It seems that a trip to the Oregon Coast for our family would not be complete without visiting -- no --not the aquarium or the tide pools or any of the natural attractions of the area -- but the Factory Outlet Shops.
Yes, as ridiculous as it many seem, no visit to Lincoln City is complete without our throwing ourselves among the throngs of people on a search for any bargains to be had, be it clothing, jewelry, accessories, tools or kitchen gadgets. It is little wonder then, that our last excursion to Lincoln City should find us at the Tangers Factory Outlet Shops.
The weekend celebrated not only Jeannine's 20th birthday, but her grandparents wedding anniversary, and we arrived at our destination -- a place where the world's shortest river (the D River) empties into the Pacific Ocean -- and hauled our weekend supplies of food, clothing, wine (not enough) and almost all of my small appliances up two flights of stairs to our condo. Settling in Friday evening, we (Tim, his sister, Jeannine, her grandparents, and Jeannine's sister Mary and her husband) gathered for dinner and discussed plans for the weekend.
Of course Jeannine was interested in going to the outlet mall, presumably because she can talk just about any of her family into buying her something. Her aunt and sister were up for the trip, but the grandparents not so much. Tim expressed interest as he needed to replace his walking/hiking shoes and he needed to replace his worn jeans. There happen to be a few options at the mall to enhance his search: Columbia Sportswear, NorthFace and Levi all have outlets, in addition to Famous Footwear, so there was almost no end of stores to be searched.
Mary pushed for an early start because Saturdays are huge customer traffic days at the outlets. Sure enough, as we turned into the parking lot we soon found ourselves in traffic congestion. There were almost no spots to be had in the main lot, and just as Tim was ready to give up and head to the parking structure, someone happened to pull away from a prime parking space and we, with all dispatch, pounced on it.
February on the Oregon coast is not real warm, and this particular day was no exception. Those familiar with outlet shopping know that these are pretty much open-air, so that movement from store to store can be (for me) a race to get warm. Our first stop was the Columbia Sportswear huge tent, which took up a significant part of the parking lot. They were having a HUGE Presidents' Day sale and judging from the piles of coats, windbreakers, shirts and other apparel I saw walking around (you literally could not see the customer's heads above their arm load of clothing), the store was practically giving stuff away. Tim wandered around for several minutes before he decided there wasn't anything of interest for him, and we headed to our next destination: The NorthFace.
I actually had great success on a previous trip there, finding great shoes for myself and a jacket for Jeannine. Tim did, too, purchasing a jacket and some socks. This time, however, was a different story. I went immediately to the shoes, hoping to expedite Tim's decision-making by securing two or three choices. Tim, however, was side-tracked by a "great deal" on t-shirts, and had several questions for some poor employee who happened to be walking by. When he finally arrived at the shoe shelves, he spent the next 20 minutes examining each style of shoe. The upshot was that he found two worthy of consideration, but he was not going to decide until he looked at other stores. I heaved a huge sigh of frustration as we left the store.
We buzzed in to the Reebok Store and within 15 minutes he decided that, while there were one or two "definite possibilities," the shoes at NorthFace were still in contention. I began to sense that we would be at the mall for the rest of the morning and a significant portion of the afternoon.
Between there and any one of the other stores selling shoes, stood the Levi store. Another 30-40 minutes and about 10 try-ons later, Tim finally found two nice pairs of jeans. At this point we had lost all communication with Mary, Ryan, Jeannine and Tim's sister, who were on quests of their own. With shoes still to be found, we left the Levi store. We were not more than 10 steps from the store front when his cell phone went off and Tim had to address a patient problem.
Fortunately, Famous Footwear was no more than 20 feet from us and, as I had taken advantage of the time Tim spent on the phone with his patient to go in there just to keep warm, I was able to hone in on some possibilities. After 15 minutes or so, I was getting some interesting looks from the clerks because I had been there a long time without doing anything other than sitting on a stool waiting for Tim. Glancing out the store window, I noted that Tim was still on the phone; however, there was a store selling kitchen gadgets across the walkway, so I decided to see what was new, different and exciting in the realm of cookware.
Many of you who have rented vacation condos may know that most are equipped with the bare minimum of cooking utensils and supplies. While preparing dinner the night before, I became painfully aware that our unit was in dire need of bowl scrapers. Well.....gadget store to the rescue! Within three minutes I had five very colorful scrappers in five different sizes for $5!
I digress. By this time, Tim completed his call and I directed him to Famous Footwear. He readily agreed (15-20 minutes consideration) to my choices and only needed to determine which size. We searched the store for a sitting bench so he could try on the shoes, and somewhere between Men's Athletic Shoes and Women's Boots, we found a place. I won't prolong your agony: Tim found a pair that fit; the price was great, and we were soon on our way.
By this time it was nearly afternoon and, since we had made this excursion in two cars, we discovered that our cohorts decided to go back to the condo. The grandparents were looking for lunch.
So what it is worth, the outing was not the exercise in agony and frustration that tend to be the hallmarks of shopping with Tim. Its success, though, was founded on running interference between the shopper and his purchases, and I will carry this important experience into future shopping ventures.
Saturday, May 21, 2016
Lessons Learned from the Queen
Like most of us in the United States, I have had little-to-no interest in the doings of the British monarch. Admitting that the Queen of England is really more of a source of frivolous entertainment is easy enough for me to do; admitting that there is anything of value to be learned from her and her life is much more difficult.
Danika is coworker who grew up in Britain, and I have had fun teasing her about the news stories we see regarding the royals, either on the Internet, or those in fluff publications like People Magazine. Apart from asking for a day off so she could watch William and Kate's wedding, she has not been what I would call a serious defender of the monarchy. When the topic of conversation turns to the latest escapade from Prince Harry or how Kate Middleton dresses her children, she has readily joined in on the ridicule, and her obvious dismissal of the Royal Family as anything other than a last remnants of a bygone era are quite well-known throughout the office. The Queen's birthday, though, spawned a program that piqued Danika's interest, and she encouraged me to view the cable program "The Queen at 90." After watching it, I have found a new appreciation for what this monarchy fuss is all about.
In previous postings, I have written about Downton Abbey, as well as the demise of civility in our modern world. Having viewed the program on the Queen, I better understand her role and her dedication to her calling. You see, it really isn't about "sitting on a throne" and having servants and lackeys at the ready to fulfill her every whim. The program provided a glimpse into what her life has been, and I learned that from her core, she is the servant, and her challenges have been many and difficult.
From her birth, she had been trained to lead her country; to take on the duties of her state in life. A serious and intelligent woman, the Queen has been on record as saying her reign would be one of devoted service to her people and her empire. I think it is important to acknowledge she does not use the word her as if it is a possession -- a toy or pet, like her beloved Corgis. No, I think that she uses the word to reinforce the idea that she is a caretaker of the people, a cultivator and perhaps a protector and promoter and preserver of what British culture is.
Her father, King George, was beloved by the British for his steady guidance through the world war -- not so much in the political realm, but by the connection to the people who listened to his radio addresses to gain comfort and strength during very uncertain times. Queen Elizabeth learned and understood this role and has had the difficult task of negotiating a changing monarchy in a world that sees the "divine right of kings" as an antiquated idea and system to be relegated to previous centuries. Yet her purpose and her work has been very real and serious.
The program followed her life through her ascension to the throne at 25 years old (and a wife and mother to small children), to her current work today. It is impressive and very humbling to note that she has given up much to fulfill the demands of her calling. I am certain that many times throughout her reign it would have been easier for her to "chuck it all" so that she and her family could enjoy a quieter life....much like how her uncle Edward who chose to abdicate his responsibilities as king rather than give up his private life. I believe it is to her credit that she stood up to the challenges of her duties as a head of state and discharged them with incredible dignity, energy and determination. The biggest take away I had from watching the program -- the thread that was woven into the heart of the program -- is that Queen Elizabeth shows a care for those she serves....and how she serves them.
All of this had me thinking about how I approach my calling -- as wife, mother, soon to be grandmother, caretaker of a child with disabilities, as well as my responsibilities with Tim's medical practice and now as a health coach. Have I really given the time and energy I should to fulfill those duties? How many times have I "chucked it all" for a momentary pleasure like a few extra minutes of sleep? How many times have I put up excuses for not taking the time to travel for the sake of my marriage or family just because I didn't want to? How often have I lost sight of goals simply because the challenge seemed too daunting? Far too many, I suppose.
So for what is is worth, I have gained a new understanding of what it means to be a monarch in the Western Civilization during the modern world. I definitely have a new-found appreciation and respect for the Queen as a person. From her I have learned that devotion and dedication to serve sometimes comes at a high price, but at the close of a day (or a lifetime) knowing that the job was done and done well, that those who have been served feel valued, is more important than what it costs me.
Danika is coworker who grew up in Britain, and I have had fun teasing her about the news stories we see regarding the royals, either on the Internet, or those in fluff publications like People Magazine. Apart from asking for a day off so she could watch William and Kate's wedding, she has not been what I would call a serious defender of the monarchy. When the topic of conversation turns to the latest escapade from Prince Harry or how Kate Middleton dresses her children, she has readily joined in on the ridicule, and her obvious dismissal of the Royal Family as anything other than a last remnants of a bygone era are quite well-known throughout the office. The Queen's birthday, though, spawned a program that piqued Danika's interest, and she encouraged me to view the cable program "The Queen at 90." After watching it, I have found a new appreciation for what this monarchy fuss is all about.
In previous postings, I have written about Downton Abbey, as well as the demise of civility in our modern world. Having viewed the program on the Queen, I better understand her role and her dedication to her calling. You see, it really isn't about "sitting on a throne" and having servants and lackeys at the ready to fulfill her every whim. The program provided a glimpse into what her life has been, and I learned that from her core, she is the servant, and her challenges have been many and difficult.
From her birth, she had been trained to lead her country; to take on the duties of her state in life. A serious and intelligent woman, the Queen has been on record as saying her reign would be one of devoted service to her people and her empire. I think it is important to acknowledge she does not use the word her as if it is a possession -- a toy or pet, like her beloved Corgis. No, I think that she uses the word to reinforce the idea that she is a caretaker of the people, a cultivator and perhaps a protector and promoter and preserver of what British culture is.
Her father, King George, was beloved by the British for his steady guidance through the world war -- not so much in the political realm, but by the connection to the people who listened to his radio addresses to gain comfort and strength during very uncertain times. Queen Elizabeth learned and understood this role and has had the difficult task of negotiating a changing monarchy in a world that sees the "divine right of kings" as an antiquated idea and system to be relegated to previous centuries. Yet her purpose and her work has been very real and serious.
The program followed her life through her ascension to the throne at 25 years old (and a wife and mother to small children), to her current work today. It is impressive and very humbling to note that she has given up much to fulfill the demands of her calling. I am certain that many times throughout her reign it would have been easier for her to "chuck it all" so that she and her family could enjoy a quieter life....much like how her uncle Edward who chose to abdicate his responsibilities as king rather than give up his private life. I believe it is to her credit that she stood up to the challenges of her duties as a head of state and discharged them with incredible dignity, energy and determination. The biggest take away I had from watching the program -- the thread that was woven into the heart of the program -- is that Queen Elizabeth shows a care for those she serves....and how she serves them.
All of this had me thinking about how I approach my calling -- as wife, mother, soon to be grandmother, caretaker of a child with disabilities, as well as my responsibilities with Tim's medical practice and now as a health coach. Have I really given the time and energy I should to fulfill those duties? How many times have I "chucked it all" for a momentary pleasure like a few extra minutes of sleep? How many times have I put up excuses for not taking the time to travel for the sake of my marriage or family just because I didn't want to? How often have I lost sight of goals simply because the challenge seemed too daunting? Far too many, I suppose.
So for what is is worth, I have gained a new understanding of what it means to be a monarch in the Western Civilization during the modern world. I definitely have a new-found appreciation and respect for the Queen as a person. From her I have learned that devotion and dedication to serve sometimes comes at a high price, but at the close of a day (or a lifetime) knowing that the job was done and done well, that those who have been served feel valued, is more important than what it costs me.
Saturday, March 5, 2016
Taking a Lifetime to Grow Up
One of the greatest things that causes knots to form in my stomach has to do with travel. Just the thought of going anywhere I have never been, traveling in ways that I am not comfortable, generally makes me sick to my stomach. I am so reluctant to take a trip anywhere (even for one day), I will usually find some way to get out of it.
Several months ago, one of my grade school friends happened to mention on FB that she would be house-sitting about 200 miles from my home, and I (not believing that anyone would take me up on a offer to visit me) suggested we should get together. Not having seen each other for more than 40 years, the thought of reconnecting was apparently appealing to her and she agreed. In the next few months we did not communicate much, so that by the end of January I had little thought that we would see each other and that I had dodged a bullet.
With due diligence, though, I reached out to see if she was still in the area and if she was open to meeting. It turns out she was and she suggested that we meet somewhere between where she was and where I live. She hoped to explore a little of Oregon before she traveled back to the midwest, so she suggested that we meet in Albany.
Albany? That was a little baffling to me because you have to understand that I have been in Oregon more than 30 years and I could not for the life of me figure out why she suggested Albany instead of her just coming to Portland, where there is (of course) more to see and do (and I would not have to go anywhere). My recollection of Albany was that of the stench from the paper mill which occasionally wafted over the interstate as its noxious odor flattened unsuspecting travelers as they passed through on their way north or south. I couldn't figure out the appeal of such a place.
As the day approached for my journey south, I began to feel that uncomfortably familiar knot begin to form in my stomach. Panic set in as I could not come up with one honest reason why I should cancel seeing a longtime friend simply because I was to be whisked out of my comfort zone to do something which for me was very brave. The morning arrived, and as Janice and I had agreed to meet at the Visitor's Center, I plugged the address into my iPhone and off I went.
To alleviate my discomfort, I convinced myself that the trip was really quite simple and easy: I just had to get on the interstate and head south. It was just 90 minutes. No worries. As I navigated through the remnants of rush hour traffic, I soon found myself clipping along through some familiar cities on the way. Tigard-Tualatin-Wilsonville-Woodburn quickly came and went, and I was feeling fine until I hit the twilight zone between Woodburn and Salem. Having never driven this stretch I was beginning to worry. I had completed all my morning prayers and then some, which left my mind to wander to the unsettling place of "I am alone in this car, and I really do not know where I am going."
Something amazing happened. Focusing on being a courteous driver and staying in the middle lane until it became painfully obvious that I needed to pass, which I was able to do many times and then politely return to the middle lane to let the speeders go by, it dawned on me somewhere between Scio and Albany that the trip (so far) had been uneventful. I am actually on an adventure by myself, and it was not half bad! I am breaking through obstacles and feeling great!
Then the voice of "Daniel" (my name for Siri) intruded on my new-found sense of confidence to let me know that in two miles I needed to "take Exit 234B, on right, to Albany." It did not help that the sunshine I had when leaving Portland had now changed to grey dreariness and occasional rain. As the exit approached, I moved into the right lane, rapidly advancing on not one, but two semi trucks which obstructed my view of the exit ramp.
Thankfully they continued their journey south and I was able to flawlessly exit to my travel's next phase: Albany City Center. At this point I was grateful for the reduced speed, which allowed me to process Daniel's next commands as they were coming more frequently. It also helped that I was followed down the state highway by the local law enforcement, who followed me for a few miles until Daniel instructed me to dump off the highway for the main drag into city center. As I did not want to risk a traffic infraction, I dutifully complied with all the traffic laws I could remember.
I found the Visitor's Center with little trouble, arriving about 20 minutes ahead of the appointed meeting time. Apparently Albany is home to some 700 historic Victorian homes, and the city makes the most of this at various times throughout the year with festivals and open houses....February does not happen to be one of them. Janice arrived, and, armed with guide maps and such, we jaunted off on our excursion. Part of the tour was walking, which was fine in spite of the occasional downpour. In our excitement to get caught up on 40 years of life, we just started out not paying attention to our direction.
It turned out that Janice's sense of direction was as good as mine, and it did not take us long to figure out we did not know where we were going. We turned around, making our way back to the Visitor's Center where we regrouped. Suffice it to say that we did get our bearings and headed to the downtown area where we explored a really neat antique mall for an hour or so. Our meanderings through the mall allowed us to talk about so many things and it was a pleasure to be taken back all those years and learn more about each other. The mall provided an unexpected connection that bridged some of the conversations: interspersed throughout the vintage Victorian era items, we found things that opened up memories of our own growing up -- silly things, really, like '60s style chairs and dishes we both recalled from our childhood. The connections we shared were much more than I expected.
We left the mall and continued around the city until we decided to find lunch. The beauty and the challenge of being in the historic district of an unfamiliar place was that there were little to no chain restaurants or fast food places. As it began to rain again, we ducked inside the first place we saw: Novak's Hungarian Restaurant.
Just when I was thinking that all was well with my comfort zone, the knot came back. I never willing eat Hungarian food (or any ethnic food for that matter), and the only thing I could envision was lots of cooked cabbage, and indeed, as we opened the door, the smell inside was overwhelmingly pungent with the scent of cooked cabbage.
The interior was nicely decorated in dark woodwork and the tables were covered with white tablecloths. We were seated at a small table and as I perused the menu my heart sank: it was a beautiful menu, mind you, complete with all-things Hungarian but not much on the menu that supports a healthy lifestyle. I have to admit that mashed potatoes, spaetzel, gravy covered chicken and beef, schnitzels, decadent European desserts, and an all-you-can-eat buffet (just in case you can't decide on what you want) seemed pretty tempting, but in the end I decided to go adventurous and opted for the soup du jour: green bean, and a small salad.
My negative habit of pre-conceived notions then took over, and it dawned on me that I was totally unsure what would be placed before me. In an effort to visualize what I might be consuming, my mind quickly ran through all the vegetable-type soups I knew, from split pea, tomato, potato, carrot, and they all had one thing in common -- they were pureed. The idea of pureed green beans in soup form reminded me of the baby food I fed my children, and I almost immediately regretted my decision. The server, however, informed me that it was her particular favorite of all the house-made soups; and while she appeared to be a rational person, I admit to being uneasy, and solaced myself with the thought that at least I would have a salad to tide over me until my next meal.
Janice was just about as adventurous as I, and she ordered a large salad with chicken (my first choice, except for the chicken). We were having a grand time talking about life and perspective and our parents and siblings when lunch arrived. So much for pre-conceived notions. Much to my delighted surprise, our server (who I can now say without hesitation is totally rational when it comes to soup, at least), put before me a cup of the most appealing hot soup...not pureed, but a beautiful broth of soup, rich with cut green beans, carrots and here and there a spaetzel or two (or three). Forget the salad, the soup (and the homemade bread) was my entire focus for the meal.
After lunch, Janice and I headed back to the Visitor's Center, as our cars were parked close by. The other part of the historic tour was to be completed by car, and for some reason we decided that I would drive. Getting better directions from the ladies at the Visitor's Center, Janice and I proceeded to our first destination. What we soon discovered was that the homes, if not for sale, were occupied, so there was no way for us to go through them. We drove from one side of the Historic District to the other, navigating in and around one-way streets, increasing traffic and numbers of pedestrians emerging from between parked cars, just to look at the outside architecture. At length, I asked Janice if she had a time schedule to keep. It was approaching mid-afternoon and I began to get that knot in my stomach thinking about getting back to Portland, the rush hour traffic and the little yellow you-are-perilously-close-to-empty gas light that just flashed on my dashboard.
She had no schedule but was sensitive to mine. She knew that I was to leave the next day for a family trip to the coast (yet another travel story), and all the organization that had to happen before leaving. We went back to the Visitor's Center and parted -- she south to Eugene, and me to use the restroom at the Visitor's Center before embarking on my next adventure: the search for a gas station.
So for what it's worth, I made the return to Portland without incident. As I reflect on the day, I am grateful to Janice for many things. If she had not ventured my way and (unknowingly) pulled me out of my reluctance to embrace a profoundly personal challenge -- an obstacle that has paralyzed me for much of my life -- I would still get sick at the thought of travel....well, I still get sick, but just not as much. My comfort zone, I am happy to say, just expanded on a variety of levels, not just traveling. So Janice, if you happen to come back this way, maybe we will embark on another adventure -- perhaps on electric bicycles (or not).
Several months ago, one of my grade school friends happened to mention on FB that she would be house-sitting about 200 miles from my home, and I (not believing that anyone would take me up on a offer to visit me) suggested we should get together. Not having seen each other for more than 40 years, the thought of reconnecting was apparently appealing to her and she agreed. In the next few months we did not communicate much, so that by the end of January I had little thought that we would see each other and that I had dodged a bullet.
With due diligence, though, I reached out to see if she was still in the area and if she was open to meeting. It turns out she was and she suggested that we meet somewhere between where she was and where I live. She hoped to explore a little of Oregon before she traveled back to the midwest, so she suggested that we meet in Albany.
Albany? That was a little baffling to me because you have to understand that I have been in Oregon more than 30 years and I could not for the life of me figure out why she suggested Albany instead of her just coming to Portland, where there is (of course) more to see and do (and I would not have to go anywhere). My recollection of Albany was that of the stench from the paper mill which occasionally wafted over the interstate as its noxious odor flattened unsuspecting travelers as they passed through on their way north or south. I couldn't figure out the appeal of such a place.
As the day approached for my journey south, I began to feel that uncomfortably familiar knot begin to form in my stomach. Panic set in as I could not come up with one honest reason why I should cancel seeing a longtime friend simply because I was to be whisked out of my comfort zone to do something which for me was very brave. The morning arrived, and as Janice and I had agreed to meet at the Visitor's Center, I plugged the address into my iPhone and off I went.
To alleviate my discomfort, I convinced myself that the trip was really quite simple and easy: I just had to get on the interstate and head south. It was just 90 minutes. No worries. As I navigated through the remnants of rush hour traffic, I soon found myself clipping along through some familiar cities on the way. Tigard-Tualatin-Wilsonville-Woodburn quickly came and went, and I was feeling fine until I hit the twilight zone between Woodburn and Salem. Having never driven this stretch I was beginning to worry. I had completed all my morning prayers and then some, which left my mind to wander to the unsettling place of "I am alone in this car, and I really do not know where I am going."
Something amazing happened. Focusing on being a courteous driver and staying in the middle lane until it became painfully obvious that I needed to pass, which I was able to do many times and then politely return to the middle lane to let the speeders go by, it dawned on me somewhere between Scio and Albany that the trip (so far) had been uneventful. I am actually on an adventure by myself, and it was not half bad! I am breaking through obstacles and feeling great!
Then the voice of "Daniel" (my name for Siri) intruded on my new-found sense of confidence to let me know that in two miles I needed to "take Exit 234B, on right, to Albany." It did not help that the sunshine I had when leaving Portland had now changed to grey dreariness and occasional rain. As the exit approached, I moved into the right lane, rapidly advancing on not one, but two semi trucks which obstructed my view of the exit ramp.
Thankfully they continued their journey south and I was able to flawlessly exit to my travel's next phase: Albany City Center. At this point I was grateful for the reduced speed, which allowed me to process Daniel's next commands as they were coming more frequently. It also helped that I was followed down the state highway by the local law enforcement, who followed me for a few miles until Daniel instructed me to dump off the highway for the main drag into city center. As I did not want to risk a traffic infraction, I dutifully complied with all the traffic laws I could remember.
I found the Visitor's Center with little trouble, arriving about 20 minutes ahead of the appointed meeting time. Apparently Albany is home to some 700 historic Victorian homes, and the city makes the most of this at various times throughout the year with festivals and open houses....February does not happen to be one of them. Janice arrived, and, armed with guide maps and such, we jaunted off on our excursion. Part of the tour was walking, which was fine in spite of the occasional downpour. In our excitement to get caught up on 40 years of life, we just started out not paying attention to our direction.
It turned out that Janice's sense of direction was as good as mine, and it did not take us long to figure out we did not know where we were going. We turned around, making our way back to the Visitor's Center where we regrouped. Suffice it to say that we did get our bearings and headed to the downtown area where we explored a really neat antique mall for an hour or so. Our meanderings through the mall allowed us to talk about so many things and it was a pleasure to be taken back all those years and learn more about each other. The mall provided an unexpected connection that bridged some of the conversations: interspersed throughout the vintage Victorian era items, we found things that opened up memories of our own growing up -- silly things, really, like '60s style chairs and dishes we both recalled from our childhood. The connections we shared were much more than I expected.
We left the mall and continued around the city until we decided to find lunch. The beauty and the challenge of being in the historic district of an unfamiliar place was that there were little to no chain restaurants or fast food places. As it began to rain again, we ducked inside the first place we saw: Novak's Hungarian Restaurant.
Just when I was thinking that all was well with my comfort zone, the knot came back. I never willing eat Hungarian food (or any ethnic food for that matter), and the only thing I could envision was lots of cooked cabbage, and indeed, as we opened the door, the smell inside was overwhelmingly pungent with the scent of cooked cabbage.
The interior was nicely decorated in dark woodwork and the tables were covered with white tablecloths. We were seated at a small table and as I perused the menu my heart sank: it was a beautiful menu, mind you, complete with all-things Hungarian but not much on the menu that supports a healthy lifestyle. I have to admit that mashed potatoes, spaetzel, gravy covered chicken and beef, schnitzels, decadent European desserts, and an all-you-can-eat buffet (just in case you can't decide on what you want) seemed pretty tempting, but in the end I decided to go adventurous and opted for the soup du jour: green bean, and a small salad.
My negative habit of pre-conceived notions then took over, and it dawned on me that I was totally unsure what would be placed before me. In an effort to visualize what I might be consuming, my mind quickly ran through all the vegetable-type soups I knew, from split pea, tomato, potato, carrot, and they all had one thing in common -- they were pureed. The idea of pureed green beans in soup form reminded me of the baby food I fed my children, and I almost immediately regretted my decision. The server, however, informed me that it was her particular favorite of all the house-made soups; and while she appeared to be a rational person, I admit to being uneasy, and solaced myself with the thought that at least I would have a salad to tide over me until my next meal.
Janice was just about as adventurous as I, and she ordered a large salad with chicken (my first choice, except for the chicken). We were having a grand time talking about life and perspective and our parents and siblings when lunch arrived. So much for pre-conceived notions. Much to my delighted surprise, our server (who I can now say without hesitation is totally rational when it comes to soup, at least), put before me a cup of the most appealing hot soup...not pureed, but a beautiful broth of soup, rich with cut green beans, carrots and here and there a spaetzel or two (or three). Forget the salad, the soup (and the homemade bread) was my entire focus for the meal.
After lunch, Janice and I headed back to the Visitor's Center, as our cars were parked close by. The other part of the historic tour was to be completed by car, and for some reason we decided that I would drive. Getting better directions from the ladies at the Visitor's Center, Janice and I proceeded to our first destination. What we soon discovered was that the homes, if not for sale, were occupied, so there was no way for us to go through them. We drove from one side of the Historic District to the other, navigating in and around one-way streets, increasing traffic and numbers of pedestrians emerging from between parked cars, just to look at the outside architecture. At length, I asked Janice if she had a time schedule to keep. It was approaching mid-afternoon and I began to get that knot in my stomach thinking about getting back to Portland, the rush hour traffic and the little yellow you-are-perilously-close-to-empty gas light that just flashed on my dashboard.
She had no schedule but was sensitive to mine. She knew that I was to leave the next day for a family trip to the coast (yet another travel story), and all the organization that had to happen before leaving. We went back to the Visitor's Center and parted -- she south to Eugene, and me to use the restroom at the Visitor's Center before embarking on my next adventure: the search for a gas station.
So for what it's worth, I made the return to Portland without incident. As I reflect on the day, I am grateful to Janice for many things. If she had not ventured my way and (unknowingly) pulled me out of my reluctance to embrace a profoundly personal challenge -- an obstacle that has paralyzed me for much of my life -- I would still get sick at the thought of travel....well, I still get sick, but just not as much. My comfort zone, I am happy to say, just expanded on a variety of levels, not just traveling. So Janice, if you happen to come back this way, maybe we will embark on another adventure -- perhaps on electric bicycles (or not).
Tuesday, January 26, 2016
Resurrecting Civility
Part of the appeal of old movies, and old television shows for that matter, is the enjoyment of watching how people behaved. Courtesy and manners played an important role in day to day encounters with others in the world, and I wonder where we would be as a society today if those little actions of civility had not fallen by the wayside.
This observation falls in many levels: how we dress, what we say (and how we say it), how we treat "our elders," and even how men and women treat each other.
Many people in my age group grew up on reruns of I Love Lucy and Leave it to Beaver, and how fun was it to make snide comments about June Cleaver doing housework wearing a pearl necklace, or Eddie Haskell's over the top manners when talking with adults? How often did I ridicule Lucy as she fretted and worried about what Ricky would do when he discovered her overspending her "allowance?"
There were many times as I watched these movies and shows that I wondered why people changed their clothes so often, and why there were house-clothes, shopping clothes and evening attire. In the movies of the 1940s in particular, hats, gloves and shoes always matched the dress or suit and goodness knows one wouldn't want to be seen in public (even going shopping) wearing jeans or work clothes. As a child it seemed to me that people changed their clothes way too often, with no apparent reason, unless it was some status thing or just showing off. But even that did not make sense, really, because the idea of changing clothes depending on what one was doing was not particular to any class on the social ladder. Lower and middle class people had their "Sunday-Go-To-Meeting" attire, their work clothes; children had play clothes, and it was a matter of pride to be able to be seen in a new outfit (even if it was "new to you").
Then came the 1960s. Gone went hats and gloves. Gone went personal appearance. Men (and women) cast aside suits and dress clothes even while attending sporting events -- replacing them with shorts, sandals, sneakers. and the like. Girls and women began wearing pants not only when doing physical work, but they didn't even bother to change clothes to go shopping, visit friends or even go to church. Heck, I distinctly remember tagging along to the grocery store with my Mom and running into her friends who had covered their curler imprisoned hair with scarves -- which obviously did not do its job if I could see the pink rollers popping out from undercover!
The "pleases and thank yous", the "yes, Sirs," the asking to be excused from the dinner table -- all of those little nuances of courtesy and manners which were very much a part of daily life were tossed out to be replaced by the abrupt "Huh?" or "Yeah" whether you were a parent, teacher or your peers; not to mention just bolting from a family dinner table (if the family even ate at a table and not in front of the television) without even so much as a "thanks."
The only reasons I can think as to why this happened may be because that by not using them, it showed that we (as a society) were not bound by those actions that might reflect a difference in class or status. It could also be that parents of the next generation were too busy (or lazy) to instill these small measures of etiquette into their children. Succeeding generations, not having the benefit of such schooling, have no clue what it means to have manners. The unfortunate thing is that in discarding manners we have also discarded the very thing that held us together: a sense of mutual respect.
Think about it. How often are we affronted when someone pushes ahead of us in line, be it at a store, at a business or an event? How many quarrels and outright fights break out because someone grabbed that electronic device, computer game or even a sweater on the discount rack even though we "clearly" had possession of said item? Worse yet, how many times are we personally disgusted when we happen to see someone cramming a Big Mac in their mouth in an attempt to consume it before the traffic light changes and they have to drive on...or getting that last slurp through a straw when there is absolutely nothing but air and ice left in the cup? What is worse is that this seems to be the norm in society and I am more and more convinced that this is not for the better. Who really cares who I hurt as long as I get that 100-inch TV before that guy? What does it matter if I look and sound like a barnyard animal while eating?
I attended a bridal shower a few months ago, and most recently a baby shower (not for the same couple). It amazed me to see the other guests in attendance wearing jeans, tee shirts, sweat pants and sweatshirts. Again, I was appalled. June Cleaver, Lucy Ricardo and Ethel Mertz I am certain would share my reaction. Would they show up for Bridge Club or a school event with their hair tied up in a scarf, in the very clothes they wore while vacuuming or cleaning windows or washing dishes? Perish the thought! It was a matter of pride, sure, that they appear in public dressed and behaving beyond reproach (or arrest), but it also a reflection of how much they respected where they were going and who they would be seeing.
The very nice ladies who opened their homes for the bridal and baby showers spent a great deal of time and effort in decorating the venue, providing wonderful refreshments and entertainment for the guest of honor as well as those in attendance. At the very least, should we not show some small amount of respect for them by going to a little effort to dress better than if we were prepared to clean the toilet? I certainly think so, and, while still a struggle, I have made sure that Jeannine is learning this as well.
For my part, I think this is why I enjoy old movies. In them I can be transported to a time and place where respect for others began and ended with civility whether expressed in words or actions. The most despicable character in a movie or TV show (think Eddie Haskell) still shows the value of courtesy in spite of the viewer's overwhelming desire smack him.
So what it is worth: I am going to continue to be aware of opportunities to show respect for my family, friends and colleagues by using courtesy and manners in my daily activities. I will respect those who come to my home on social occasions by not only putting effort into seeing to their enjoyment of the atmosphere, but also let them know that I appreciate them as gracious and valued people by showing them proper respect in my own attire and manners. I guess I now have to figure out a way to get Jeannine on board.....maybe we'll start by watching some old movies.
This observation falls in many levels: how we dress, what we say (and how we say it), how we treat "our elders," and even how men and women treat each other.
Many people in my age group grew up on reruns of I Love Lucy and Leave it to Beaver, and how fun was it to make snide comments about June Cleaver doing housework wearing a pearl necklace, or Eddie Haskell's over the top manners when talking with adults? How often did I ridicule Lucy as she fretted and worried about what Ricky would do when he discovered her overspending her "allowance?"
There were many times as I watched these movies and shows that I wondered why people changed their clothes so often, and why there were house-clothes, shopping clothes and evening attire. In the movies of the 1940s in particular, hats, gloves and shoes always matched the dress or suit and goodness knows one wouldn't want to be seen in public (even going shopping) wearing jeans or work clothes. As a child it seemed to me that people changed their clothes way too often, with no apparent reason, unless it was some status thing or just showing off. But even that did not make sense, really, because the idea of changing clothes depending on what one was doing was not particular to any class on the social ladder. Lower and middle class people had their "Sunday-Go-To-Meeting" attire, their work clothes; children had play clothes, and it was a matter of pride to be able to be seen in a new outfit (even if it was "new to you").
Then came the 1960s. Gone went hats and gloves. Gone went personal appearance. Men (and women) cast aside suits and dress clothes even while attending sporting events -- replacing them with shorts, sandals, sneakers. and the like. Girls and women began wearing pants not only when doing physical work, but they didn't even bother to change clothes to go shopping, visit friends or even go to church. Heck, I distinctly remember tagging along to the grocery store with my Mom and running into her friends who had covered their curler imprisoned hair with scarves -- which obviously did not do its job if I could see the pink rollers popping out from undercover!
The "pleases and thank yous", the "yes, Sirs," the asking to be excused from the dinner table -- all of those little nuances of courtesy and manners which were very much a part of daily life were tossed out to be replaced by the abrupt "Huh?" or "Yeah" whether you were a parent, teacher or your peers; not to mention just bolting from a family dinner table (if the family even ate at a table and not in front of the television) without even so much as a "thanks."
The only reasons I can think as to why this happened may be because that by not using them, it showed that we (as a society) were not bound by those actions that might reflect a difference in class or status. It could also be that parents of the next generation were too busy (or lazy) to instill these small measures of etiquette into their children. Succeeding generations, not having the benefit of such schooling, have no clue what it means to have manners. The unfortunate thing is that in discarding manners we have also discarded the very thing that held us together: a sense of mutual respect.
Think about it. How often are we affronted when someone pushes ahead of us in line, be it at a store, at a business or an event? How many quarrels and outright fights break out because someone grabbed that electronic device, computer game or even a sweater on the discount rack even though we "clearly" had possession of said item? Worse yet, how many times are we personally disgusted when we happen to see someone cramming a Big Mac in their mouth in an attempt to consume it before the traffic light changes and they have to drive on...or getting that last slurp through a straw when there is absolutely nothing but air and ice left in the cup? What is worse is that this seems to be the norm in society and I am more and more convinced that this is not for the better. Who really cares who I hurt as long as I get that 100-inch TV before that guy? What does it matter if I look and sound like a barnyard animal while eating?
I attended a bridal shower a few months ago, and most recently a baby shower (not for the same couple). It amazed me to see the other guests in attendance wearing jeans, tee shirts, sweat pants and sweatshirts. Again, I was appalled. June Cleaver, Lucy Ricardo and Ethel Mertz I am certain would share my reaction. Would they show up for Bridge Club or a school event with their hair tied up in a scarf, in the very clothes they wore while vacuuming or cleaning windows or washing dishes? Perish the thought! It was a matter of pride, sure, that they appear in public dressed and behaving beyond reproach (or arrest), but it also a reflection of how much they respected where they were going and who they would be seeing.
The very nice ladies who opened their homes for the bridal and baby showers spent a great deal of time and effort in decorating the venue, providing wonderful refreshments and entertainment for the guest of honor as well as those in attendance. At the very least, should we not show some small amount of respect for them by going to a little effort to dress better than if we were prepared to clean the toilet? I certainly think so, and, while still a struggle, I have made sure that Jeannine is learning this as well.
For my part, I think this is why I enjoy old movies. In them I can be transported to a time and place where respect for others began and ended with civility whether expressed in words or actions. The most despicable character in a movie or TV show (think Eddie Haskell) still shows the value of courtesy in spite of the viewer's overwhelming desire smack him.
So what it is worth: I am going to continue to be aware of opportunities to show respect for my family, friends and colleagues by using courtesy and manners in my daily activities. I will respect those who come to my home on social occasions by not only putting effort into seeing to their enjoyment of the atmosphere, but also let them know that I appreciate them as gracious and valued people by showing them proper respect in my own attire and manners. I guess I now have to figure out a way to get Jeannine on board.....maybe we'll start by watching some old movies.
Monday, January 18, 2016
Downton Abbey and Real Life
I have to admit that one of the largest deficits in my knowledge and understanding of world history and historical events is the early 20th century. Apart from the basic facts related to when wars started (and ended) and some of the people who shaped the events of the times, I really did not have an understanding of what life was like. This is really quite funny because my own grandparents were born and lived through the early years of the 20th century; my parents were young adults through the World War II years and beyond. You would think from hearing their stories that I would have a strong grasp on the life and times of the 20th century. Not really.
Being one of the countless viewers of Downton Abbey, I have appreciated the attention to historic detail in the writing, but more importantly in the overall look and feel of the times. I am not talking about fashion and furniture and outward appearance; what is impressive to me is that they have created something that gets to the heart of those who lived at the time. I never really considered the fact that these times were one of great upheaval in the social order, and I applaud those behind the scenes who have given viewers some real food for thought.
Downton Abbey has been a window into a not-so-distant past, a place where I believe humans at all levels on the social spectrum took great pride in their state in life. The Crawley family is of particular interest to me, not so much because they lived on a grand estate and have the "luxuries of life," but because as landowners they knew and understood the role they filled in society: Lord Grantham expressed it quite clearly that he/they are only the custodians of the land and responsible for keeping the community a thriving place. Many, many lives are impacted by decisions he/they make -- both in and on the estate but in the village as well, and he took this responsibility seriously.
Understanding this perspective I think has been lost in our times amid the sound and fury of those who believe that the world is made up of the "haves and have nots," and that somehow there exists an oppression of one class over another. The irony is that from the characters developed in the fictional Downton Abbey, I never recall anything other than civility and compassion from the Crawley family. Why else, for example, did Lord Grantham feel the stress from his near-mismanagement of the estate? He knew that he needed to make changes or else the tenant-owners of the land suffer; businesses in the village, dependent on the financial support from the estate and estate owners, suffer. Those who work in the household suffer job insecurity at the least and job loss at the worst (think of the Mosely character or even Barrow).
The fascination I find is that those characters who want to push the progressive ideas of a more fluid movement between social classes (and even roles between the sexes) are the very characters I find most disagreeable. Isobel Crawley, who comes into the family as a result of the social system she despises, irritates me most. The school teacher, too, who works with Daisy to help her learn reading and math, comes across as contentious and unyielding in her beliefs; her lack of understanding is clearly shown in her incredulous surprise in meeting Lady Grantham (she wasn't what she thought she would be), as well as in her discourteous attack on Lord Grantham at his dinner table. Whether or not this is contrived by the writers, I don't know; they certainly are not the most sympathetic characters in the story. I think these characters who seek to replace an ordered system of simplicity, courtesy and respect with a system that pits class against class in an ongoing struggle where no one seems really happy and content come across as the saddest.
I suppose that the best example of conflict with this change is Tom Branson. Growing up in the revolutionary political environment in Ireland, his preconceived ideas about the Crawley family causes no end of struggle because what he sees and experiences as a member of the family has run in direct opposition to the ideas he learned before he married into the family. He finds himself not comfortable in either social environment; so he leaves for the open and progressive world of the United States, where individualism and a strong work ethic enables a person to make their dreams into reality. Being in the United States, he might find that acceptance and comfortability he somehow cannot experience in England. It will be interesting to see if the writers bring any conclusion to his story or if they just decide that writing him out of the story is sufficient. For my part I hope that there is a clear resolution to his story. It will validate or invalidate the idea that the progressive upheaval was worth it.
So for what it is worth, I am looking forward in some respects to the end of Downton Abbey. As the series has not yet concluded, I am still in the dark about where the writers are going to take the principle characters, but I am grateful for the glimpse into life in early 20th century; in many ways this explains much about what I have seen and lived growing up in the mid-to-late 20th century.
Sunday, January 10, 2016
Keeping Commitments
A little more than a year ago I started this blog with the stated goal to help me grow into a braver, more purposeful person. I also wanted to see if I could follow a dream I held in secret for most of my life: I really wanted to write and to see my writing published. I wanted to give voice to something that I believed was in me to do, but I wasn't sure what that would look like. The funny thing is that I did not see myself as a novel or short story writer, but I didn't want to limit myself to the occasional "letter to the editor" which most times were never published. Finding a niche was problematic until the advent of "the blog." Blogging was the answer: I can write and publish from the comfort and ease of my computer....except for one slight hitch.
The reality is that even writing takes effort, and those who know me well know that I never actively attempted to do anything big with purpose or direction, and certainly not anything which would require commitment. That is not to say that I did not accomplish or commit to anything; it is just that those accomplishments were more or less going to happen as a result of passing time. I went to college and graduated. I married and raised children. I have helped manage my husband's medical practice.
For me, though, these things are more a result of time moving on and their success is fully because of the grace of God. I, for all intents and purposes, never believed that I made any active effort to secure these successes or endured the setbacks: I genuinely believed that whatever happened, for good or ill, had been merely a matter of happenstance (not happenstance, I believe there are real reasons why things happen the way they do, and the Good Lord is the Author of all things, after all).
I digress. Full of focus and energy, with an unseen reading audience (no editor), I started the blog at the end of 2014. I promised myself that I would blog once a week. How difficult could that be? I have a blank computer screen and a head full of ideas. Putting out a blog entry once a week should be easy. Once a week. No problem.
Well that promise lasted as long as fresh kill among a pride of lions in the jungle. I neglected to consider that I was dealing with myself and there are certain hurdles (detailed above) to overcome.
So then I promised myself that I would blog twice a month (this promise, mind you, came in January 2015). My commitment dwindled yet again, and in February it went to once a month. I was able to keep that up through March. As pathetic as this has been to accept, I am not willing to give up. I asked myself what happened and the answer was surprisingly simple.
Bailing on the blog has not been for lack of subject matter, interest, or time. My life is rife with all sorts of topics that would be nice blog entries; I still want to pursue this sideline -- I need to pursue it; so it must be time.
Even that isn't accurate. If I want to intellectually honest about it, I do spend a great deal of time spinning my wheels. Ten months have passed since I last posted a blog and we are now in the double digits of January. I think about writing every day....I start blogs while I am driving, waiting for an appointment, brushing my teeth...I occasionally start blogs while I am falling asleep each night...the problem is they all stay in my head (or not) and never make it to the keyboard. Why? I am organized. I can get things done. I create to-do lists and check stuff off all the time. The problem is writing is never on the list. Ahhh....progress! Step 1: put this on the list.
It is more than just adding it to my to-do list: it boils down to habit and discipline. Throw mindfulness in there as well. The purpose and commitment I have made to better health and wellness, and the lessons I have learned to embrace the habits of health need to spread to my writing. If I can train myself to do little things that will move my writing and publishing forward in the same way that I approach my health and improving the health of those people I coach, I will make strides this year. Step 2: be mindful of opportunities for writing, even if it is only writing down ideas or life events that would be great blog entries.
This may be easier said than done as I find that as busy as my days can be, I still manage to find time to spend on the things that don't matter; well, it isn't that they don't matter...my family is better off with clean underwear after all...it is just that laundry is not the "one thing" that by doing will make all other things I have to do easier, and, like writing, it is not on the list. Step 3: No roadblocks! No sidetracking! Yes, and don't bother putting laundry on the list as it is apparently getting done without being there.
So for what it is worth, I am determined that 2016 will be a more productive writing year. The steps to which I have committed (now in writing) are purposeful; they are intentional; they even will make me a braver person because it takes courage for me to publicly commit to these resolves. How do I know I will make strides? I am certain of being more productive this year because in addition to my identified steps, Jeannine has said she will remind me.
The reality is that even writing takes effort, and those who know me well know that I never actively attempted to do anything big with purpose or direction, and certainly not anything which would require commitment. That is not to say that I did not accomplish or commit to anything; it is just that those accomplishments were more or less going to happen as a result of passing time. I went to college and graduated. I married and raised children. I have helped manage my husband's medical practice.
For me, though, these things are more a result of time moving on and their success is fully because of the grace of God. I, for all intents and purposes, never believed that I made any active effort to secure these successes or endured the setbacks: I genuinely believed that whatever happened, for good or ill, had been merely a matter of happenstance (not happenstance, I believe there are real reasons why things happen the way they do, and the Good Lord is the Author of all things, after all).
I digress. Full of focus and energy, with an unseen reading audience (no editor), I started the blog at the end of 2014. I promised myself that I would blog once a week. How difficult could that be? I have a blank computer screen and a head full of ideas. Putting out a blog entry once a week should be easy. Once a week. No problem.
Well that promise lasted as long as fresh kill among a pride of lions in the jungle. I neglected to consider that I was dealing with myself and there are certain hurdles (detailed above) to overcome.
So then I promised myself that I would blog twice a month (this promise, mind you, came in January 2015). My commitment dwindled yet again, and in February it went to once a month. I was able to keep that up through March. As pathetic as this has been to accept, I am not willing to give up. I asked myself what happened and the answer was surprisingly simple.
Bailing on the blog has not been for lack of subject matter, interest, or time. My life is rife with all sorts of topics that would be nice blog entries; I still want to pursue this sideline -- I need to pursue it; so it must be time.
Even that isn't accurate. If I want to intellectually honest about it, I do spend a great deal of time spinning my wheels. Ten months have passed since I last posted a blog and we are now in the double digits of January. I think about writing every day....I start blogs while I am driving, waiting for an appointment, brushing my teeth...I occasionally start blogs while I am falling asleep each night...the problem is they all stay in my head (or not) and never make it to the keyboard. Why? I am organized. I can get things done. I create to-do lists and check stuff off all the time. The problem is writing is never on the list. Ahhh....progress! Step 1: put this on the list.
It is more than just adding it to my to-do list: it boils down to habit and discipline. Throw mindfulness in there as well. The purpose and commitment I have made to better health and wellness, and the lessons I have learned to embrace the habits of health need to spread to my writing. If I can train myself to do little things that will move my writing and publishing forward in the same way that I approach my health and improving the health of those people I coach, I will make strides this year. Step 2: be mindful of opportunities for writing, even if it is only writing down ideas or life events that would be great blog entries.
This may be easier said than done as I find that as busy as my days can be, I still manage to find time to spend on the things that don't matter; well, it isn't that they don't matter...my family is better off with clean underwear after all...it is just that laundry is not the "one thing" that by doing will make all other things I have to do easier, and, like writing, it is not on the list. Step 3: No roadblocks! No sidetracking! Yes, and don't bother putting laundry on the list as it is apparently getting done without being there.
So for what it is worth, I am determined that 2016 will be a more productive writing year. The steps to which I have committed (now in writing) are purposeful; they are intentional; they even will make me a braver person because it takes courage for me to publicly commit to these resolves. How do I know I will make strides? I am certain of being more productive this year because in addition to my identified steps, Jeannine has said she will remind me.
Tuesday, April 7, 2015
Clothes Define the Person
With all our children, we have tried to encourage each to be active participants in their learning and education -- not just passive participants in their formal and informal education. For Jeannine, our dream has been in helping her to discover her strengths so that she develops the skills to do meaningful work.
As it turns out, Jeannine has been the most active participant of all the children when it comes to learning. This is not so much with her formal education as much as it is with the informal. The one thing that is positively certain about her is that she strives to do everything everyone else is doing. It is no surprise, then, that when her father decided to break from corporate medicine ten years ago and go back to a solo medical practice, she was right there ready to help. At first it was just confined to those hours she was in the office before and after school, and she was not so inclined to do much more than greet patients as they came in or left their appointment. She would even sit with them in the waiting room entertaining them with her observations, asking questions and responding to their queries as they waited (sometimes a while) to be seen.
As the years passed and formal school was no longer an option, she would come to the office and really want to engage in the "real work" everyone was doing. Not content with taking charge of the shredding and other mundane tasks, she volunteered to call patients to confirm their appointments. After much thought and deliberation, her father agreed to allow her to make the calls. Why not? Her speech was clear and she knew how to dial the phone numbers. All she needed was a copy of the schedule and she was on her way.
We scripted the calls for her, but very soon she was "winging it" and delighting those she spoke with with her professional phone manner and light-hearted chit-chat. It was fun listening to her, especially as practiced pronouncing patient names before making the official call. If she needed to leave a message there was no problem: she handled that very well, even if she had to start over again (in the same message) several times before getting it "perfect." When she was able to speak directly with the patient, it was heart-warming to hear her conclude the call with a sweet giggle and a "you're very welcome" to their "thank you for the reminder." It was even comical to hear her disgust if the patient neglected to thank her and just hung up..."He (or she) didn't even SAY anything when I called," could often be heard sailing through the office as she hung up the phone in frustration.
What was even more fun was to have the patients want to see her when they came in, especially to thank her for the reminder. Puffed up by the success of her new responsibility, Jeannine suggested that she could run the patient paperwork, highlighting medical services for which the patient may be due, and check for copays for those coming in the next day. After our watching her perform this additional task for a few days, she became defensive about having to be monitored. Again, after some thoughtful deliberation, we cut her loose from direct supervision and merely checked her work when she wasn't around. She was truly a productive member of our staff and fully appreciated by patients and co-workers alike. She was so dependable in the discharge of her duties that she was made official with her own name badge: Jeannine -- Office Assistant. On top of this, Jeannine took great joy in sharing with anyone she met -- at the grocery store, at church, at parties -- how she works in a medical office and what she does and how important her work is. In fact, she was so dedicated to her job that she routinely declined going on errands with me so that she could be in the thick of things at the office.
Well, the novelty of this job wore off after about a year or so and, in some ways true to the disposition of those with Down Syndrome, stubbornness set in and it could be like pulling teeth to sit her down to do her job. At first she would take the entire morning to go from person to person in the office to find out if she "had to call" everyone on the schedule, and then we could see her crest-fallen face if no one was crossed from the list.
Not to be deterred from dodging the confirmation call bullet, Jeannine would conveniently skip some people on the schedule (especially those who "didn't even say anything to her" the last time she called -- apparently she never forgets a slight). It was interesting to hear the conversations she would have when the patient would come in and lament to her that they "didn't get my Jeannine call" and how much they depended on hearing from her to remind them about their appointment. In spite the cajoling we would do to get her do her work, there were days when she just wasn't interested.
So for what it is worth: While it is thrilling to be able to see her grow in her skills and be a positive force in the office, doing the meaningful work we had always wanted her to do, there are times when I wonder if we just haven't created a "Bride of Frankenstein," because there appears to be no end to her desire to do more and more for our providers. The other day I caught her going through the medical scrubs catalog with one of our medical assistants discussing which styles would be best for her when she becomes a "medical assistant for real."
As it turns out, Jeannine has been the most active participant of all the children when it comes to learning. This is not so much with her formal education as much as it is with the informal. The one thing that is positively certain about her is that she strives to do everything everyone else is doing. It is no surprise, then, that when her father decided to break from corporate medicine ten years ago and go back to a solo medical practice, she was right there ready to help. At first it was just confined to those hours she was in the office before and after school, and she was not so inclined to do much more than greet patients as they came in or left their appointment. She would even sit with them in the waiting room entertaining them with her observations, asking questions and responding to their queries as they waited (sometimes a while) to be seen.
As the years passed and formal school was no longer an option, she would come to the office and really want to engage in the "real work" everyone was doing. Not content with taking charge of the shredding and other mundane tasks, she volunteered to call patients to confirm their appointments. After much thought and deliberation, her father agreed to allow her to make the calls. Why not? Her speech was clear and she knew how to dial the phone numbers. All she needed was a copy of the schedule and she was on her way.
We scripted the calls for her, but very soon she was "winging it" and delighting those she spoke with with her professional phone manner and light-hearted chit-chat. It was fun listening to her, especially as practiced pronouncing patient names before making the official call. If she needed to leave a message there was no problem: she handled that very well, even if she had to start over again (in the same message) several times before getting it "perfect." When she was able to speak directly with the patient, it was heart-warming to hear her conclude the call with a sweet giggle and a "you're very welcome" to their "thank you for the reminder." It was even comical to hear her disgust if the patient neglected to thank her and just hung up..."He (or she) didn't even SAY anything when I called," could often be heard sailing through the office as she hung up the phone in frustration.
What was even more fun was to have the patients want to see her when they came in, especially to thank her for the reminder. Puffed up by the success of her new responsibility, Jeannine suggested that she could run the patient paperwork, highlighting medical services for which the patient may be due, and check for copays for those coming in the next day. After our watching her perform this additional task for a few days, she became defensive about having to be monitored. Again, after some thoughtful deliberation, we cut her loose from direct supervision and merely checked her work when she wasn't around. She was truly a productive member of our staff and fully appreciated by patients and co-workers alike. She was so dependable in the discharge of her duties that she was made official with her own name badge: Jeannine -- Office Assistant. On top of this, Jeannine took great joy in sharing with anyone she met -- at the grocery store, at church, at parties -- how she works in a medical office and what she does and how important her work is. In fact, she was so dedicated to her job that she routinely declined going on errands with me so that she could be in the thick of things at the office.
Well, the novelty of this job wore off after about a year or so and, in some ways true to the disposition of those with Down Syndrome, stubbornness set in and it could be like pulling teeth to sit her down to do her job. At first she would take the entire morning to go from person to person in the office to find out if she "had to call" everyone on the schedule, and then we could see her crest-fallen face if no one was crossed from the list.
Not to be deterred from dodging the confirmation call bullet, Jeannine would conveniently skip some people on the schedule (especially those who "didn't even say anything to her" the last time she called -- apparently she never forgets a slight). It was interesting to hear the conversations she would have when the patient would come in and lament to her that they "didn't get my Jeannine call" and how much they depended on hearing from her to remind them about their appointment. In spite the cajoling we would do to get her do her work, there were days when she just wasn't interested.
So for what it is worth: While it is thrilling to be able to see her grow in her skills and be a positive force in the office, doing the meaningful work we had always wanted her to do, there are times when I wonder if we just haven't created a "Bride of Frankenstein," because there appears to be no end to her desire to do more and more for our providers. The other day I caught her going through the medical scrubs catalog with one of our medical assistants discussing which styles would be best for her when she becomes a "medical assistant for real."
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)