It was great to become a State Farm auto insurance customer for the first time since a brief stint at the beginning of my career. Other carriers had consistently been lower cost, but this time around a quick quote on the Web showed savings of at least $100 every six months by going with my employer. In a flash I was into the agent's office and signed up. Two days later, we got sideswiped by a car, which served as this week's low point. While cruising down the rightmost lane of Veteran's Parkway en route to dinner and a movie, we watched helplessly as the car in the middle lane lost sight of us in his blind spot. He bumped us against the concrete curb, causing us to lose control of the car momentarily and swerve wildly into back into the middle lane in an over correction, fishtailing until we regained ourselves. I was happy that in those moments while the car was careening around the road, and the adrenaline was coursing through my veins, still my mind kept an inner calm. When we got turned around and back to the site of the other car, and one of its passengers rushed up to me saying that I was at fault, the calm remained. I explained that though my official report may differ from theirs, it was nothing personal. It was tough to shake off the incident as we did the paperwork with the police, then headed off to pizza and a movie for a year-end date. In those moments it's a challenge to figure out what God's purpose was for such an apparently useless incident. Perhaps it was just another daily test to face adversity, compartmentalize it and set it aside with the faith that everything would be all right. Both cars were drivable, no one was hurt, the roads happened to be clear of any other cars. Accidents heighten awareness. Maybe a future unknown disaster will be averted for one of the four of us as a result.
Another comic episode came when I got home late on Thursday. The NCHS coach had left a message on my machine saying that the varsity team had qualified for the consolation championship game of the State Farm Holiday Classic high school basketball tournament, set to start at 6:00. It was 5:55. I shot him a text saying that I was on the way. Good news, he texted back, the game ahead of ours was in overtime so there was time to get over there. I changed clothes, leaped into the car and scurried into the Shirk Center stands. Taking a seat, I noticed that the teams on the court were not ours. Was the overtime game still in progress? No. I was in the wrong gym. Hence the following text: "Crap. I am at shirk. Off i go."
Thursday night was the last work day of 2010. Since my boss set up a performance review with me for Monday morning, I spent my last 90 minutes in the office recapping all the good that had been accomplished this year. The staff grew from 3 to 5, and they gave Dena and me a $50 for the Olive Garden as a Christmas present. It was satisfying to tally that we'd been able to support ten major projects as well as a healthy cluster of developmental activities, succession planning moves, and process improvements.
On Thursday night I celebrated the holiday weekend by staying up until 3:00 a.m. Fellow night owl Jennifer shared a theory that it's an "evening baby" thing - I was born at 9 p.m. Slept for ten hours and popped up at 1 p.m. fully refreshed. Grunged my way to the gym unshowered, unshaved and bespectacled and got in my best workout set of the year:
Double arm curls: 105 lbs x 8
Leg press: 270 x 10
Shoulder press: 122.5 x 8
Leg curls: 125 x 10
Chest press: 180 x 8
Calf raise: 305 x 10
I spent some time during my late night binge researching the local math tutoring community and wondering how I might make inroads. Continuing the quest for my true calling.
Dena got leads on a couple of potential employers... a part-time position for a truck cleaning company in Morton, and a full-time slot with a local firm, both of the marketing variety. As Dena preps her resume and moves ahead it will be fascinating to see if either are the latest petal to bloom on her flowering career.
I jettisoned the desktop computer for good, thereby stamping the laptop a success and allowing us to attach the router to Dena's computer. It clears the way for her to move her office up to the spare bedroom, to move the gaming systems down to the basement, and perhaps for me to nudge forward again the experiment with voice-over equipment.
The first experiment of weekly joys/failures posts is in the books! It's been a device to baseline the lows of my own making, and to ensure that the overwhelming cascade of blessings got its due. Now it's on to the review/preview of 2010/2011 resolutions, a chance to drive another peg into the wall as an anchor to continued growth. May the lows be more shallow and the highs more full for us all.
Friday, December 31, 2010
Sum Kind Of Wonderful
My simple diet is ripe for comparison shopping. Being about as lazy as I am simple, I'd never really gotten around to seeing what better deals were out there than Kroger. I'd heard a commercial declaring that Walmart saved families an average of $2,800 a year. The freedom of the holiday let me travel to both places and compile some facts:
Loaf of bread: Kroger $2, Walmart $1.50.
Big box of cereal: Kroger $6, Walmart $3.50.
5 lbs of chicken: Kroger $18, Walmart $9.
Total: Kroger $26, Walmart $14.
Oh, also:
Congestion of shoppers: Kroger 112, Walmart 3,287.
Feet parked from door: Kroger 200, Walmart 400.
So I save 40%, meet tons more people and get twice the exercise? What part of my brain has been turned off all these years?
Loaf of bread: Kroger $2, Walmart $1.50.
Big box of cereal: Kroger $6, Walmart $3.50.
5 lbs of chicken: Kroger $18, Walmart $9.
Total: Kroger $26, Walmart $14.
Oh, also:
Congestion of shoppers: Kroger 112, Walmart 3,287.
Feet parked from door: Kroger 200, Walmart 400.
So I save 40%, meet tons more people and get twice the exercise? What part of my brain has been turned off all these years?
The Gift Of Sight
I got to thinking more about Dad today while reading the book "How Lucky You Can Be" of legendary basketball coach Don Meyer. Meyer survived a horrific head-on collision with a semi trailer truck, and at one point they called in his wife while his vital signs were deteriorating. Eventually he recovered, and lives on today. How hard is it to actually be there at the moment a loved one breathes for the last time, to experience that sense of closure? Jack and I were out in the back yard raking leaves as Dad's 18-month bout with cancer concluded. We just so happened to be discussing a piece of family trivia and were sure that Mom could help break the tie. We found her in the bedroom tending to him, and realized that his journey was ending. There was no way that Mom could have left his side to come get us. Had providence brought us indoors five minutes later, we'd have missed it. Instead, I was able to hold his hand as he passed.
When October 29 arrives I remember the day but don't feel very sad - if God chooses a time, manner and place, who am I to argue? - I actually feel incredibly gifted. First, for the benefit of life through him and for nearly thirty years to learn from him. Second, for winning the remote odds of being present, considering the great randomness of death.
When October 29 arrives I remember the day but don't feel very sad - if God chooses a time, manner and place, who am I to argue? - I actually feel incredibly gifted. First, for the benefit of life through him and for nearly thirty years to learn from him. Second, for winning the remote odds of being present, considering the great randomness of death.
Monday, December 27, 2010
Never Too Late To Cheer
It was terrific to hear from my friend Pat from my grade school basketball team.
"Joe, hope you had a great Holiday with your friends and family. I thought of your Dad the other day. He wasn't just a great coach (the best), he was a great man."
[Full disclosure: Coaches look especially great when they have a star point guard... like Pat.]
He devoted himself to making the world a better place than he found it. We can all strive for that. It's motivating to see the impact a teacher can have even after 25 years.
"Joe, hope you had a great Holiday with your friends and family. I thought of your Dad the other day. He wasn't just a great coach (the best), he was a great man."
[Full disclosure: Coaches look especially great when they have a star point guard... like Pat.]
He devoted himself to making the world a better place than he found it. We can all strive for that. It's motivating to see the impact a teacher can have even after 25 years.
Kerrying On
Thanks Tyson for hooking me up with this holiday story from Kerry Patterson:
Over twenty years ago, I received the most amazing Christmas gift. Today I share it with you.
It was December of 1984 and my wife and children and I were eagerly shopping for a teenage boy we had never met. This particular shopping spree was part of a sub-for-Santa adventure we and four other families were undertaking. This was the third year in a row the gang of us had agreed to help a needy family (this year it was a mother, father, and five children) and we approached the task with our usual mix of joy and anxiety. Could we truly help someone? Would we be a blessing in their lives or would we disappoint them?
Two days later, we nervously gathered presents, food, and clothing, piled into our cars, and drove through a constant drizzle to a small house that sported the address given to us by the local relief agency. "It looks small," said my oldest daughter as five cars chock-full of parents and children pulled up to the house.
Gingerly we carried the boxes to the front porch. (Later my oldest daughter revealed that you could see four noses pressed against the window as the family's younger children looked on in excitement.) Not knowing exactly what to do, we eventually all gathered in the freezing rain and started to sing Christmas carols. At the end of the second carol, the father of the clan took pity on us, stepped out into the rain, and begged all of us to please come in. "In where?" I thought as I looked around at the crowd and figured if we all went inside, we'd explode the house.
Minutes later as we stood cheek to jowl, the father began to talk. He explained that he had undergone back surgery earlier that year and hadn't been able to return to work quite yet. It hadn't been an easy choice, but he had decided that if they were to have any presents for the kids, he'd have to call on one of the local agencies, which he did. He thanked us copiously for answering the call.
"Now, in turn for your presents, I offer you one of my own—in the form of a story," he continued.
"Eight years ago when we had only two children and I was just getting started in my career, we were facing a rather meager Christmas. We bought my oldest son, who was eight at the time, and his sister who was four, two presents. One was a pair of socks, the other a toy. My son had asked for a basketball, and from the size and shape of his two packages under the tree, there would be no surprise for him that year." The son, who was now a gawky teenager standing shyly in the hallway, nodded in agreement.
"One evening two days before Christmas I came home with an announcement." The father continued. "A new family had moved in not far from our house, and since they didn't have two pennies to rub together, they wouldn't be having a Christmas. They had a boy and girl the same ages as our family and I was thinking that maybe we could share Christmas with them.
"'We could each give them one of our two presents,' my wife suggested as our two children looked on in suspicion."
"Finally, after staring at his two presents under the tree for what seemed like ten minutes, my son walked over, picked up the package containing the basketball, and said, 'I'll share this one.' Each of us then grabbed one of our two presents, put it in a box, and carried our gift down to our new neighbors who seemed very grateful."
As he told the story I noticed that my own children were fixed on him, their eyes brimming with tears as they thought of how these people had sacrificed so dearly.
"Later that day," the father continued to explain, "I received a phone call from my local church leader. It turned out that there were a few families in our little church group that didn't have any money for Christmas that year. A group of generous people had put together several boxes of presents and food for the needy families. Since I was driving a rather large and beat-up station wagon that had a lot of hauling space, he asked if I would be so kind as to drive to the church on Christmas Eve, load up the wagon, and make the various deliveries. 'Besides,' my church leader explained, 'your two young ones will get a kick out of playing Santa.'
"I immediately agreed to lend a hand. But I knew in so doing I was in trouble. I hung up the phone and explained to my family what I had committed to do, and then shared with them the challenge. We had spent all of our money on Christmas, and the station wagon was almost out of gas. We'd have to find a way to raise some cash to fill the gas tank to make the deliveries."
"'We could collect soda pop bottles,' my daughter quickly suggested. That's what she had seen her older brother do in order to raise a few pennies. This, of course, was at a time that if you retrieved a discarded pop bottle by the side of the road and took it to a local grocery store they'd give you two cents for it.
"So it was agreed. We bundled up against the wind and snow and all day long the day of Christmas Eve we hunted for bottles. Finally, just before we were due to make the deliveries, we cashed in the bottles, put a couple of gallons of gas into the old wagon, and drove over to the church."
"As our church leader loaded box after box filled with beautifully wrapped presents into our dilapidated vehicle, my son and daughter looked on in wonder. They sniffed the air with a look of longing as he loaded in a carton containing freshly baked pies and a ham along with all the trimmings. They squished over to the edge of their seat as the boxes stacked one upon the other until our wagon was filled to bursting."
"Our church leader handed me an envelope containing a list of the various names and addresses of the people we were to visit, and then thanked us profusely for helping with the deliveries. As he drove off I opened the envelope to see the extent of the task in front of us. The small piece of paper I found inside the envelope contained but one name and address. It was ours."
As the humble man finished his story, those of us who had come to help his family were either openly crying or doing a poor job of holding back tears. I was completely humbled as I envisioned this sweet man and woman and their two children bracing against the wind and searching for bottles—doing their very best to help the needy.
What made the story all the more wonderful was that the gentleman telling it did his best to make the church leader and the other generous members of his congregation out to be the heroes—look how nice they had been to his family, he had explained, just as we were now being nice to them this year.
It had never occurred to the man we had come to help that as thoughtful as his church friends had been to him and his family, our motley sub-for-Santa gang looked on him and his children with a genuine sense of amazement. They were the ones who shared their Christmas. They were the ones who, as others drank cocoa by the fireplace or stirred fudge in the kitchen, trudged through frozen fields in a quest for two-cent treasures. They were the true heroes and didn't even know it.
My family and I count this sweet experience as our favorite holiday gift. It's a present that will live with us forever.
Over twenty years ago, I received the most amazing Christmas gift. Today I share it with you.
It was December of 1984 and my wife and children and I were eagerly shopping for a teenage boy we had never met. This particular shopping spree was part of a sub-for-Santa adventure we and four other families were undertaking. This was the third year in a row the gang of us had agreed to help a needy family (this year it was a mother, father, and five children) and we approached the task with our usual mix of joy and anxiety. Could we truly help someone? Would we be a blessing in their lives or would we disappoint them?
Two days later, we nervously gathered presents, food, and clothing, piled into our cars, and drove through a constant drizzle to a small house that sported the address given to us by the local relief agency. "It looks small," said my oldest daughter as five cars chock-full of parents and children pulled up to the house.
Gingerly we carried the boxes to the front porch. (Later my oldest daughter revealed that you could see four noses pressed against the window as the family's younger children looked on in excitement.) Not knowing exactly what to do, we eventually all gathered in the freezing rain and started to sing Christmas carols. At the end of the second carol, the father of the clan took pity on us, stepped out into the rain, and begged all of us to please come in. "In where?" I thought as I looked around at the crowd and figured if we all went inside, we'd explode the house.
Minutes later as we stood cheek to jowl, the father began to talk. He explained that he had undergone back surgery earlier that year and hadn't been able to return to work quite yet. It hadn't been an easy choice, but he had decided that if they were to have any presents for the kids, he'd have to call on one of the local agencies, which he did. He thanked us copiously for answering the call.
"Now, in turn for your presents, I offer you one of my own—in the form of a story," he continued.
"Eight years ago when we had only two children and I was just getting started in my career, we were facing a rather meager Christmas. We bought my oldest son, who was eight at the time, and his sister who was four, two presents. One was a pair of socks, the other a toy. My son had asked for a basketball, and from the size and shape of his two packages under the tree, there would be no surprise for him that year." The son, who was now a gawky teenager standing shyly in the hallway, nodded in agreement.
"One evening two days before Christmas I came home with an announcement." The father continued. "A new family had moved in not far from our house, and since they didn't have two pennies to rub together, they wouldn't be having a Christmas. They had a boy and girl the same ages as our family and I was thinking that maybe we could share Christmas with them.
"'We could each give them one of our two presents,' my wife suggested as our two children looked on in suspicion."
"Finally, after staring at his two presents under the tree for what seemed like ten minutes, my son walked over, picked up the package containing the basketball, and said, 'I'll share this one.' Each of us then grabbed one of our two presents, put it in a box, and carried our gift down to our new neighbors who seemed very grateful."
As he told the story I noticed that my own children were fixed on him, their eyes brimming with tears as they thought of how these people had sacrificed so dearly.
"Later that day," the father continued to explain, "I received a phone call from my local church leader. It turned out that there were a few families in our little church group that didn't have any money for Christmas that year. A group of generous people had put together several boxes of presents and food for the needy families. Since I was driving a rather large and beat-up station wagon that had a lot of hauling space, he asked if I would be so kind as to drive to the church on Christmas Eve, load up the wagon, and make the various deliveries. 'Besides,' my church leader explained, 'your two young ones will get a kick out of playing Santa.'
"I immediately agreed to lend a hand. But I knew in so doing I was in trouble. I hung up the phone and explained to my family what I had committed to do, and then shared with them the challenge. We had spent all of our money on Christmas, and the station wagon was almost out of gas. We'd have to find a way to raise some cash to fill the gas tank to make the deliveries."
"'We could collect soda pop bottles,' my daughter quickly suggested. That's what she had seen her older brother do in order to raise a few pennies. This, of course, was at a time that if you retrieved a discarded pop bottle by the side of the road and took it to a local grocery store they'd give you two cents for it.
"So it was agreed. We bundled up against the wind and snow and all day long the day of Christmas Eve we hunted for bottles. Finally, just before we were due to make the deliveries, we cashed in the bottles, put a couple of gallons of gas into the old wagon, and drove over to the church."
"As our church leader loaded box after box filled with beautifully wrapped presents into our dilapidated vehicle, my son and daughter looked on in wonder. They sniffed the air with a look of longing as he loaded in a carton containing freshly baked pies and a ham along with all the trimmings. They squished over to the edge of their seat as the boxes stacked one upon the other until our wagon was filled to bursting."
"Our church leader handed me an envelope containing a list of the various names and addresses of the people we were to visit, and then thanked us profusely for helping with the deliveries. As he drove off I opened the envelope to see the extent of the task in front of us. The small piece of paper I found inside the envelope contained but one name and address. It was ours."
As the humble man finished his story, those of us who had come to help his family were either openly crying or doing a poor job of holding back tears. I was completely humbled as I envisioned this sweet man and woman and their two children bracing against the wind and searching for bottles—doing their very best to help the needy.
What made the story all the more wonderful was that the gentleman telling it did his best to make the church leader and the other generous members of his congregation out to be the heroes—look how nice they had been to his family, he had explained, just as we were now being nice to them this year.
It had never occurred to the man we had come to help that as thoughtful as his church friends had been to him and his family, our motley sub-for-Santa gang looked on him and his children with a genuine sense of amazement. They were the ones who shared their Christmas. They were the ones who, as others drank cocoa by the fireplace or stirred fudge in the kitchen, trudged through frozen fields in a quest for two-cent treasures. They were the true heroes and didn't even know it.
My family and I count this sweet experience as our favorite holiday gift. It's a present that will live with us forever.
Sunday, December 26, 2010
High/Low Week 51, 2010
Thursday was one of those work days filled with the kind of learnings that a kid gets when he puts his hand against a hot stove for the first time. Or in my case, the 11th or so. The familiar stove in this case was the realm of the unknown. I found myself in a three-person meeting where I was asked to make a decision on a complex document about a relatively foreign subject. The anxiety of being unable to solve the situation distracted my brain into a semi-frozen state and plastered a frown across my face. Slightly dented, I wandered into a management meeting about distributing work to employees. I'd worked up a document about my entire staff, but it turned out that only a couple of employees were discussed, and in a different fashion than I'd prepared. With the same stiff face, I made a semi-rambling presentation and punctuated it by acting as if I had some big important secret. That moment amounted to little more than "my dad is bigger than your dad" and was utterly counterproductive - the kind of passive-aggressive chest-puffing of the weak. By now I should know that it's futile to spend time fretting over the imperfection of circumstances, and even more so to dwell on making an impression. Success takes patience. I went into the first meeting expecting a certain result and flustered by the reality that it was going to take a while longer. "Everything's gonna be all right" was snuffed out by "How can I get what I want"... like choosing to drive on the shoulder when the road is clear. Turning the wheel a bit makes it much easier to smile.
This morning I had a staff meeting run by the same manager. I made an impromptu presentation about a task I'd completed to fulfill his wishes from a month ago. His response was to instruct me to do the opposite. This time, redemption! I shrugged off the temptation to defend the work completed. I pointed out that although we had completed what he had asked of us, we could easily do the opposite if he was changing his mind. Smiling genuinely the whole time. Because I was convinced that whatever the path ended up being, it was the right path for a greater purpose. Heart rate under control. Happiness intact. Peace retained.
The weather dismantled our Christmas Eve plans. Visions of opening gifts in my childhood living room were swept away by six inches of snow that buried every highway line. Even trying to return to the condo after 4 miles of sledding north was a chore, as we got stuck on a slick patch of driveway. Fortunately a pair of lightweight teenage girls drove up and provided a surprisingly effective push to get Dena and me safely parked. The next day the roads were bright and clear, we got to see Dena's family almost entirely and got to enjoy two of Mom's dinners once we made it up to Bloomingdale. Trish got me a new hat and pair of gloves that came in instantly handy for the drive to the burbs. Dona got a new frying pan that hit the spot. Jack got us Seinfeld DVDs for season nine. Dena got me a toaster that brands the Cubs logo on the bread. Dena wrapped herself up in a new thick warm electric blanket (machine washable, reversible, three heat settings!). Redemption again, as we spent more time with both families than we originally anticipated. Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night.
All three of the Chicago winter sports teams are legitimate playoff teams! The Bears outslugged the Jets and won the NFC North division. The Bulls tipped the Pistons and lead the East Central division. The Hawks have a solid winning record in defense of their Stanley Cup season.
Dena's upcoming meeting with Uncle Bill is the capper on a year of growth of her graphic design business, as she served in the neighborhood of ten clients.
One more week to go, and a short week of work to boot. Time to sprint for the finish line in style.
This morning I had a staff meeting run by the same manager. I made an impromptu presentation about a task I'd completed to fulfill his wishes from a month ago. His response was to instruct me to do the opposite. This time, redemption! I shrugged off the temptation to defend the work completed. I pointed out that although we had completed what he had asked of us, we could easily do the opposite if he was changing his mind. Smiling genuinely the whole time. Because I was convinced that whatever the path ended up being, it was the right path for a greater purpose. Heart rate under control. Happiness intact. Peace retained.
The weather dismantled our Christmas Eve plans. Visions of opening gifts in my childhood living room were swept away by six inches of snow that buried every highway line. Even trying to return to the condo after 4 miles of sledding north was a chore, as we got stuck on a slick patch of driveway. Fortunately a pair of lightweight teenage girls drove up and provided a surprisingly effective push to get Dena and me safely parked. The next day the roads were bright and clear, we got to see Dena's family almost entirely and got to enjoy two of Mom's dinners once we made it up to Bloomingdale. Trish got me a new hat and pair of gloves that came in instantly handy for the drive to the burbs. Dona got a new frying pan that hit the spot. Jack got us Seinfeld DVDs for season nine. Dena got me a toaster that brands the Cubs logo on the bread. Dena wrapped herself up in a new thick warm electric blanket (machine washable, reversible, three heat settings!). Redemption again, as we spent more time with both families than we originally anticipated. Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night.
All three of the Chicago winter sports teams are legitimate playoff teams! The Bears outslugged the Jets and won the NFC North division. The Bulls tipped the Pistons and lead the East Central division. The Hawks have a solid winning record in defense of their Stanley Cup season.
Dena's upcoming meeting with Uncle Bill is the capper on a year of growth of her graphic design business, as she served in the neighborhood of ten clients.
One more week to go, and a short week of work to boot. Time to sprint for the finish line in style.
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