Random Acts of Kindness

         

          Back in the good old days people were actually polite to each other.  It was not unusual to walk down the street and have complete strangers greet you with a smile and even a brief ‘morning’ or ‘afternoon.’  But, from observations I’ve made lately, that little nicety has flown out the window along with its friends, kindness and good manners.

          That’s why I was so delighted when my sixteen year old grandson was awarded a ‘Random Acts of Kindness’ certificate by his high school at their year end celebrations.  It made me feel so hopeful about the youth of today.  That perhaps the downright rudeness so prevalent among the younger generation might be a passing fad.

          Case in point…I was standing in a long line at the post office.  Directly in front of me was an elderly woman, who was probably in her 70’s; in front of her was a young girl, about 18 or so.   While rattling around in her purse, a small envelope fluttered from the young woman’s purse to the floor.  I saw it, the elderly lady in front of me saw it, the 18 year old appeared oblivious.

After a beat, the old lady bent down, picked up the envelope and handed it to the younger woman.  Not a smile, not a nod, not even a muttered word passed the young woman’s lips.  She grabbed the envelope, checked to make sure it was hers and turned to face the line again.

          I was stunned.  How rude can one person be?  But perhaps I’d missed something?  I tapped my elderly neighbor on the shoulder.  ‘Did she even say thank you?’ I asked.

          The woman raised her eyes to the heavens and shook her head.  ‘Nope.  But that’s the young people today isn’t it?’

          Really?  Well, it’s about time the young people of today developed some grace, stopped thinking the sun was created to only shine on them, and started acting as though they lived on the same planet as us ‘oldies.’

          Where did all this arrogant rudeness come from?  Someone had to teach them.  Perhaps it was the guy who insisted on walking between me and the shelf of books I was looking at without so much as an ‘excuse me.’  Apparently, the three feet of empty aisle behind me was too difficult for him to see.  Or perhaps it was the parents of a young girl who, preceding me into a store, pulled open the heavy door and even though she could see me behind her, allowed the door to swing shut.  Had I not stopped it with my foot, my nose would probably be smeared over my face. Or at least I would have been seeing stars for quite some time.

          I don’t know…growing up in Europe, as a child I was expected to curtsey when being introduced to an adult; to say ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ as a matter of course and even to stand when an adult entered a room.

          Now, I’m not for one moment suggesting that the kids of today should curtsey for an adult (I can hear the hoots of derision already.)  And, unless it is a crowded bus or train, I’m not even saying they should stand.  But they sure as heck can add some little politeness to their mumbled comments when addressed by someone older than they are.  Or even add a smile…that would be a step in the right direction at least.

          It’s my belief that kids learn by example first and words of explanation are an additional confirmation of conduct that is acceptable and required.  But it seems the youth of today have few examples placed before them.  They are trained rather than taught, by anyone and everyone except their parents.

          That’s why I appreciate the amazing job my daughter and son-in-law has done with their five offspring.  Random acts of kindness are not unusual events in that family…but it’s nice to have a certificate that recognizes the achievement.  Well done, Jacob!

         

         

 

         

O Holy Night

          I awoke this morning to the sound of rain pelting against my window.  It was, as they say in Oz, bucketing down.  The mountains, usually visible from my bedroom, were shrouded in thick mist, the trees in my backyard were being swayed by the strong wind…it looked like winter had set in.  And since it was heading towards the end of December, that would be a fair assumption.  Except I live in Hawaii, and while the rain was quite heavy today, the temperature stayed in the high 70’s.  No chance of snow for Christmas here.

          But, since I grew up in a country where Christmas is celebrated in the middle of summer, and there are more people at the beach trying to keep cool on Christmas Day than slaving over a hot stove at home, Christmas heat is not unusual for me. 

          And no, Christmas in Australia is not celebrated in July!  Believe me, I was once asked that question by someone who had never left the mainland United States…and with a completely straight face too.

          But Christmas isn’t about weather.  Although those first mornings after a snowfall, with the sun glistening on the new icicles dripping from the trees, is quite breathtaking…it doesn’t make it Christmas.  Nor do the parades down the main street, with Santa waving to the crowds, or families piling up the loot under a beautifully decorated tree make it Christmas.

          Christmas to me is the children.  From remembering that first little baby born in a stable so long ago and acknowledging why we celebrate the season, to seeing the faces of the kids in my neighborhood, walking from house to house, singing carols at the tops of their voices, Christmas is such a special time of the year.

          And so it was that I was wandering around the stores, buying the final bits and pieces for the traditional family get together and listening to the excited chatter of children as they ran around pointing out things of interest to their parents, when I stopped to listen to the Honolulu Boy Choir.  About thirty strong, the oldest of the lads couldn’t have been more than twelve. 

          As their lovely voices filled the cavernous Mall with my very favorite Christmas song ‘O Holy Night,’ a little girl in a brightly decorated stroller was pushed to my side.  The mother stopped and I glanced down at the child.  She was about three years old, all dressed up in her Christmas finery.  She looked around at the decorations, the huge Christmas tree in the center of the Mall, the choir singing and her eyes got big and round as saucers and she whispered:  ‘Oh Mommy, it’s Christmas!’

          I left the Mall smiling.   Looking at everything through the eyes of a little child, it was indeed Christmas.  I hoped that parents everywhere would take a moment to tell their little ones the real reason for the season…and be blessed because they did so.

For me, yes, it’s lovely to receive a thoughtful gift and to be part of happy holiday traditions, but my true happiness comes from celebrating the day as the birthday of my Lord and Savior, Jesus the Christ.

Happy birthday, Jesus, I hope our celebrations of your birth make you smile too.

         

         

A Simple Life

          Some years back, an Australian Prime Minister was quoted as saying, ‘Life wasn’t meant to be easy.’  Okay, perhaps that’s true, but surely it is meant to be simple isn’t it?  I mean, isn’t that why Fred Flinstone invented the wheel? 

          But these days it seems that everything around us has been created to make life more difficult.  Well, at least that’s the way it appears to me.

I’m the first person to admit that I am not handy…not with any electrical stuff nor with things that a ‘handy’ person, be they male or female can deal with and do it with a smile.  I even admit to not knowing what certain tools are called.  But, as long as it does the job, does it really matter if I call an electric drill a ‘buzzy thing’ or masking tape as ‘sticky stuff?’  Not to me.  But, judging by the smirks and giggles at the local building supply store, my lack of hardware jargon is a great source of amusement to its employees.

          So it should be no surprise that I try, as much as possible, to avoid doing anything to or at my home that requires me to use a hammer, nails, buzzy things or even sprays.  My life is simple.  If it breaks, throw it out.  I probably didn’t need it anyway.

          Still, there are some things that are necessary even for a simple life…a small sideboard for the dining room being a good example.  I mean I had to have some place to put all my plates, cups, saucers and wine glasses, didn’t I?

          I had purchased the sideboard from a well known, local furniture store and eagerly awaited its delivery.  I was stunned therefore, to receive a rather large box full of wood panels, plastic baggies bursting with screws and a three page work sheet.  Apparently, for a rather hefty $ outlay, instead of a lovely sideboard, I had bought a box of kindling!  A call to the store produced little joy.  I was informed that if I’d wanted to actually have a sideboard delivered, I should have paid the additional charge to have the item ‘put together’ for me.   It seems that furniture stores these days don’t actually sell furniture, they sell cut up trees.  Who knew?

          However, necessity being the mother…and all that, I figured surely I could put the thing together by myself.  After all, how hard could it be?  Men do this sort of thing for a living don’t they?

          Well, the first instruction showed me just how hard it could be. 

          ‘Taking your Phillips head screw driver….,’ it said.

          I didn’t even know screwdrivers had heads, let alone heads with specific names.  And it’s not like screwdrivers have their names written on their sides for easy identification either.  Just try to figure out that instruction if you don’t know the difference between a screwdriver and a chisel.  Or whatever those flat blade pokey things are called.

          But I tried.  I really did.  For several hours I tried to screw, hammer, and glue bits of wood together to make something that resembled the picture on the side of the box.  I scrutinized the instruction sheet trying to match up what the picture showed to what I had scattered on the floor around me.  At one point I was convinced the instructions were for a completely different piece and had been put into my box of sticks by mistake.

The whole exercise was not my idea of a simple life.

Fortunately, a neighbor who called in for a chat over a glass of wine, took pity on me and offered up her husband as a ‘very handy man.’  Bless his little cotton socks, he had the whole sideboard up and usable in short order; my crockery and stemware had a nice new home and we could get on with living the real simple life.  A lovely glass of Australian merlot….(she sighed.)

 

 

         

         

         

Can You Hear Me Now?

          Yesterday, I nearly mowed down a young woman with my grocery shopping cart.  She was below my line of vision because, apparently, she was having a wonderful chat with a row of canned soup on the bottom shelf.

          My ‘oops, sorry,’ prompted her to glare in my direction.  It was then I noticed the phone clutched to her ear.  As I pushed past her, I heard her grumbled comment: ‘Old biddy…probably blind as a bat.’

          Which got me thinking about the way cell phones are creating a generation of rude, clueless, and in many cases classless people.  It now appears entirely acceptable to talk through, around and over others as long as the cell phone user is also multi-tasking.  In the foregoing case that would be deciding whether to buy the clam chowder or mushroom soup, while at the same time checking with a friend to see whether cardboard crackers were an acceptable part of her diet.

          I’ve had to listen to the minutiae of how to encourage a baby to eat carrot mush; the scene by scene review of the latest action movie and advice on how to save a marriage.  All because I was waiting in line behind a cell phone addict.

          Whatever happened to those halcyon days when people actually spoke to each other face-to-face?  When you could see a smile on someone’s face and be happy knowing you were the one who put it there?  Now it seems the best you can hope for is not too many conversations that are interrupted by ‘You’re breaking up…’ or ‘I’m losing you.’

          I completely understand that cell phones are a very handy accessory in the case of an emergency.  But how many emergencies can there possibly be in one day to each person?  For that matter, what exactly constitutes an emergency?

          I’ve witnessed a neighbor leave her house, lock the front door, enter the garage, start her car and begin backing it out and THEN slap the phone to her ear to report her imminent arrival at her destination.  And how about the young couple who were seated at a table next to mine in a fancy shmancy restaurant a while back?  They arrived, the server handed them menus and, even before his back was turned, both people had their cell phones out and were texting.  Each other?  I at least hope that was the case.  Which then begs the question, what were they saying?

          ‘Soup or salad?’ or ‘Yikes, did you bring any money?’

          In any event, it was sad to watch and an even sadder example of where we’re all heading.  First, good manners fly out the window, smartly followed by dialogue between two people, and then what?  We all turn into robots?

          I think I’ll start a ‘Let’s Talk Face-to-Face’ club.  The only rule will be that all cell phones must be left at the door.  Problem is, the conversations will probably consist of what the latest cell phone apps can do or how to increase your texting speed by eliminating more letters from the alphabet and using your toes.  I don’t think I’m on a winner with this one.

         

         

         

         

Can I Help You?

         

Maybe it was the complete chaos of Black Friday (and Saturday and Sunday) and the televised wars between shoppers that got me thinking about customer service.  Or, in the case of many stores, the lack of customer service.  And I’m not talking about “I’ll Give You a Black Eye Friday” here but the regular weekly shopping days.

          Oh, there are sales clerks.  Plenty of those…usually found guarding the cash register…but actually helpful people with a pulse to assist in the purchase of an item?  Not so much.

          It used to be that when you took a couple of garments into the dressing room, a sales person would hover outside the door to see if you might require a different size to try on.  Now, if a garment doesn’t fit, you have the choice of getting dressed again, stumbling back into the store, or trying to catch someone’s eye at the dressing room door while hiding your underwear only clad body behind a rack of someone else’s returns.

          And how about wanting an item sitting up on a top shelf?  Signs prohibit you from actually lifting the item off the shelf yourself…you need to ask a sales assistant for help.  Well try to find one baby.  I’ve practically grown roots waiting for someone to arrive after being told ‘I’ll get an assistant for you,’ by a cash register guard. Then trying not to burst out laughing when the ‘someone’ turned out to be a young lad who was about six inches shorter than me and about half my weight.  I wondered if I was strong enough to break his fall if he dropped to the floor under the weight of the box of fuzzy slippers.

          There are stores however, who obviously hold ‘customer sensitivity’ training on a regular basis.  This seems to be to show customers that their store’s employees really want to help you.  You can tell which stores have just had their yearly dose of this training by the number of sales people who greet you with a huge smile and a ‘good morning,’ the moment your foot steps inside their territory.  That’s very nice…albeit a little offputting if you’ve had to respond to nine ‘good mornings’ by the time you’ve traversed the first floor and you’ve still got two floors to go!

          But the one I like best is ‘did you find everything you needed?’  This is usually asked by the cashier at a grocery store checkout, while busily scanning your groceries into a bag.   Rarely is there any eye contact.

          This was my experience last week:

          ‘Did you find everything you needed?’

          ‘No, I didn’t.’

          ‘Oh, that’s good.’

          Huh?  Obviously, that store’s customer service training includes asking the question.  It doesn’t appear to include listening to the answer, and then making sure the needed item is made available.

          I don’t know.  Back in the day, ‘Can I help you?’ was the standard request from most sales assistants.  At least with them you knew where you stood.  Today’s sales people greet you with a smile, inquire about your health, and then disappear back to their inevitable guard dog duties.

          What about you?  ‘Are you being served?’

         

           

         

Giving Thanks

         

          Growing up in Australia there were many American holidays or celebrations I was never involved in, or, aware of only minimally.  The obvious ones being 4^th July, Memorial Day (although Aussie’s do have a similar holiday in Anzac Day) and, my favorite, Thanksgiving.

          Of course I knew stuff about it.  I’d read about the Indians and the Americans’ first Thanksgiving in grade school and seen the day celebrated in movies.  Although in those Technicolor offerings, there was never any mention of the poor old Indians.  But there was the giant turkey, the mouthwatering pies, the table beautifully decorated with autumn leaves and candles; and Doris Day singing and dancing around the kitchen with a gravy boat clutched in her hand.

          I loved the way Americans decorated even their homes for the holiday.  Pumpkins, dried flowers and ribbons scattered on the front porch and windowsills.  I thought it was a very pretty day and often wished we had something like it in Australia.

On the other hand, given the fact that Oz was built and populated by convicted criminals, I guess there really wasn’t that much to jump for joy about…or for that matter give thanks.  Except perhaps by the criminals who escaped.

          However, this year I will be celebrating Thanksgiving with friends who have a son recently graduated as a Marine.  He will be home for the holiday and I’m looking forward to seeing him again.

          Josh is not the typical picture of a Marine.  He is smaller than most lads his age and perhaps less physically endowed.  He had wanted to be a marine even as a young boy and worked hard at ROTC training and privately, after school, to learn everything he could about the Corps.  For years, he awoke earlier than the rest of the household to give himself at least 30 minutes on weight training equipment before attending school.

          Boot camp was tough.  It is a hard job to walk twenty miles with a 100lb pack on your back if you’re 6’1”…it is an entirely different thing to carry the same weight, walk the same distance when you barely scrape 5’2”. But Josh persevered and he won.   His proud parents couldn’t stop smiling at his graduation ceremony last February.

          And so this Thanksgiving I will be sitting at the same table as Josh…his last day home on leave before he deploys overseas…and I will give thanks.  Thanks for young men like Josh, who dreamed big and then accomplished their dreams.  And thanks for their spirit which could put them in harm’s way so that I can live in freedom.   To all the young men and women who protect me, my home and my country, I thank you.  Semper Fi!

         

         

I'm Sorry, So Sorry ...

          Why are public apologies the suddenly politically correct requirement of everyone who so much as looks cross-eyed at a co-worker or glares at a rude sales assistant? 

          Don’t get me wrong.  I think an honest, sincere apology to someone whom you’ve hurt is a good thing.  A necessary show of humility that clears the air and gives the recipient an opportunity to forgive.  But surely it should be left to the two people concerned and not turned into a ‘let’s see who can grovel the best’ reality show.

          Why is it the business of anyone but the parties concerned?  What difference should an apology, whether it was given or for that matter received, make to a complete outsider?

          Recently, I’ve heard the talking heads on TV, suggest that a congressman who played hankie pankie with a lady not his wife, should apologize.  Then days later chiding the same man for being a bit slow in the apology department…he hadn’t hung his head in public shame yet, nor begged forgiveness.

As I sat open-mouthed listening to the poor schnook’s life being dissected by complete strangers, I couldn’t help but wonder to whom was he supposed to apologize?  Everyone who ever knew him?  The TV people who were ripping him to shreds because he hadn’t beaten himself senseless as yet?

Who?  Well, certainly not to me.  I didn’t have a horse in that particular race.  And, I’m pretty sure the wife in question would prefer to hear her husband’s excuses and ‘mia culpas’ in the privacy of their home and not as a headline in the national newspapers.

But, the need for public apology is not just for participants of marital indiscretions anymore.  Judges on a TV dance show were castigated for ‘being unkind’ to a truly woeful contestant.  The opinion of outsiders was that the judges…professionals in their own right, should apologize to the contestant.  The guy couldn’t dance and being dragged around the dance floor by his professional partner was painful to watch.  Why make the judges the culprits in this little saga?  And believe me, an apology, public or otherwise. would not suddenly make the gentleman in question a Mr. Twinkle-Toes.

          Now too it seems that a public apology is some sort of standard by which the rest of the populous will judge the culprit to be worthy, of not just forgiveness, but, life in general.  If the apology appears heartfelt…a tear sliding down a cheek is always good at this point…and the words don’t sound too rehearsed, the arbiters of forgiveness will sagely nod their collective heads and agree that ‘he should be given another chance.’

          But, poor soul, this will not be the end of it all.  For at least several years, his apology and forgiveness will be held up as model for others to emulate.

          ‘Tiger didn’t apologize for weeks, you know.  He should have done it the moment it came to light.  So John is really a much better person.’

          ‘Yep, he apologized the moment he was found out.’

          ‘Mmmm.  A much more sincere person.’

          All that could be heard from me when this little exchange hit my eardrums was a giant thud as my body hit the floor.  So now even sincerity is to be judged by the speed at which public apologies are dished out.  The fact that the apology was required at all seems to be lost on the politically correct population.

          I’m so sorry for this post.  I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me.  Hey, sincere enough?