?`s and ANNEswers

Ten minutes to write. Less time to read.

Patterns

Posted on April 22, 2005

Just recently, I found myself settling into a pattern of daily existence. It’s been a long time in coming, since I am prone to making daily To Do lists but then flagrantly ignoring them.

My pattern includes an hour of piano practice, an exercise regime, a writing regime, and an hour or more of reading in the evening. I’ve had the goal of doing this for quite some time, but just within the past day or two did I realize that I have actually incorporated this pattern into my life. And it has nothing to do with To Do lists. It’s just part of my routine now.

It brings to mind a poem by Amy Lowell ntitled “Patterns.” Published originally in 1915, it strikes me as a polemic against war. It’s a story poem related by a woman who is engaged to be married. She is alone in her garden, absorbing the news that her fiancй is dead, killed during the First World War fighting for the Duke of Flanders.

She projects herself into the future, mentally declaring she will walk the garden, clothed in the same straight-laced brocade of the time, never loosening herself to someone else, and weeping for the loss.

The last four lines of the lengthy poem read:

For the man who should loose me is dead,

Fighting with the Duke in Flanders,

In a pattern called a war.

Christ! What are patterns for?

I don’t have an answer, except that the pattern that has formed in my life is the antithesis of Amy Lowell’s. I wish that we might have compared notes.

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Ken Burns

Posted on April 21, 2005

Last night Earl and I saw documentary filmmaker Ken Burns give a presentation to the local Economic Club, of which we are ardent members. He was the fifth of six speakers in this year’s program; and, in my opinion, he was not only the best we’ve heard this season but also the best speaker I’ve heard in my several years of attendance.

I realize many people won’t agree. They will prefer more political types like George Tenet or more conservative types such as Cal Thomas, both earlier speakers this year. They will pick contemporary faces over history’s lessons.

Ken Burns spoke on behalf of history, on why it is so important to study it, and how the “bottom up” approach is what makes it real, alive. The “top down” approach is about dates and names and battles; the “bottom up” is about the common people who populated our country and made it great.

Burns should know, as he has made his reputation as a filmmaker whose lens focuses on history in the guise of such subjects as the Civil War, baseball, and jazz. He has made films about all three subjects, but truthfully each is really about capturing what was going on in our country within the framework of each topic. To hear Burns tell it, they all have to do with politics and race and money and cultural identity.

Burn’s primary message is this: Pick any broad topic you want – the presidency of George Washington, Abraham Lincoln’s way with words, the journeys of Lewis and Clark – and study it carefully. If you do, you can learn a great deal about who we, Americans, are as a people while you learn who the people we think we’re studying are.

Burns has a facility with words that one expects comes from his creation of films. He spoke dramatically, using various literary devices, quoting other authors and historians. Perhaps this is why I enjoyed him above all others. He said, more than once, that history comes down to words. Being a writer myself, I believe everything ultimately comes down to words.

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Pet Peeves

Posted on April 20, 2005

It happened again. I called a company this morning to request a refund and spent considerable time justifying why I wanted one in the first place. “It’s because I haven’t received the service I was promised, so I want a credit on my charge card,” I explained when asked.

Now I understand company employees are probably instructed to inquire if there is anything they can do to change my mind. I realize that today’s work world is pretty much about selling and not so much about serving.

But it’s a pet peeve that I have to justify my decision. Not only that, the service representative transferred me to another, presumably higher up, representative who wanted to know if there was some other service I’d like instead.

“I don’t think so,” I replied. “I haven’t gotten good value so far, so I’m skeptical that ordering some other product is the answer. I’d prefer to know when my card will be credited.”

Pet Peeve Number Two: In this day and age, credits and debits are transacted quickly via the Internet and gateway systems and credit card processing organizations. It doesn’t take an envelope and a stamp to send the request from customer service to billing. But I was told my credit wouldn’t apply for several days.

There was obviously no point in arguing with Sheldon, the representative, since he didn’t make the rules. In fact, I’m not sure who does. All I know is that it’s more and more difficult to find a company that doesn’t seem to put obstacles in the way of communicating with customers.

For the record, I believe you can tell how service oriented a company is by how many menus and buttons you have to push before you get to Sheldon in the first place. Perhaps that’s my greatest pet peeve. Or maybe it’s the one where the automated voice suggests I go to the appropriate website for answers and bypass a human altogether.

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Birds

Posted on April 19, 2005

Earl and I have several bird feeders set up in our back yard, and we watch with great interest who frequents them. We don’t know one bird from the next, but we still like watching their habits. We also like making predictions about their behavior.

For instance, birds seem to eat all the time; so it’s no compliment in human language when someone says, “You eat like a bird.” From our bedroom window, we have come to believe they are gluttons.

They are also territorial and messy. If one bird is on a feeder, it attacks any other that approaches, even if the incoming bird is of the same species. It’s as if there is only room for one head bird at the feeder. And if the opposing birds are of a different species, then look out.
Actually, it reminds me of how humans act in the face of a challenge. Rather than meet and greet a newcomer, they attack under the assumption that someone new is someone bad.

We’ve also noticed that weight carries extra plumage, if you will. This means that the larger the bird the higher up in the pecking order. So when a tiny wren is feeding at one of our stations, it flies off when a larger, more imposing, grackle looms in.

This morning I saw a tiny black and orange bird chase a dull brown and grey bird away. I’m not sure whether it had to do with size or color or aggressiveness, but it was one more reminder that even birds, tiny as they are, have their hierarchy. In a way, it’s makes me sad.

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Photo Albums

Posted on April 18, 2005

I’m almost finished with the photo album of our trip through the Panama Canal, which took place this past January.

For most trips, I merely put the photos in an album and considered the project done. But last year I added commentary to our Alaskan trip and set a precedent for future travel memories. I’m not sure it’s a good one, because it tends to turn a simple project that was fun into something like a homework assignment. This is why it’s taken my almost three months to put our memories into a book.

Earl and I have filled several albums, not only with trips to Costa Rica, cruises through the Caribbean, and visits to friends and family, but also of bicycle trips, birthday celebrations, weddings, and holiday gatherings. Earl is a camera sort of guy.

In addition, each of us inherited albums from our parents that chronicled their own lives and times. Both Earl’s father and my mother were religious about identifying the people in their snapshots, and it is helpful on that rare occasion where we thumb through those dusty albums.

It is a chore to label everything; and, if our children look at our albums when we have gone to the great Photo Studio in the Sky as often as we study our parents’ books, then I’m not sure all the labeling is worth it.

Instead, I think I’ll opt for just putting the next batch of photos in an album and challenging Earl and me to recall where we were and when, rather than having all the details readily available. That’s a great way of reliving the trip too.

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Pre-Driven

Posted on April 17, 2005

I was driving on Niles Avenue when the sign struck me in the face, figuratively speaking. It read: “Pre-owned cars.” I’ve seen similar signs before and they always catch me off guard. I mean, just what is a pre-owned car? Or, for that matter, a pre-driven car?

I sought my dictionary for guidance, and learned that “pre” is a prefix put in front of many words to mean “prior to” or “in advance of.” For instance, prehistoric refers to that period of time prior to history being recorded and preadolescence is that period before one becomes a teenager.

Taken literally, a pre-owned Cadillac is one that is for sale prior to anyone else owning it. And a pre-driven Porsche is one that is for sale prior to being driven. But car dealers have created their own definitions. When they use those phrases, they’re really avoiding the more accurate but also harsher word “used.”

To give car dealers the benefit of the doubt, I searched my dictionary further to see if the little three-letter prefix might be an abbreviation for the word “previously,” as in previously owned or previously driven. But Webster was firm.

Finally, I wracked my brain trying to think of how advertising departments for automobile dealerships could honestly and straightforwardly use “pre” in their promotional efforts. Truthfully, I couldn’t come up with a single reason.

I doubt car dealers read my blog, so it’s incumbent on those who do to recognize the double-speak involved when they purchase their next automobile. And, if “pre” can be redefined at a car dealer’s whim, it’s important for those in the market for a new car to analyze every other catch phrase just as carefully.

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Bob Evans

Posted on April 16, 2005

Earl’s favorite restaurant for breakfast closed unceremoniously about a week ago, which left him at temporary loose ends for his usual daily ritual. And which is also why we found ourselves trying Bob Evans Restaurant before eight this morning.

“Let’s sit at the counter,” I said as we moved to the front of the line and the hostess grabbed a couple menus. “It looks like fun.” I’m easily entertained.

The thing is, the counter faced the grill where two cooks were flipping eggs and pancakes with calculated abandon and then gracefully adding a hint of parsley to each plate. Servers also congregated there, pouring hot syrup from a large vat-like container into tiny individual pitchers or dumping oatmeal from a big pot into bowls.

We sat, ordered our meal, and watched. More servers came into this area, put their orders on a special shelf, went off to fill coffee or serve colas, and then return with trays on which to load the customers’ breakfasts. In-between, we caught snatches of personal dramas as they carried on conversations about their lives and tallied checks. It was multitasking at its best.

How do they learn to balance the toast on top of the plate of eggs and without smashing them? How do they know which order is theirs when there is more than one omelet waiting under the warming lights? What is in that pastry bag they sling around their wrist and position over the hot chocolate. (The answer to this one is whipped cream.) In most restaurants that Earl and I frequent we never get to see what goes on behind the scenes. This morning we got a side order of education along with our eggs.

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Terri’s Legacy

Posted on April 14, 2005

Terri Schiavo’s death was pushed from the front page almost two weeks ago by the death of Pope John Paul II. By the time he was buried, Prince Charles was marrying Camilla . . . and so it went.

But in the grand scheme of things, the Schiavo story holds the most significance for Americans, left and right. Those who consider abortion to be a heinous act aligned themselves on the side of Schiavo’s parents, and we will hear from them again even though the daughter is gone.

I am frightened that the conservative right seems to be held hostage by religious fanatics, especially when our President is trying to reduce religious fanaticism in countries half way around the globe. Don’t get me wrong. I don’t believe in abortion, but I don’t believe in bombing the facilities of those who perform them or crassly demonstrating outside hospice facilities where one severely brain-damaged woman lay.

More than one acknowledged authority sided with Michael Schiavo in the various court appeals concerning his wife over the past couple years. Given that matters such as abortion, same sex marriage, and end-of-life issues have traditionally rested in the hands of the various fifty states, the matter should have rested there.

But Congress got involved. The Supreme Court got involved, at least to the point where it said it would not become involved. Everyone from Tom DeLay (quite possibly not a paragon of virtue) to Bill O’Reilly to the ACLU got involved. And, of course, Jesse.

As I said, I personally don’t believe in abortion; but I respect that others might have reached a different conclusion about the beginning of life. And I would prefer that the law of the land be as broad as possible. I certainly don’t want nine mortal men (even those who are women) to decide what I can and can’t do with my body. At the same time, if my religious beliefs are more rigid than the government’s, then perhaps I need to side with my faith while acknowledging that others do not. The same goes for end-of-life issues and all issues in-between.

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Day 31

Posted on April 13, 2005

Exactly one month ago today I started my “Walk a Mile Every Day for a Year Campaign.” I’d read somewhere that if you did this for a year, and didn’t change anything else about your diet or your exercise regimen, that you could lose ten easy pounds.

It’s not that easy.

I’m one-twelfth of the way home, but I haven’t lost one-twelfth of the ten pounds. In fact, I seem to have gained a couple pounds for my efforts. So I think maybe I need to put the scale away until the year is up. After all, I can tell how my clothes fit without a mathematical reading.

I’ve walked in the cold, in the rain, in the wind, and – occasionally – in gorgeous sun. I’ve walked in the morning as the sun tries to escape Michigan clouds. I’ve walked in the afternoon when it’s catching up with them again. And I’ve walked at mid-day under the assumption that that is when the sun is its warmest and most inviting.

I read somewhere that if you do something consistently for twenty-one days, then it becomes a part of you. Perhaps like a birthmark. Well, I’m past that target date, but walking is still hard. Maybe, because of my age, I need to go for one hundred twenty-one days.

At the same time, I am slowly beginning to look forward to my daily mile. Not just in a physical way, but in a mental way. It has become a time when I mentally plan or meditate or simply think about situations I’m in and their resolutions. It’s a time when the phone can’t get me, and the television and radio talk guys are silenced. My legs and arms create a certain rhythm and eventually my mind gets in step.

Encouraged with this slow progress and eager to keep my daily record intact, I continue to move forward, one day at a time, one mile at a time.

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Bragging Rights

Posted on April 12, 2005

I never was one to carry around pictures of my children when they were little. And I didn’t search for opportunities to describe how great their accomplishments were as the years rolled by. Even today, when both my sons are in their thirties, I don’t think I’m a particular braggart.

But I do want to share something now.

My younger son, Keith, and his partner, Chris, started an online retail store a few years back; and it is finally turning the corner from red to black. In fact, it’s taking whole city blocks in stride. It’s called fredflare.com and if you want to see what a great retail web site looks like, you should visit it. I’ll even give you an incentive.

Fredflare.com is initiating a program called “Friends & Family” whereby members of the aforementioned groups have a special code. If they give this code to others, those people can buy products from fredflare.com at twenty-five percent off between now and Monday, April 18.

Fredflare.com’s target audience is primarily the fifteen to thirty-something female; and I think the store has its customer identified hands-down. But even if you, personally, are not in that age group, you probably know someone who is. Or you probably remember back then. It’s all about nostalgia.

Ever wanted the recipe for Dinosaur Soup as described by Ethan, age three-and-a-half? Or wondered if paper dolls still exist? Or wanted honest-to-goodness recipes for scrumptious cupcakes? Then fredflare.com is your kind of place.

So I’m revealing my secret code in the hope you’ll visit my son’s company and possibly buy something. My code is anne.0405 and you enter it at check-out for your discount. Just remember to tell them Mom sent you.

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