Nugget of Wisdom #707

According to Make It magazine; a product of "world leading" news channel CNBC, Harvard researchers report that, "Hi. How are you?" is the worst thing you can say when greeting an associate. They advise that this is too vague and not likely to generate an authentic connection.

Hard to argue that, I say. But what if it's an associate we don't exactly crave an authentic connection with? Maybe it's perfect?

Three superior options, claims Make It:

• “Hi. What are you looking forward to this week?”
• “Hi. You remind me of a celebrity, but I can’t remember which one — who’s someone you relate to?”
• "Hi. What are your three favorite colors?"

Um. Yeah.

Confession: Only two of those were recommended in the article and one of them is my own throw-in. Though I can't imagine using any of them. Also, I find it a bit odd that they issue their number one piece of advice; "be authentic," right before providing canned dialogue.

Oh and here's their actual third suggestion. Ready?

• "Hi. What's your current state of mind?"

Can you imagine?

Pretty sure my response to that would be, "Suddenly cringed the fuck out, actually. Will you excuse me?"

The preceding nugget may or may not contain authentic wisdom. Either way it is not endorsed by the army of monkeys known as Fantasy Writer Guy. 

Everyday Heroes

I was 17 when I met two particular cousins for the first time. Their mom had rescued them from a not-great dad and my uncle took them in as his own, gave them solid love and shelter, this during a 12-year period when I was separated from the whole family at large. All four made me feel extremely welcome (as did the whole excellent family) at a time when unfavorable high school dynamics had turned me socially inward. The cousins, being my age, took that opportunity during our somewhat-brief association, to respond to my demeanor effectively; with a slightly puzzled respect. They marveled at my "mellow" manner and interpreted it, whether mistakenly or strategically, as something rare to be applauded. When introducing me to their friends it was often revealed that the reputation they conceived of me had preceded the introduction, and not that of a "loner", as some kids mistook me as, but as more of a confident outsider, like a tame Clint Eastwood perhaps, minus all the guns and bravado! And though this interpretation was also off the mark, it no-doubt drove my social turnaround, at least initially. They were the first to coax me out of my shell, whether by fluke or by design. I never did ask; never got to speak my loving gratitude.

Meanwhile Aunt K, who I was only just meeting, accepted me at once like family. I remember her saying "You are welcome in our house ANY time!" I've never been specifically told that before or since.

The boy, who struck me as an extremely pleasant and friendly dude, had a tragic knack for trouble of the wrong-friends variety, and gradually dissolved into some underworld apart from my understanding. In hindsight I would gladly go back in time, and decline that gift he gave me, if only I could trade it for the privilege of supporting him instead, and boosting whatever strength he needed so that he did not need the support of his unworthier allies. If only I could have helped tip that equation. Maybe we'd still be friends. I don't even know if he's alive.

"I hope he stays out of trouble now," said his sister to me one summer day in our youth.

'He will!" I said, like it was obvious.

She laughed. "You're so confident!" But I was a fool. I also later assumed she would defeat her breast cancer. She did not.

I was told there was no funeral and not told of a memorial celebration that happened later. I was very disappointed. If it was too late to praise her for her kindness, I wished at least to tell her loved ones.

Years went by, never getting to see Aunt K. I wanted to. I wondered if she was upset with me (and other family) for not supporting her daughter enough. K's absences from small family gatherings were always attributed to the great physical suffering she'd been enduring.

The other day, as I pushed my walker up the ramp to the little handicap bus, I sensed another guest on board. Sometimes we share.

"Hi Rich," she said. I looked up, but already knowing that lovely gritty voice. I was completely disarmed, as if caught in a long long exhale.

"It's so good to see you," I managed to say. Such an understatement. It was so good to see her I could barely form the words.

She did not seem upset with me at all. We caught up in a hurry. I was teary. There was a hug of sorts, as much as possible given the logistics. I got the chance to praise her daughter. It didn't surprise her. She knows her daughter. The pain of losing her... I can't imagine.

But she continues to put one foot in front of the other, as hard as that must be at times, or maybe all the time.

 

Homework? Really?

I've started the medical diet through the bariatric clinic as a weight-losing measure to better prepare me for the surgical program which will create significantly more permanent weight-loss. I'm on robust prescription meal-replacement shakes and non-carbonated, non-caloric fluids and nothing else; nothing resembling food until week thirteen. If I last until then. This seems like torture at times.

The program includes weekly Zoom classes. I'm about to do my homework which I think consisted of three questions. Excuse me while I go find them.

Let me think carefully and answer honestly:

1. To avoid diabetes. To avoid heart disease/heart attacks long enough that my Mom doesn't have to bury me. To increase my chances of being able to properly walk again so I can better pursue my goals rather than giving up on some of them.

2. My mobility, my mortality and... people will not worry so much about me.

3. None. I no longer have any confidence that I will succeed. I am really, really, REALLY not liking this experience. What I would like is some FUCKING FOOD.

What abilities at least give me hope of possible success?

Great question.

My ability to be at peace with my circumstances, which... I have not utilized very well up to now. Can I summon it? Surely I should be able to but I WOULD RATHER EAT.

Going places

Dear Diary:

I thought about getting out of bed eventually, and then finally did. I'd showered and laundered yesterday so today would be a breeze. And only one bus to take. Well, two if you include the little DARTS bus.

I'm in clean clothes with Jim Morrison shirt anchored under my Jabba-the-Hut belly. Got my standard gear, two bottles of wine, birthday card, notebook, pens. Forget the coat; its like summer almost. And forget my Presto (transit) card because it's lost and therefore I must buy a GO ticket from a machine and swiftly because DARTS was 22 minutes late picking me up. But both machines at the GO station reject my purchase attempts (three times each) and I can't seem to stop myself from loudly cursing though I've no wish to draw attention. I cannot miss this GO bus! and at the last minute I'm on it and pleading my case to the driver who lets me in with no ticket.

Another nice man gives up his roomy front seat so I can sit there with walker before me, clinging to it, even with its ornamental "brakes" supposedly engaged, trying to keep it from crashing around the wide aisle as the bus careens around corners.

My folks and I converge at the park-and-ride and they haul me and my gear to brother's house where we celebrate Pops' 76th birthday with booze, nibblies, excellent coffee and of course a hockey game on the toob. And eventually dinner and cake. The niece is two now and starting to gab, and its a joy to finally communicate with this beautiful creature. I gape and snicker at anything she does and she giggles at me delightedly.

The boy is now in grade one and a veritable encyclopedia of animals and dinosaurs. He reads me a simple story about fire trucks before springing into his typical hyper hijinks. Mom, Dad, Grandpa and Nana all take their turns admonishing him and on some occasions he seems hurt. I never do that. Surely we need at least one good-cop; no?

He squeezes onto the couch between my mom and I while she reads a storybook aloud. I make one teasing gesture at him and he's off on a wrestling/boxing campaign against me. I do my best to survive for some time and then beg a reprieve. Dad barks at him. "It's my fault," I say. "I wound him up."

"Stop trying to take the blame for my kids' behaviour!" he says. I didn't know I'd done that before.

The night gets on and the boy wants me to come see his room. I remind him that Uncle has bad legs. He suggests I could at least try. And I do. I climb the damn stairs and arrive at his room. "I have to sit!" I say.

"He points at the comfy armchair; he and mom's reading chair, and says, "I have a chair for people with leg problems!" Later the others would have a great laugh at that.

Soon its time to leave and I struggle and rise. The boy looks sad and presses his cheek to my hip. I cup his shoulder. "I'll see you again soon. Okay buddy?"

The bus home features a more typical arrangement at the front. Two trios of inward-facing seats which are hinged. One set is up, out of use and blocked by bulky luggage. On the other is a young white athletic man, a black woman and a little girl of middling complexion, my niece's age. I cannot possibly sit on my walker seat or leave it alone to become a loose cannon. And I cannot fit it down the narrower aisle toward the rear where there might be a couple available seats. I hesitate and look around.

"I'll move," says the black woman and she jumps up and moves a few strides down to the first empty seat.

"No, I don't want to split you up!"

"It's okay," they say. Their stop is coming up soon. I sit down gratefully and try to rein in my mechanical beast.

"That's what these seats are for," says the guy, nodding at the beast, his daughter on his lap.

I nod at the stroller and say, "Well you've got your burdens too." As if to explain, I then add, "I just came from my brother's place. He has a girl the same age." Dad and daughter have much fun together and I am very happy. These colourish kids strike me very dearly. It's like looking into the future. It's like they carry the flame for a better humanity one day. 

At the end of my ride he wishes me well and I can't resist touching him on the shoulder and saying, "You have a very beautiful family." He thanks me and his expression is that of surprisingly real gratitude.