversary and got a call from Carter halfway around the world. Of course she was fine by the next day, but at that moment she just wanted her Mom and there was nothing I could do about it but reassure her that this too shall pass.

Five weeks away from Carter is a long time for me, but she wanted to do these three back-to-back camp sessions so badly and she is at the age where she wants to spend more time away from the family than with the family. So while I had her on the phone in this vulnerable, head injured, I wish my Mom was with me state, I asked her if she wanted me to come and see her Saturday when she had the break in camp sessions. “Could you do that and bring Daddy too?”

“Of course. I’ll call camp tomorrow.”

“Are you allowed to that?” she asks, having been living in the rule following world of camp for the last two and a half weeks.

“Yes.” I reassured her.

No easy re-entry back into real life. Our perfect vacation, really the best trip I have ever been on in my life is over. We got home and the house was fine, only my vegetable garden took a beating from lack of rain, Shay was excited to see us and I got four really happy letters from camp filling me in on Carter’s first session. We unpacked our tiny suit cases and put all our safari wear in the laundry, happy not to half to wear khaki. I went to the grocery store and bought nine different fruits knowing that the scale will be unhappy with me in the morning, but I would not change a thing about our trip. We saw so many amazing animals and birds, met the most fun and interesting people, we ate really good food and now it’s back to reality. It bites.

Too Many Hot Dogs

Carter is at camp and we are leaving for Africa so I wrote a few letters to Carter that my friend Christy is going to mail every couple of days so that Carter does not go forever without and real mail at camp. Writing letters to camp is hard enough when not that much is going on at home, but writing in advance is next to impossible. Maybe I could have predicted what might go on in the world, but I decided that was just too weird, even for me, a person who writes something weird everyday.

Instead I decided to pull out the book I made for Carter with all the great quotes she said when she was two and three. I guess I was smart enough then to write the wonderful things she said down to share with Russ, who was on the road a lot. I’m glad I did because as far as I’m concerned two and three are when kids say the best stuff.

Apparently hot dogs played a major role in Carter’s life as is evident in these two little stories:

In November our Ukrainian babysitter said, “I gave Carter two sausages for lunch.” Carter interjected, “you mean hot dogs.”

“In my country they are called sausages.”

Carter replies, “God says, in our country they are called hot dogs.”

Following along the same theme:

A babysitter says to Carter, “I have a little tummy ache.”

Carter says, “O.K., I am a doctor. What did you eat for lunch?”

“A hot dog and fries.”

“Well, a hot dog is O.K., but you need to ask your Mommy before you eat French fries. That will be $500 please.”

Based on the obvious large hot dog consumption in our house back then Carter said the following to me one day:

“My heart takes good care of me. And I say, ‘Good Luck!’”

Good luck indeed. Thank goodness we hardly ever have a hot dog around anymore.

One of my very favorite things Carter ever said was a month before her third birthday:

“It is so great in my world, when the sun is up or the sun is down.”

I hope it is great in your world. Don’t eat too many hot dogs and if you want fries, please save yourself $500 and ask your Mommy first.

Professional Complainer

Tonight in a rare, but very enjoyable night time Mah Jongg game the talk at my table turned to an eating establishment that all the players frequented and some bad choices and worse excuses for the choices they had made. Now I am fond of this place, so don’t ask me to name it, because I am sure they will turn this current situation around.

As I described in detail the mistakes and my conversations with management my friend Carolyn commented that I was thorough in my complaint. ‘Carolyn,” I responded, “don’t you know I am a professional complainer.” She acted as if in the 18 years I have known her she had never heard me complain.

Perhaps she had never heard me complain because she has never done anything wrong, at least to me, but I find it shocking that she was unaware of my professional status. I am a tough customer, but I am also an ardent supporter. So if I find something lacking in the customer service arena I try and constructively point out why it makes me unhappy.

I know that not all people who I complain to are thrilled I am doing it, but consider the alternative. First, if I have encountered something wrong I am probably not the first person who has felt that way. Second, most people don’t bother to complain to the person who is actually in charge, but just leave unhappy to never return again and worse tell ten people how unhappy they were. Third, I always offer evidence-based complaints with positive suggestions on how to grow the business.

My professional designation was earned when I was a sales and marketing consultant, but had been honed for many years before that as an armature tough cookie. My father has mentioned on more than one occasion that he is surprised some businesses had stayed open after I received very poor customer service from them more than once. See, if my direct confrontations of poor service don’t improve after a reasonable amount of time then I go right for the juggler. But at least I returned to the business to see if they even tried.

The difference between a professional complainer and a whiny unhappy person is that the professional will praise and frequent great establishments all day long. A whinny person is never satisfied. I may be demanding, but I will never whine about anything.