It dawned on me today how much like the story of the prodigal son Thanksgiving is.
1. At my house, you never know exactly who will show up to the feast until that day. In a matter of just a few days, I went from having eight for dinner to twenty for dinner and dessert.
2. Thanksgiving is a homecoming of sorts. Whether we return to the people and places with whom we celebrated Thanksgiving as a child, we return again and again to the same rituals and traditions, and the same comfort foods, no matter where we are.
3. The centerpiece of the day is a feast; a table laid out with an overabundance of our favorite foods and beverages (none of which, of course, has any calories).
3. There is often some sort of dysfunction: somebody gets mad at someone else; someone does something offensive and soon the older-brother types are standing out on the stoop, brooding.
5. On Thanksgiving, as in the story of the younger son, all most of us have to do is just show up to the table and give thanks for God's prodigal goodness to us. Is that really so hard?
Happy Thanksgiving.
Thursday, November 25, 2010
Friday, November 5, 2010
photoblography
Amelia has decided to start a photography blog, "photoblography365." She started her blog when she got tired of posting her work on my blog("Nobody reads your blog, Mom," she says). That, and I maybe, sort of, bribed her (just a little).
In the hopes that somebody actually is reading my blog and is interested in seeing the world through the lens of an amazing seventeen year old, I am including a link here: photoblography365 Check it out and come back often. And please, don't let her know I sent you. She'll be "so embarassed.!"
In the hopes that somebody actually is reading my blog and is interested in seeing the world through the lens of an amazing seventeen year old, I am including a link here: photoblography365 Check it out and come back often. And please, don't let her know I sent you. She'll be "so embarassed.!"
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
nice guys
When you work in retail you meet all sorts of people.
Most are indifferent when it comes to interacting with the people who work in a store; they are courteous enough, but they think nothing of texting or checking their email or, worse yet, making a phone call while standing right in front of you.
Others, are downright hostile. They will curse at you and blame you, even for something that was clearly their fault. And they will let you know exactly what they think of your store and its policies. One woman refused to look at me after the printer "ate" her receipt and I had to begin her purchase all over again. No matter how many times I apologized, she kept her gaze focused elsewhere and never once acknowledged my apologies. Not once.
Every now and again, though, you come across someone who smiles and says "hello;" someone who treats you as though you may know a thing or two about the products you work with each and everyday; someone who is genuinely nice. Like the eighty-one year old grandmother who returned a pair of pants because every time she bent over her underwear showed. "I haven't shown that part of my anatomy in years," she said. "And I'm not going to start now!"
Sometimes, at the end of a long and tiring day, I wish I could hunt those nice people down and say "thank you," or "you were the bright spot in my day." Or better yet, I wish I could turn back the hands of time and tell them, in the moment, how much I appreciated having them in the store. Since neither of those is possible there is only one thing I can do: I can pay it forward. I can be the bright spot in someone else's day; the one to bring humor into an otherwise dull and humorless workplace. I can smile and look the store clerk in the eye when she talks to me and say "hello" to the bag boy when he hands me my groceries.
I can be a nice guy too.
Most are indifferent when it comes to interacting with the people who work in a store; they are courteous enough, but they think nothing of texting or checking their email or, worse yet, making a phone call while standing right in front of you.
Others, are downright hostile. They will curse at you and blame you, even for something that was clearly their fault. And they will let you know exactly what they think of your store and its policies. One woman refused to look at me after the printer "ate" her receipt and I had to begin her purchase all over again. No matter how many times I apologized, she kept her gaze focused elsewhere and never once acknowledged my apologies. Not once.
Every now and again, though, you come across someone who smiles and says "hello;" someone who treats you as though you may know a thing or two about the products you work with each and everyday; someone who is genuinely nice. Like the eighty-one year old grandmother who returned a pair of pants because every time she bent over her underwear showed. "I haven't shown that part of my anatomy in years," she said. "And I'm not going to start now!"
Sometimes, at the end of a long and tiring day, I wish I could hunt those nice people down and say "thank you," or "you were the bright spot in my day." Or better yet, I wish I could turn back the hands of time and tell them, in the moment, how much I appreciated having them in the store. Since neither of those is possible there is only one thing I can do: I can pay it forward. I can be the bright spot in someone else's day; the one to bring humor into an otherwise dull and humorless workplace. I can smile and look the store clerk in the eye when she talks to me and say "hello" to the bag boy when he hands me my groceries.
I can be a nice guy too.
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
election day
My father taught me to pray and to vote. In that order.
"If you don't vote," my father always said, "you've got no business complaining about the outcome."
"And if you don't pray," I would say.
"You'll have lots to complain about," he'd say.
About the only thing politically my father and I could agree on was a person's responsibility to vote. After that, our views differed widely. He was a proud Republican; I am a skeptical Democrat. When I left the ranks of the Republican Party (of which my great-grandfather was a founding member} my father simply said "I'll pray for you."
After that, whenever an election day would roll around, my father would call me and say, "Are you going to vote?"
"I was thinking of it," I'd say. "You?"
"I was thinking of it," he'd say.
"Of course," I'd say, "we could just both stay home and call it even."
"I need the exercise," he'd say. And off we'd both go.
Even though my father has been gone for going on seventeen years, and there is no longer someone's vote for me to cancel out, I still vote.
And, of course, I still pray. It's what he taught me to do.
"If you don't vote," my father always said, "you've got no business complaining about the outcome."
"And if you don't pray," I would say.
"You'll have lots to complain about," he'd say.
About the only thing politically my father and I could agree on was a person's responsibility to vote. After that, our views differed widely. He was a proud Republican; I am a skeptical Democrat. When I left the ranks of the Republican Party (of which my great-grandfather was a founding member} my father simply said "I'll pray for you."
After that, whenever an election day would roll around, my father would call me and say, "Are you going to vote?"
"I was thinking of it," I'd say. "You?"
"I was thinking of it," he'd say.
"Of course," I'd say, "we could just both stay home and call it even."
"I need the exercise," he'd say. And off we'd both go.
Even though my father has been gone for going on seventeen years, and there is no longer someone's vote for me to cancel out, I still vote.
And, of course, I still pray. It's what he taught me to do.
Monday, November 1, 2010
no more halloween
In these lean economic times when everyone is scaling back and doing without, I have an idea for something we can eliminate: Halloween.It’s not that I’m opposed to scary things like ghosts or goblins (because, really, I can think of scarier things like double-digit unemployment and the cost of college tuition). Nor is it that I am anti-candy (believe me, if there is one thing I am not it is anti-candy). It’s just that I think there are a lot of savings to be had from doing away with this one day—and without too much hardship.
Think, for example, of all the money that would be saved on costumes and candy. I don’t know what percentage of the gross national debt is Halloween candy but, judging from the line at Wal-Mart the other day, it’s high. Real high.
Then, too, there is all of the chaos and confusion that could be avoided if we simply didn’t have to deal with Halloween. I don’t care how well I plan for that night, I always seem to be scavenging for something—a safety pin, red lipstick, leg warmers—even as kids are making their way up the front walkway.
If all that doesn’t convince you, think of the children: think of all the angst and worry they will be spared over what to be and with whom to go trick-or-treating if we simply do away with the night all together.
Then, too, there is all of the chaos and confusion that could be avoided if we simply didn’t have to deal with Halloween. I don’t care how well I plan for that night, I always seem to be scavenging for something—a safety pin, red lipstick, leg warmers—even as kids are making their way up the front walkway.
If all that doesn’t convince you, think of the children: think of all the angst and worry they will be spared over what to be and with whom to go trick-or-treating if we simply do away with the night all together.
Sometimes I wonder who the geniuses are who sold us on Halloween. Who is it that has convinced ordinarily sane, rational adults that it would be a good idea to send their children out in the bitter cold in cheap costumes (for which, of course , we pay dearly), constructed of questionable materials (cardboard would be sturdier), dressed up as people we hope our children never become (jailbirds, gangsters, Snooki) to beg of strangers more candy than any one individual should eat in a lifetime. Who, I ask you!
Here's one thing I do know: when I meet these geniuses I'm going to give them a piece of my mind. Better yet, I'm going to wait until just before bedtime and give their children all of the candy my children collected last night. Then we’ll see what those geniuses think of Halloween and which ones will join me in my fight to do away with it once and for all.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)