Sunday, July 28, 2013

Answer the door...

“Sometimes you need lines,
sometimes you need to let it flow.”
– Lindstrøm, B., Lessons from Taxi Cabs

“How many rooms do you cover?” I asked  “Somewhere between 18 and 20,” she replied.

I had been brushing my teeth when the knock came to the door.  “House keeping!” came a distant sounding voice.  The doors on some hotel rooms are so sturdy; one needs to make a lot of noise to be heard by guests walking down the hall.  Not surprisingly, it takes a bit of volume to be heard inside from the outside.  The knock, of course, was unmistakable.

Mid-stroke with a mouth full of cleansing foam, I glanced out the security peep hole to see, a small, compact African American woman with a cart full of towels, linens, soap, shampoo bottles and skin cream – the latter helpful the dry air of the rocky mountain ‘mile high’ city of Denver.

I am always a little uncertain how to behave when I’m in the room doing things and that knock comes to the door – “House Keeping!”  It is not that I am concerned about ‘missing the mark’ with bad behavior, I just wonder whether the person coming into the room is uncomfortable.  You know, I project her lack of comfort with me, and wanting to act and appear to be non-threatening, I become uncomfortable.  I’m not sure any of what I just said makes sense, but it does to me, so I suspect that’s what counts – right?

Sidebar, but in context…
I don’t know about you, but one of the things my mother told me as a youngster was to wear clean underwear, because she would say, “You never know when you might find yourself in an accident.”  I’m sure her motive for helping me appreciate good personal hygiene was admirable, but so far in the sixty-six years of roaming this planet, I have discovered a lot of reasons to wear clean underwear completely unrelated to being worried about finding myself in an accident.

While the preceding may seem unrelated to anything, another thing my mum taught me was to make my bed…OR any bed I had slept in when spending the night in someone else’s home.  It’s just a habit.  This habit carries over to hotel rooms.  When I get up in the morning, before heading out, I make the bed.

Ready to work…
After rinsing out my mouth and retreating to the furthest part of the room putting her between me and the open door – a useful, threat reducing practice – she looked a bit perplexed that one of her primary tasks had already been done – the bed was made!  By now I had sat down at the desk to create the illusion of being smaller – another useful technique.

I know people who do this for a living must need to be prepared for almost anything when a guest is in the room.  Chatting can be helpful.

“What’s your name?” I said.  “Anna,” she replied.

“How many rooms do you cover?” I inquired  “Somewhere between 18 and 20,” she responded.  “How long have you been doing this?” I continued.  She looked over and smiled and said, “About eleven months and I am grateful for the work.”

“You got kids?” 

“Yes sir, I have two – a boy and a girl.”  She answered.  “Do they love their momma?”  I pursued.  “Yes they do!” she said as her smile broadened.

The small talk continued…she had a few extra minutes because the bed was made, I didn’t need fresh towels – you know ‘help the planet’ by hanging them up on the shower curtain rod and reusing them – only a little more shampoo.

The brief chat drifted to what a great day it looked like it was going to be and how grateful we were that we had something to do in our lives that helped us survive.  We both knew, however, that these brief moments were really what we should be grateful for.  Two human beings…different races…different cultures…different genders…different life experiences and educations…and yet as I am so often reminded…we found a sweet spot in that elusive connection that happens in those unexpected, but gratifying moments.

The day moved on…
The conference I had come to attend went very well.  The work begun before coming, the projects in progress and the optimism of future growth were all very satisfying.  Interaction with my colleagues was, as usual, enjoyable, as I take great pleasure in being around these folk.

BUT this day began with Anna, someone I had never seen before…someone I will, in all probability never see again…Ted and Anna…the ripples from which carried through the day to everyone I met.  The buoyancy of the morning enhanced by that gentle spirit and engaging smile I encountered was an opportunity not to be missed. 

The real knock on the door, however, was not housekeeping, it was the small harmonic tug on the strings of my heart.  I could have asked her to come back later…but I have learned that much can be missed when you dismiss someone or something – when you say no, there is no Anna…no life promoting small talk…no engaging smile.  Yep, answering that knock can help make the day.


“Housekeeping!”

- ted

Sunday, July 21, 2013

Random acts...

“If you love somebody, you had
better hurry up and tell them.”
– Author Unknown

He was riding his bicycle on the service road just off Interstate 5 when a car left the freeway, came down an embankment and hit him straight on! 

What are the odds??

I’m not sure what the fellow was thinking when he got up that morning and headed out for a ride.  I am not sure what the woman driver was thinking as she headed north on the interstate.  I am sure, neither one of them expected to find themselves in proximity under any circumstances! 

Maybe the guy was thinking about work, or breakfast, or his family or the music he was listening to…the woman hurrying to work or the store or coming home from dropping off her kids…whatever.  Of all the things these two people could have conceived, in their wildest imaginations…the darkest places in the depths of their brains…this…this would NEVER have emerged into their consciousness, and yet here it was…their lives would never be the same, and I mourned for them.

Why them?  Why then?  Why not someone else?  Why not somewhere else?  Why not one minute sooner or one minute later?  The unpredictability and random acts of life exceed storylines even the most creative writers could dig out of the recesses of their minds.

This could have been anyone…it could have not happened at all.

A memory…
It was Vietnam…the early fall of 1969 and by now after nearly a year of my tour had passed.  I had found ways to compensate for being in this strange land.  A prime example was learning to sleep.  I had self-talked that I was safe, that if something happened it would be to someone else.  Fantasy?  Sure, but one does whatever it takes to normalize in the most abnormal of situations. 

I was an air traffic controller in the military and had adapted to the unnatural sounds of airplanes landing on a runway not more than 200 yards (183m) from my ‘hooch’ – the name for the plywood barracks in which we were housed.  Sleeping was also challenged during the rainy season.  There is little louder than the mind numbing decibels of monsoon rain hitting a metal roof.  One had to practically yell to hold a conversation with the person next to them.  Even then I found a way to touch that gracious ‘gift of the gods’ and fall asleep.

It is said there are two categories of people in this world…those that move dirt, and those that supervise the dirt movers.  In Vietnam, we moved a lot of dirt.

It had been a late night, and I had spent the evening at the non-commissioned officer’s (NCO) club with my best friend Bob – I slept hard.

They said the hooch took a direct hit…the navy commander probably hadn’t heard a thing and had been killed outright.  They said it was his last day ‘in country.’  He was preparing to head home…no mission to fly, but a flight to catch departing this airfield for the last, “Thank God Almighty” time.

I wondered about that man and wrote some of these thoughts then…

What had he been thinking as he counted down the days.  I wondered how many missions he had flown and how many times his life had been at risk…I wondered how often he had thanked God for a safe return to base and the cold beer in his hand to celebrate another day burned from the calendar. 

There were rituals…
We did this you know…we counted days…we celebrated when there were fewer left than there had been to stay – at first the fear of too many days ahead, with too many chances…chances for something bad to happen; then too few days with heightened sense of excitement that home grew closer, but fear that it would be snatched away at the last minute.  Even getting on that plane with 200 plus other dirty smelly GIs at the end of the tour, ran the risk of being shot down as the aircraft took off.  No sir, no sigh of relief until the airspace of the Republic of South Vietnam was somewhere in the distance behind us.

Continuing the thought…
In the early morning hours, the navy commander’s life was snatched away at the last minute…he would not be catching that flight home…at least not the one he had been anticipating.  The string of life severed from ‘his instrument’ in the universe, no longer resonating in measured harmony with anything…with anyone.

I wondered what he might have been thinking as he got up that morning.  Maybe he had been dreaming of his family and how great it would be to breathe the fresh and familiar air of his home.  Maybe he was sitting on the edge of his bed putting on his boots, in uniform for the last time…looking forward.

I didn’t hear the rockets.  I had learned to sleep…sleep in this ‘Alice Through the Looking Glass’ country, through most anything.  Me?  I was dreaming about my family at home and how great it would be to breathe the fresh and familiar air of my hometown.  On that morning I sat on the edge of the bed, put on my jungle boots, in uniform for yet another day and headed for breakfast. 

When I heard the news, I was struck by the complete and utter unpredictability of life…He was gone, his family’s lives would never be the same, and I mourned him. 

The car did not come off the freeway that year and hit my bicycle…it hit that navy commander's.

I wondered, why his hooch, not mine?  Why him, not me?  Why not later or sooner? 


Each of us has stories of the randomness of life…the unexpected moments that change everything.  Not all are lethal…many act to change life in the most remarkable of ways…These kinds of things, however, remind me to appreciate and try and be as much in the ‘moment’ as possible…because one never knows…

- ted

Sunday, July 14, 2013

The phantom five...

“Men do not quit playing because they grow old;
they grow old because they quit playing”
– Oliver Wendell Holmes

It might have been 2006…maybe 2007…I am uncertain. 

What I am certain about is that they were children then, by now they would be a young adults.  Nina (as in singer Nina Simone) and Ella (as in Fitzgerald – also a very famous singer)…in fact, I couldn’t wait to see them.

It began like this…
In 1996, I was given my first opportunity to speak overseas.  It is one of those events in life about which you remember almost everything.  It had begun in the back of a ballroom of the La Jolla Marriot Hotel, in the fall of 1994.  The lighting in the room was muted, a small circle of chairs gathered, and some quiet conversation about a conference that would take place in Würzburg, Germany in March of 1996.  The fellow leading the conversation was setting up the meeting and he invited me to speak.  With little hesitation, I accepted.

With the exception of Vietnam in the late 1960s, this would be my first adventure overseas.  In contrast to that experience, nobody in Germany had an interest in ending my life prematurely! 

As the flight came in for a landing in Frankfurt, it struck me this was really happening.  From there it would be a train to Würzburg and the Congress – I was excited!

It was there I met Chris, an energetic physical therapist (physiotherapist) working for the company sponsoring the meeting.  It became clear this young woman was key to the conference success.  She was everywhere…checking everything…eyes on all of it.  All went well, and I thought I had reached the peak of my professional career.  I wanted to savor every moment of everything.  Little did I know this was just the beginning…

Many years and conferences passed…
A decade or so later, I was in Zürich to visit my friend Werner on business. While there, Chris and her hubby David invited me to dinner in their home.  By now they were parents of two delightful young girls – Nina and Ella – both with sparkling eyes that reflected a keen intelligence taken from their parents.

I genuinely love children.  There are so many things about them that seize the imagination.  Often, it is difficult to make a connection when time is brief, so I have developed a couple of techniques that work well. I crouch down so that I am at eye level with them.  This is helpful because I am a tall fellow and it is easy to intimidate youngsters by size alone.  The second, and most successful over the years is “The Phantom five!”  I am uncertain how it ended up in my toolkit.  Perhaps it came out of my own mind or from someone skilled in working with youngsters.  All I know is that it is the best thing I have ever discovered when connecting with children.

It works like this…
“Give me five,” says one person to the other, and they slap open palms together.  Young kids like to do this, old folks sometimes too…

My variation is called the “Phantom five.”  Sometimes it takes a little non-threatening encouragement…usually by getting down to eye-level.

I hold out one finger and say, “Just for fun, give me one.”  The youngster puts out one finger and I slap it gently with my single finger.

Then I hold out two fingers and say, “Just for you, give me two.”  A two finger slap follows. 

The progression continues… 
“Just for me, give me three.”  “Just once more, give me four.”  “Man alive, give me five.”

One would think that’s the end, because by now the child is engaged and both parties are having fun.  Ah, not so…the best part is yet to come.  The BEST part is the “Phantom five.” 

This is a little harder to explain in words, but you say, “Now give me the Phantom five!” and raise your hand as though you were going to give a ‘high five.’  BUT…and this IS the best part…you miss the child’s hand in a dramatic fashion!  Get it??  You miss hands...the slap doesn’t actually happen…you swish the air!  It is the PHANTOM FIVE!  

At first, the youngster generally looks a little confused, but then you repeat just the Phantom five and say something like, “Isn’t that great!!”  For some unknown reason, they catch on and almost always smile broadly…maybe if you’re lucky they laugh a little.

By now they usually want to do it a couple more times from “Just for fun, give me one” through the “Now give me the Phantom five.”  The energy you give to the slap that whooshes through the air is what they can’t wait to get to!  Almost without fail it creates a connection and a new friend has been made. 

It still works…
Three weeks ago I was in Zürich again.  Knowing I would be there, I emailed David and Chris to see if we might have dinner.  I wouldn’t be alone.  A dear family friend from Detroit, now living in Stuttgart, Germany drove down to spend a day exploring the city.  They invited both of us over for dinner. 

Nina no longer lives at home, and Ella had a busy schedule the day we planned come, but they both made it – Nina in her early twenties and Ella in her late teens.  Nina came first and I kind of awkwardly did just the last part of the air swishing “Phantom five.” When Ella arrived from a strenuous bike ride home, I was better and we did the whole deal…both had remembered it.

Dinner was simply wonderful and the hospitality could not have been better.  We had rich and lively conversation, and to the credit of these amazing young women, they stayed up, completely engaged in the discussions, until 12:30AM.  As we were leaving Ella and I did the Phantom five once more.  “Do it again,” she said as if she wanted to get it clearly in her mind.  We did, both smiled, laughed and I felt the connection we had discovered several years before.  The neural pathways laid down remained and there was a reward for both of us.  I suspect we will find a spot for this little ritual when we see one another again.  I am in hopes it will become a part of her toolkit too.

It’s about the moment isn’t it?
I am uncertain when I will see my Swiss friends again…one never knows.  I know this, however, the connection with the girls was (is) still alive.  There is something else about that “Phantom five” I usually don’t confess.  The kids think it is for them, because it makes them smile and laugh, and it surely provides for a quick pathway for openness and trust. 

In truth, however, I do it for me.  There is little in life that gives me more pleasure than connecting with a young mind devoid of so many of the burdens life brings with it.  Moments with children remind me of the child I have inside of me and the importance of keeping it alive, open and engaged.  They remind me, not of the paradise lost of adulthood and maturity, but of the hope and energy of a life yet to be lived – mine!


“Hey, just for fun give me one…”

- ted

Sunday, July 7, 2013

Scratches on paper...

"It's hard to remember what life feels like," he said.  
"Why don't you write those feelings down?" she gently replied.
- anonymous

“I’ll probably take a job that is not optimal until she finishes her residency,” he said.

The reality finally hit home…the seasons had changed…she was gone.

Gone is really too strong a term, for she really hasn’t ‘gone’ anywhere.  It’s just that the world in which she lives is less inclusive of me.

Stage one...
When Mariah was a little girl, she was full of life and unfocused energy…easily distracted with all the new things around her.  It was a miraculous gift to see this child, sired by another, born and growing in our home.  My niece, as Renée Zellweger’s character in the film Jerry McGuire said, “(she) had me at hello…”  In truth, it was long before hello.  It was as if it had always been.

Stage two…
In the late teens and twenties, she found focus, and like a young racehorse, explored her capacities…her abilities…her sense of the developing world in her mind.  She had the greatest of mentors…a mother, a single parent who dedicated her life to share the things she knew with the daughter she so deeply loved.  Like a connoisseur of fine wine, she seemed to have the knack to provide the appropriate things at just the right times - what to put into the receptacle of this young girl’s mind…to keep her full, yet not overwhelmed.

That influence and infusion of curiosity, intellect, passion, ‘peripheral vision,’ compassion and a keen sense of justice oozed from the pores of her mother and were absorbed by this child…this extension of her…this brilliant light to whom she was passing the torch.

I’m not sure my sister consciously knew she would not see this young woman emerge into adulthood.  I’m not sure she had any idea of the gathering metabolic storm that was brewing somewhere deep within the recesses of her mind, BUT she did have an urgency…a palpable sense of the need to download what she knew about life to this youngster as quickly and digestibly as possible.  I am not sure she knew she would not enter the ‘promised land’ of grandchildren and the satisfaction that she had been a good and faithful mother, for her journey took a different path into the lethal currents and deadly waterfalls of Alzheimer’s….suddenly she was gone.

Stage three…
The thirties have now arrived and the young woman is pursuing her passion to be a servant to others.  She didn’t take the easiest of paths, but through medicine she felt she could have the greatest impact.  So, she left her work, entered school once again after several years of absence and tenaciously took hold of the process necessary to fulfill her calling – there was no looking back.  In a year, she will have a ticket permitting her residency, and the beat goes on…

Yesterday, she was my niece, full of life…sometimes conflicted…enormously talented with a world in front of her…and she was mine.  While not her biologic father, I filled that role in her life – the male to whom she could come when there was a little too much lightening in the sky.

This is now…
Today, she is still my niece, still full of life…much less conflicted (or maybe more so by life’s greater complexity)…enormously talented and creating a world in front of her, but she is no longer mine.  Well, in truth, she still is mine in my heart, for I have had no other that has reached so deeply into all that I have to give. 

Now, however, there is another man in her life…the natural order…someone to whom she will come when there is a little too much lightening in the sky.  There have been others…this is different.  You know, different in the way you recognize someone has gone through a fundamental change…the voice…the look…the sensibility of life.  Maturity…yeah, that’s the word I was looking for…a new level of maturity…the chrysalis has burst…the adventure of flight ahead!

I saw her in a different light when she came home this time.  It was not that she loves me less – there is certainty in that.  It is that a new bonding has developed as it should, and in spite of my natural inclination to be protective…it is the process of life; one I embrace.  It is just different…

Nothing new under the sun…
I know this situation has been experienced many times as fathers (surrogate or otherwise) have watched their daughters shift focus, and slip into the arms of another.  Having said that…it's awkward...it is my first time!

Life is always moving and growing or it is dying, isn't it?  There is no middle ground…no place to find comfort from the storm.  As it is impossible for something to come from nothing, one can never reclaim departed time – accept the reality of life and change, or suffer the unwinnable frustration of attempting to regain the “…once was…” Look forward, or suffer the death of a thousand cuts called ‘yesterday.’  No change?  No life!  It’s just that simple!

As this began...
“I’ll probably take a job that is not optimal until she finishes her residency…”

Yes indeed….

- ted