Thirteen Sweaters

I’m at Goodwill, and I have found a lovely dress and a few other odds and ends. I head up to the cashier. Darn. A longish line, about three folks ahead of me. I make a quick decision, I will wait it out. I settle into my space in line, and begin observing. Then, I see the woman in front of me in line. I see her carriage overflowing.

13 sweaters, and she just stands in line … Waiting waiting waiting . I’m thinking you could take them off the hangers to get a head start. Not a chance. More important to watch the cashier ring up the other people in front of her.  Oh, who knew!!!  They need to come off the hangers? Who could have guessed at that.  Now, will she take the time to do each one, very carefully, taking the hanger out from the bottom?  You don’t want to stretch the necks out; that I get.

The time has come at last. It is her turn at the register with the cashier. She slowly rolls her cart forward. Good news! She has no visible concerns about neck hole stretch with her sweaters. I make that assessment based on how she practically rips the hangers out of each sweater, right through the neck hole at the top. She moves fast. I’m actually a  little surprised she does not just heave the 13 sweaters onto a heaping pile on the counter in front of the cashier. I am pleased she takes responsibility for her 13 sweaters and works with the cashier to move it along. It’s about give and take, working with folks, not expecting to be served, rather partnering with folks to get it done.

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A Familiar Journey

My drive in this morning was slow and deliberate. The snow and ice coupled with my severely diminished tire tread have allocated me to the slow lane, driving with my hazards on at 20 miles per hour.  This all seems very familiar to me. No, no, not another post-snow storm drive in. But, rather, very similar to a whole other event .  

 

Then, it comes to me.  This reminds me of  the time I walked a half marathon about three years ago.  There, too, I started out all by myself.  You see, I did the marathon as a walker. All walkers are given a 30 minute head-start. Just like today where I was the only one out on the road, at least at first.  

 

Then, during the half marathon, the flow of other runners began, and continued for quite a while as 6000 other registered participants proceeded to pass me on the left.  This is just like now, all the other drivers continue to pass me on the left. Then,  I persevered and, here and now I persevere.  The half marathon took me three hours and 17 minutes. My drive in this morning took me one hour and 30 minutes.  

 

There was nobody waiting at my finish line today to give me a medal on a bright yellow ribbon.  My boss, however, did pop in to thank me for making the trek. I appreciated his appreciation. My finish line medal today?  Words of recognition.

 

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Biotene

I saw an interesting commercial for a product named Biotene recently.  There was a picture drawn of a mouth with an animated cactus and a hot sun to demonstrate dry mouth.  Then came drawings of two teeth wearing sunglasses. These two teeth suddenly crack into many pieces, each ending in a pile of tooth debris, with sunglasses atop each pile.  And, just what is that written in small light lettering at the bottom of the screen?  “Dramatization” .  Well, thank goodness for that clarification. 

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Standing Room Only (S.R.O)

The auditorium is full of people. The aisles are full of people sitting right there in the aisles.  There are about 20 people standing outside of the double doors, craning their necks to see the PowerPoint presentation projected on the screen and hear the presenter at the podium. This is what I have come upon.  

 

I had suspected as much. Just as I had predicted earlier in the week and earlier just that morning. I had advised the team that I work with to get there early.  But, one of my teammates needed some help in the office right at the time I should have been heading down to the auditorium to stake my claim on a comfortable seat. What else could I do?

 

So, here I am with the SRO section, packed in tight like sardines, like when I was younger at outdoor rock concerts at Lake Compounce. I am just happy I am near the head of the sardine pack, and can see the PowerPoint and hear the presenter.  But, you see, I have an issue.  I cannot stand still, literally. When I am waiting in line at the store, I can be found swaying from side to side, stepping from one foot to the other again and again and again.  For whatever reason, I am very uncomfortable when I stand still. My legs get stiff and my back hurts. So, move I must and move I do.  But, I am not as free to move as I must here amidst my fellow sardines.  This is a three and a half hour training. The thought of having to stand still this entire time is insurmountable.

 

I last for a solid 2 minutes. Then, I start to sway. I try to keep the movements small, as to allow the sardines behind me to continue to see the PowerPoint splayed across most of the front wall. At least it’s prominent, so I am unlikely to really fully block the slides. The gentlemen in front of me is standing completely still, leaning one arm the rail of the open door, looking very relaxed. I am envious.  

 

As I listen to the presenter, my eyes wander over the seated group before me, blessed with the bounty of a comfortable seat for the next 3 and a half hours. My eye keeps going back to one person in the room. Like a crow drawn to shiny objects, my eyes are drawn to something that keeps sparkling.  A closer look finds a woman with Christmas tree earrings that are flashing red, green, and blue interchangeably.  Very charming.

 

I am intrigued by the folks that precariously travel with their paper coffee cups brimming to the top through the sea of unpredictable people sitting on the floor. Occasionally, a floor dweller unexpectedly repositions themself, causing the coffee carrier to course correct.  Amazingly, no coffee carriers spill their precious cargo.

 

Over the time that I was there I did notice one older woman who was sleeping about 90% of the time.  To me, it seems like a waste of the chair.  But, I guess if she’s going to safely sleep, she definitely needs use of the chair.

 

Another woman spends about 20 minutes scrolling through her phone on what looks to be the Internet. Again, envy creeps in. Most of us do not get any Internet service or phone service here in the basement where the auditorium is.

 

Occasionally, someone gets up and leaves. Hard to know if they are just using the restroom.  I cannot take the chance, and make no moves to occupy the vacated seats that occasionally pop up. I stay put, or should I say stand and sway put.

 

So, a few hours later, the training comes to a close. As one of the last people in, I am one of the first people out. Back to my office I go. My red message light on my phone is blinking feverishly. I am acutely aware of how comfortable my office chair is as I sink into it.

 

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Brain Freeze

 

 

            My local library has a box of old magazines that patrons can take one or two of for free. On the top of the pile is a Newsweek.  The front page has certainly piqued my interest.  It has a picture of a man with his head encapsulated in a large ice cube.  The title reads “Brain Freeze: How the Deluge of Information Paralyzes Our Ability to Make Good Decisions”.  Now, that sounds interesting.  I pick I up and tuck it under my arm.

 

            Over the next several months, I proceeded to move this magazine to various locations, always keeping it visible in an effort to “get to it”.  It made the move from my office in Hartford to my new job and office in New Haven. I even carried it around for a while in my professional workbag.  I was careful to relocate it into two other workbags that I have since switched out to. Now, it is in my office, on a shelf, ice-cube head visible at the top of the pile. Today, I am glancing over at the cover as I write this. I still haven’t had a minute to read it.  The deluge of information I am experiencing is interfering with me getting to the information in the article.  I cannot help but smile a bit to think of the irony. Me, carrying around this magazine for a year in the hopes to read this article.  Just what the article refers to: “paralyzed ability to make good decisions”. 

 

I continue to hope to read this interesting piece.  Maybe I will move the magazine to my desk at work, front and center.  Perhaps then I can be further deluged by the information in the article.

 

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The Crock Pot Situation

My husband bought a crock pot, five years ago.  No, he hasn’t used it just yet. In fact, he hasn’t even taken it out of the box yet.  Oh, I’ve tried to be encouraging about the whole thing. After the first year of no crock pot use, I got him a very cool cookbook “Crock Pot Cooking with Five Ingredients or Less”.  I just knew this would be successful in coaxing the crock pot out of the box in the basement. Five ingredients, or LESS???  It makes it all sound so easy, so doable. What could go wrong with so few ingredients? Well, the Crock Pot stayed in the box.  

A few years later, I thought another exposure to the Crock Pot could be just the answer to getting her into the rotation of kitchen tools and accessories, as I am sure she desires.  So, I did what I thought would be best. Under the Christmas tree I put her, all wrapped up.  Oh, the look of surprise when my husband opened that gift.  He laughed heartily. She stayed out under the tree for a few days, with the other opened gifts that the children didn’t ravage. Then, sadly, she made her way back into the basement.  

I have been thinking about the Crock Pot situation.  I could just open the box and use her, but this was my husband’s idea for him to use. I want to support him in this endeavor, not take over.  I rather liked the reappearing Crock Pot. I think a good plan would be to keep re-gifting it to him each Christmas.  Maybe if that doesn’t work, I will re-gift it to me from me . (Hey, my 7 year old had a gift to and from himself under the tree this year – why not?). It sounds like a plan.

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Ten Butter Knives

I caught him doing it again. Can you believe it?  Yes, using the fork handle to spread butter on his toast. Oh, I’m going to figure this out. I have to. I am tired of the butter in the nooks and crannies of the design on the fork handles. I always get a surprise when I pick the fork up out of the sink, yes, by the handle, to wash it. Yuck!

I am baffled. We have butter knives. Maybe a subtle hint is needed to remind him about the proper tool. I can fix that.

Off to the Goodwill I go. I get 10 very cool butter knives, wash them up and dry them,  put them in the utensil drawer, and wait.  Wait and wait. Finally, I see just what I was hoping for. My husband searching through the knives in the utensil drawer, looking for just the right butter knife, yes, butter knife.

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Leaf Blower

On my way home today I spotted a man using a leaf blower. On his driveway. To blow the light dusting of snow off. Really.

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The IT Brief

I recently received an e-mail at work. The Subject line was “The IT Brief”.  I had to smile to myself. What exactly does an IT Brief look like? Does it have lots of little keyboards on it? Or perhaps lots of little letters and symbols from the keyboard placed all around like alphabet soup. Maybe some suggestive web site addresses in jest? I imagine them to be boxer briefs, more coverage than your bikini briefs.  The IT guy or girl seems more conservative, likely wanting more coverage than a bikini breif has to offer.

As I write this I realize I never did read the actual e-mail . Better go look for the IT Brief in my e-mail!

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Vinyl

I was at the Goodwill looking for just the right 33 vinyl records. As I sifted through the large collection of vinyl filled record jackets, many of them vintage, an older gentleman began to talk to me. He was one of those people that prefer a one-sided conversation, if you can even call it a conversation. He spoke to me, or rather; he spoke, with me in close proximity. He spoke of his vinyl collection, 10,000 records, all with special meaning. His better half wants to have a tag sale in the spring, to sell some of his collectables. He informed me, rather seriously, that he in fact would not be selling his 1967 Chavelle with 44,000 miles on it, all stock, mint condition. I am thinking it may be more important for him to inform his better half of this instead of me. Maybe he is practicing on me, building up the courage.

He pauses his monologue for a moment, as he seems confused about my approach for finding the vinyl I want. I interrupt his monologue with a brief brief. I share that I am looking for 33 records that are not too fragile and not too thick. I cook them in the oven on a pizza pan and shape them into unique bowls. He interrupts his monologue to comment on this. He shares his concern that I might destroy a true collectable, like an original Beetles album. I am thinking all albums must be true collectables to him, as he has 10,000 of them. Well, yes, in fact, my husband wondered about this aloud as my first vinyl pizza made its way into the oven.

The gentleman picks his monologue up where he left off. He talks about selling his Chavelle, the teens on his street asking him if he will ever sell it. This moves the monologue into a whole other direction about kids being lazy, always on their I-pads and I-pods, never outside playing. You know this drill. So, before me, I have vintage records, and in some ways, a vintage gentleman. No disrespect intended, so let me rephrase, a gentleman with a vintage perspective. Twenty vinyl records later, I politely shared I needed to go, and wished the gentleman a nice day.

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