A Great American

I'd like for you to meet Mr. Eugene Milliken, ordinary man, extraordinary human being.  We met Mr. Milliken a dozen or so years ago when we were looking to build a small shed on our property in Maine and our neighbors heartily recommended him for the job.

He made it clear at the outset that he liked things done the old-fashioned way.  He hated plywood (OSB wasn't even on the radar) and if we wanted to use any in our project, we'd best find someone else for the job.  That was no problem for us as we intended to leave the interior unfinished and I loved the thought of the wide plank floors and the tongue-and-groove decking for the roof.

He arrived on Day 1 with his younger helper, "Junior", in tow.  By the way, Mr. Milliken was 82 years old when work started, Junior was 78.  The pace wasn't the quickest; glaciers move faster.  But along with some pretty impressive woodwork, we were serenaded and told stories and generally enrapt by a born charmer of the highest order.  With a twinkle in his crystal blue eyes and an ever-ready smile, Eugene Milliken evinces the phrase "extraordinarily ordinary".  

Like so many of his generation, Mr. Milliken hails from modest beginnings, he served his country on foreign soil, he wed and raised a family, he worked honestly with his hands, he embraces joy, he eschews sadness (though he has known his share) and he leaves a path brighter than how he found it.  He is dignity and grace incarnate, yet would be the first to object to that notion.  He is an everyman who distinguishes himself in the world one person, one day, one job, one smile-at-a-time.

When I ran into him yesterday at breakfast, it changed the course of my day.  Well into his 90s now, his vision is failing.  His brand new white Chrysler is evidence enough of that, poor thing.  But the radiant beauty of a simple soul still shines bright in a ready smile and twinkling, impish, crystalline blue eyes.  

Eugene Milliken, great American...

"My"

It's just a simple little word, really.  It exists in all languages.  

But the English adjective "my" (and its possessive pronoun equivalent, "mine") can cause endless trouble.  Employing "my" is the linguistic equivalent of peeing on something to mark it as your "turf".  My house, my car, my dog, my partner, my job, my airplane, my position, my seniority.  Of course, the larger implication when we use "my" is that it is "NOT YOURS" (sometimes followed by the word "bitch", for emphasis)! "My" is the ultimate excluder; the epitome of "ranking" on another person or group.  And we employ it liberally to make our most critical point(s).

As a student of language, I'm fascinated by the way we choose words to express an underlying thought process.  Sometimes, those words are precise and pointed.  Other times, they are vague and full of implication, open to interpretation.  It is the latter usage that fascinates me so, as it apparently does others.  "What did s/he mean by that?" is a question that can launch all-out war, either literal or figurative.  "My legacy culture is being lost/ruined by this merger."  Get my drift?  It's not the words, the semantics, that matter as much as it is the underlying thought that propagates them.  "This is something of value to me.  I'm afraid to lose it."  So what do I do?

I defend it.  I extoll it.  I even imbue it with qualities it never actually possessed.  And I OWN it.  "You can't touch this.  It's mine!"

As children, we are taught sharing as a fundamental for growth, much like tying one's own shoelaces.  Selfishness is bad.  Sharing is good.  One assumes that adults all learned and practice this valuable lesson.  Perhaps this assumption is flawed.  Or perhaps we suspend the tenets of sharing in special, very important circumstances, like the loss of something critically important to defining who we are or who we see ourselves as being.

Clearly, "mine" must evolve into "our" before substantive progress can be made toward unity with another individual or group.  How does this happen?

Institutionally, a "clean sweep" approach can detach the strongest tendrils of legacy thinking and identification; a $100K early-out opportunity, for example.  Once those strongest links to memories of past greatness and self-identification are removed, a natural evolution begins.  The "new wave" stakes its legitimate claim on building a new, distinct future.  The voices of the past fade; the voices of the future assert themselves and begin to form a new identity.

Individually, we have the power to be part of this magic, no matter where we find ourselves in the process.  The next time you feel the urge to assert yourself by using "my" or "mine" when discussing something important, try substituting "our" or "ours".  Go ahead, force yourself.  It's practically painless.

Feel good about being part of the solution, even if you were part of the original problem.  (ESPECIALLY if you were part of the problem!)  Take the leap of faith:  OUR very best days lie ahead.

My 24-Hour (Virtual) "Moment of Silence"

It's true.  Our world is getting (virtually) smaller and smaller.  24 hour news and social media put us into direct contact, and often conflict, with those we'd never meet or even be aware of otherwise.  In virtuality, it's possible for us to meet and interact with any/every other human being on the planet; all 7+ billion of them.  Are you ready for that?

My 24 hour "moment of (virtual) silence" was pretty enlightening.  It allowed me the self-imposed freedom to spend my time and energy on something we may be forgetting to do or consciously foregoing.  The lack of virtual stimulation (I also eschewed the 24 hour news stimuli) compelled me to face and interact with only those things that I can touch, i.e. the "real" world.  I'm fond of saying that virtuality is real too and, on many levels, it is.  Those levels are usually the very most negative and anxiety-provoking; online bullying, for example.  But, at least for my generation and older, the tangibles are irreplaceable:  gardening, a relaxing day at the beach, walking the dog, doing the dishes, learning to sail.  I wonder if because we're spending more and more time in virtuality, are the conventional stimuli to our bodies being sacrificed for greater and greater levels of stimuli to our brain? If so, what's the saturation point?

Since declaring my intent to observe a 24hour moment of virtual silence (conceived with my "boonie" hat covering my face while sprawled on a beach chair in the sand at Perdido Key, by the way), I have freed my body (and mind) to reminisce about times gone by.  A sunny drive in the convertible, cleaning and prepping a bed in storage for introduction to its new guest room home, doing the dishes, doing the laundry, yardwork, finalizing plans to purchase and enjoy a sailing dinghy, listening to classical music on the RADIO (yes, radio!) and allowing myself the mental freedom to be immersed in all without the insistent tug of a PED. It feels nostalgic, familiar and a little bit romantic.  Are Gen-X, Gen-Y and Millennials as comforted by the mundane, the quotidien, as the Baby Boomers and older seem to be?  Has my generation robbed its progeny of the ability to enjoy drinking water from a spring, catching lightning bugs, picnicking on a mountaintop, removing bats from the cabin, hunting 4-leaf clovers, etc?  If so, are there generational equivalents?  Video games and chat rooms?

I realize that I'm probably asking the same questions that eons of humanity have asked when they reach "a certain age", curious about the motivations and dubious about the chances of those who follow.  But OUR generation is seeing those changes at "warp speed", aren't we?  The innovations of the last half-century eclipse those of the previous few millennia in terms of wow factor and individual empowerment.  Is the brain ready?

I don't know the answer.  And the not-knowing scares me more than a little.  Perhaps a touch more yardwork will yield a clue!  I know this much, my general feeling of anxiety today is much, much less than yesterday.  That can't be just a coincidence. 

"Make It Work!"

The immortal words of Tim Gunn on Bravo's PROJECT RUNWAY resonate in my head after reading a comment or two on a recent post in The Way FORWARD > > > >.  Whenever the dapper host is looking over the work-in-progress of a fashion design wannabe whose output comes up short, his brow furrows and eyes intensify as he delivers sage advice, "Make it work!".  Unfortunately, "Make it work!" is usually just a precursor to hostess Heidi Klum delivering HER signature line, "I'm sorry.  You're aussed!"

In my little world, a co-Admin colleague on our social media group nominated a group of co-workers at one of my airline-employer's larger hubs to receive our group's peer award.  It seems that an operational upset threatened several departing flights with lengthy delays and/or cancellations, which would have impacted a significant number of our customers.  The colleagues being nominated "stepped outside" their normally prescribed roles to accomplish the feat of saving the flights from disaster and promoting customer goodwill.  To at least half of our group's membership, these were laudable accomplishments, deserving of praise and recognition, regardless of means.  To the other half, it represented egregious threats to the "scope" clauses of several work groups' collective bargaining agreements (contracts), clauses that were won at a cost and are to be protected, as they protect the jobs of the workers who won them.  While laudable, their efforts threatened the hard-won concepts of scope.

This episode is prime evidence of the CULTURE CLASH that has been and will continue to be one of the primary impediments to the successful, harmonious integration of two great, yet very divergent, airlines.  Values conflict is the basis of so much of the acrimony lobbed by one group at the other, often with great gusto.  Values are fundamental to who and what we are.  They define us.  They are how WE define right vs. wrong.  So how can two groups, performing the same job at two different aviation companies who've recently merged, settle on a new set of group values when the ones they each bring to the merger are as different as black and white?  Who is RIGHT and who is WRONG?  It's not nearly that easy!  (With apologies to Tim Gunn.  What makes for good TV, often doesn't work in the real world.)

Each of us has his/her own values system by which we make choices:  our RIGHT and WRONG.  We reduce and distill every situation as much as we can so that we can determine whether that situation fits our definition of being right or wrong.  It starts early with a slap of the hand or a swat to the rear and continues through elementary education and on into adulthood.  Eventually, our individual values system is set and we see the world through it.  Unfortunately, reality does not conform to our way of seeing it.  So it's possible for two individuals who are both prescient and concerned to reach conflicting conclusions about what is right or wrong in pretty much ANY given situation.  The key is to see the "shades of gray" in a world made artificially "black and white".  So, how do we try to follow Tim Gunn's advice and make it work?

This requires finesse and self-control.  It requires "quieting" our inherent values system when a potentially volatile scenario arises.  It requires CONTROLLED RESPONSE when the "hot potato" is thrown your way, even if that response means stepping out of the way and letting the potato hit the ground.  When you have no good play to make, don't make one!  This is the first step, because in the game of "hot potato", the premise is that you will keep the potato in play, right?  So what happens when you've committed to play and purposefully let the potato drop?  You cause the other player to ask, "why did s/he do that?"  

The ONLY way to resolve such fundamental differences in how we perceive things so differently is to pay each other respect, to understand that we see things differently for very important reasons.  Since I came from the sCO culture, I'm much more likely to value "working together" over any other approach, including scope.  Since you come from the sUA culture, you're much more likely to value scope over any other approach, including "working together".  The fact that one of those two approaches seems to have prevailed in management at our merged company further complicates things.  "Will I be forced to abandon my long-held values system on this issue just because 'the other side' is in power now?"  "How can I make sure that my perfectly valid point-of-view is heeded and valued in the future merged company?"

The key is respect.  We can demonstrate our respect for each other and one another's culture by listening thoughtfully and patiently and by responding with care.  An active listener actually HEARS what's being said rather than using the other side's time to talk as an opportunity to form a rebuttal and reinforce his/her own point.  An active listener may not always respond immediately.  And when s/he does, that response will come from the heart, not the mouth.

"I value you and respect your history.  Your here and now are just as valid as mine and I want to understand why you see things differently than I do."

Is that so hard?

"...where everybody knows your name"

Well, maybe not everybody.  But Linda certainly does!

For lack of a proper title, let's call Linda the "Dining Room Hostess" at the Chik-Fil-A on Howell Mill Road just off of I75N in Atlanta.  She greets you when you enter with a smile and a "How y'all doin'?" that can turn your day around.  "Ms. Reece, I haven't seen you in a while are you doing okay?  I see you got your son with ya today.  Would y'all like a table or a booth?  Looks like you're puttin a little weight back on."  There's never any question about whether or not we will acquiesce to Linda's quiet demand to "see to us".  That's just how it is and how it will be.  It's as comfortable and natural as visiting my Grandmother's home, growing up.  There's also the same warmth of feeling accompanying every visit.

"I haven't seen y'all in a while, is everybody doin' OK?"  By everybody, Linda means my brother, David, my niece, Jennifer, and any other person of significance who may have accompanied us to lunch at her table over the last 5 years or so, most of whom she remembers by name.  Linda has been a fixture at this Chik-Fil-A since we began visiting regularly with my Dad, at the beginning of treatment for the cancer that ultimately took his life.  NO VISIT to Piedmont West began until we had been properly fed, both literally and figuratively, at Linda's table.  Of course, you can get a Chik-Fil-A lunch just about anywhere these days but not one accompanied by the unique attention that Linda provides.

Over the years, she's been with us during our triumphant mornings of "remission", during our turbulent mornings of "not knowing what's next" and, ultimately, during the morning where we received the ultimate news:  "There's nothing more we can do."  And every morning was the same at Linda's table; all smiles and love, a hug hello and a hug good-bye.  She has been our rock in triumph and tragedy.  What prepares a person for such a pivotal role in the lives of complete strangers?  The truth is, I don't know.

Linda is a lady of color who appears to be somewhat older than I (I'm 54), so she was raised in and lives in Atlanta during a period of great metamorphosis.  I can't imagine that her life has been all roses and sunshine, yet she gives no outward sign that it's been anything other than roses and sunshine.  Her smile and care are genuine.  When learning that Dad was having a particularly bad patch in his disease process, she expressed herself the way only a genuine person can:  she became very quiet, moved to my Dad's side and put her arm around him in caring embrace.  That embrace is a treasured memory.  Coming from Linda, from outside our family's little circle, it meant so much.

On a follow-up visit to our table today, Linda asked if we had any plans for the Labor Day weekend.  Mom and I were a little somber because Dad died on Labor Day, two years ago.  Before Mom had a chance, I interjected, "Well, Linda, it's kind of low-key for us.  Dad passed on Labor Day."  Immediately, I wanted to take it back.  The expression on her face said it all.  Linda's face lost its animation, sorrowful that she might have caused us hurt.  It's the kind of thing one expects from a friend, from someone who really cares about you.  She does.

During lunch, I noticed that Linda has many "regulars", many friends whose names she doesn't forget.  And while I have seen others express their appreciation for Linda as my family has over the years (my brother and I learned after the fact that we had both been generously expressing it for a while!), there's nothing that adequately compensates another human being for their expression of humanity.  Gratuities don't do it.  "Thank you" isn't enough.  The ready return of a warm hug is a start, I guess.  What gets that job done, exactly?

Now that Mom sees the same hematological oncologist for her blood disorder who treated my Dad's cancer, we continue our tradition of stopping for an early lunch with Linda.  I remember thinking before we entered this time, "what if Linda isn't here anymore?"  And, for a moment, I felt the oddest sensation, the sensation of the potential for unforeseen loss.  Do I ever instill that feeling in ANYONE?  ANYWHERE?  for ANY REASON?  

How could we possibly see Dr. Mininberg without first seeing Linda?

"Have a safe trip home, Mr. Reece!"

What's your theory?

Why doesn't "normal" or "average" get the job done like it once did?  More and more it seems that, in order to get our attention, an event or issue must be over the top, sensational, extraordinary; with social media posts being a prime example.  

I think back to the utter contentment of my grandparents who raised 8 children (of 10; 2 died in infancy) on a subsistence farm in the rural south during the Depression and celebrated 73 years of marriage together before death separated them.  They are my Thoreauvian idyll of contentment.  On late winter afternoons/early evenings when the dark came early, we would stop to visit them at home, without notice.  The way we would find them, consistently, still inspires me:  their chairs were pulled close, side-by-side, by the dwindling flames of the fire.  The TV and radio were off.  All was silent except for the occasional whip and whistle of the wind against the woefully uninsulatetd windows or an occasional POP from the fire.  The room was dark except for the flickering light of the flame and a small lamp, lit on a table in the corner.  They were so deep in conversation that they often didn't know we'd come until we opened the door.

I've always wondered, "what were they talking about when we interrupted?"

How Much Should One Pay for 10,000+ Photos?

The dreaded visit to THE GEEK SQUAD...

I knew the hard drive on my SONY VAIO notebook was failing. That's why I replaced that computer with a large, inexpensive Windows 8 HP notebook before it was too late. I dutifully transferred my backed up data files then transferred my 10,000+ photos (many laboriously digitally acquired via flatbed scanner).  I did it all just in time!

Or so I thought. The photos didn't transfer. The drive died at the next power up. SONY charged $50, all the while assuring me, "we can solve your problem."  (Which they did if my problem was having $50 too much money!)

So, here I am with lil Honey, the Best Buy Geek, my Hail Mary pass. 

I've just been informed that the files "won't populate" (a $99.99 fix for media backup), so the drive must be "sent off" for data recovery:  minimum charge $500 for level 1 and over $1000 for level 3. 

My choice?  

Level "0" for $0.00!

I shake lil Homey's hand, thank him for trying, tuck my tail between my legs and slink away.