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Cleanup in Aisle Three!

~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment

Have you done anything stupid recently?  Yeah, me too…‘This cocoa isn’t hot!  I’ll have to heat it up again.”  The words were spoken with a little disgust, but also with confidence.  I have become a believer in modern appliances and the microwave oven is one of the most revolutionary advances in helping lazy men that I am aware of.   For instance, this time I knew that placing the mug back in the microwave for a minute would remedy the problem.   Lukewarm cocoa?  No problem!  Well, maybe a small one.  You see, I had already placed those wonderful little marshmallows on the top and I didn’t bother to remove them for the reheating process.  Not a good decision….

Okay, not a disaster, not even close to a calamity, but still an annoyance, with most of the acrimony aimed at myself.  The Lovely Lady had even warned me, “Maybe not a great idea…”, but I thought that if it had been a really bad idea, she would have told me to stop, so the hint swooshed right over my head.  Wait!  Do you think I could blame this mess on her?  Was it, in fact, her fault and not mine at all?

No, I had only myself to blame.  I tend to do that, though.  You know, just blunder through life.  Good advice abounds, but my 50-some year old brain still reacts with the two year old attitude, “I can do it myself!”  How is it possible that after all these years of living on this earth, I still don’t have the reasoning ability to perceive a good suggestion when I hear it?  I like to say that I have perseverance, but I think it’s actually just good old-fashioned stubbornness.  I even used to think that it was a family trait which was passed on to me from my father, but I see it in evidence everywhere I look.  Yeah, Dad is stubborn, but it’s a quality that most of us share.  It just demonstrates itself in different ways.

I watch my grandchildren, old enough to reason, but still young enough to think the world revolves around them, throw tantrums, simply because they’ve been asked to accomplish a task they’ve done numerous times before.  The frustration for me is that in their completely irrational actions, I see myself.  Oh, no screaming, no tears, not even any head-butting the back of the seat I’m sitting on, but I know beyond any shadow of doubt that I throw my tantrums too, just in a much more sophisticated manner.  I get what I want with manipulation, deliberation, and rationalization, but I get my way.  This, in spite of the knowledge I have that others around me have my best interest at heart.

You see, it’s in our nature to want to do things our way.  It has been so from the beginning of recorded history, commencing with the parents of the human race, and continuing down without interruption (except once) since then.  I’m just thankful that we have second, and third, and even fourth chances.  Our Father’s grace is inexhaustible, unlike our own as parents.  A friend passed on an encouraging message today which used the phrase “…guiltless be your heart.”  I know my heart and “guiltless” doesn’t describe it.  Thanks to God though, “forgiven” does.  My stubbornness and selfishness are covered.  The messes I’ve made have all been cleaned up.   Tomorrow will be a new day for me to experience His fresh blessings and renewed opportunities.  And, not only for me, but just as much for you too.

Let’s make a start together.  Oh, and though you’ll probably be tempted to try it yourself, the marshmallows in the microwave?  Probably not a great idea.  You know, what she said…

“Relying on God has to begin all over again every day, as if nothing had yet been done”
(C. S. Lewis)

Choked Up

~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment

“Too bad that guy can’t sing very well at all,”  came the lightly sarcastic comment from the Lovely Lady today as the CD version of David Phelps’ “Nessun Dorma” came to an end.  Setting the table with my back to her, I couldn’t make a reply, since I was afraid that I would embarrass myself by crying as I spoke.  I’ve always been like that.  Music evokes emotion that I don’t know is inside me.  I can watch a horribly sad scene in a movie without the slightest hint of discomfort, but add a couple of violins and I have to surreptitiously wipe the tears away, when I think no one is watching.  I hear Chris Rice’s “Untitled Hymn” on the car radio and have to pull over to avoid causing an accident. 

The scene was repeated this evening, as I sat at the computer, checking my emails for the day.  A friend had sent a link to a video of a recent incident at the Philadelphia Macy’s store.  The event was described as a “Random Act Of Culture” (click on the link to watch it yourself).  As the huge Wanamaker pipe organ roared out, 650 individuals from the Opera Company of Philadelphia and a number of other organizations gathered in the central atrium and broke into the “Hallelujah Chorus” from Handel’s “Messiah”.  The Lovely Lady heard the music and asked me why I was listening to that particular song (it’s not Christmas yet, you know) and again, I couldn’t answer for fear of my voice cracking.  

What is it about music that makes an ordinarily almost-sane man weep like a child?  How is it that random notes, which were arranged together and coupled with words and written on a page two hundred fifty years ago, can have the power today to move huge groups of people to spontaneous demonstrations of exultation, when performed by talented musicians?  I will freely admit that, after a lifetime of making music and being around musicians, I still have no idea what causes this phenomenon.  And, I’m not sure that I want to know.

I understand a fair amount about chord construction, key signatures, and rhythm.  We call this theory, and maybe there’s a reason it’s called that (beyond the obvious).  A quick check of Google sources will demonstrate that all the scientific  investigation up to the present has not been able to find any answer as to why we are moved emotionally when we hear different types of music.  I can’t speak categorically, but my suspicion is that they won’t ever be able to answer that question.  There are just some things that can’t be contained in a formula, can’t actually be held in your hand, but they just are.

Most of the time I spend at my untidy desk, I’m listening to music.  I’m moved by it, inspired by it, and sometimes, my work comes to a screeching halt as I am captivated by it.  While much of the beauty of life is visual;  Gorgeous, awe-inspiring mountain crags, or the white sands and roaring, roiling surf of the seashore, or the majesty of sprawling, verdant forests, I am delighted to know that we can travel in our spirits to a beautiful, enchanted place without ever leaving our drab, dingy workplaces.  We are moved by the timeless grace of one of God’s best gifts to mankind, the melodies and harmonies, both instrumental and vocal, that make up what we so simply call music.  Would that all art was so simple, yet so eloquent.

Oh, and if you tell the Lovely Lady that I get all choked up over music, I’ll deny it.  I’ve got to protect my macho image, you know.  She still thinks I’m the strong, silent type, and it might disappoint her to discover that I’m actually sensitive and artsy.  Let’s just keep this to ourselves, okay? 

“Music and rhythm find their way into the secret places of the soul.”
(Plato)

Shifting Gears

~ Paul Phillips ~ 1 Comment

“I think I may quit this truck driving thing and start doing a stand-up comic/piano player act.”  The gentleman, whom I would describe as a senior citizen (anyone over ten years older than I) spoke the words in all seriousness as we talked in the store today.  I thought the statement might be part of his act and said, “Well, we’ll have to raise the piano keyboard first, or it will be a sit-down comic act,” but he wasn’t joking.  Just in the last three months, he’s put 30,000 miles in for the trucking company he’s now quitting, and he’s tired of that gig.  He loves music and is quick with the jokes, so he thinks he’s got a chance.  I say more power to him.

I have nothing but admiration for people who are willing to make a new start, take a gamble, and do what they have always wanted to do.  My own father left the Navy at 30 years old, not because he wanted to, but with an honorable discharge for health reasons (there’s a story there I may tell someday).  He went to work for the Post Office, working his way up through the ranks, only to leave that job at age 45, having to take a disability retirement because of contaminants there which nearly killed him.  Many men would have been happy to draw their pensions, golfing and fishing their way through their declining years, but Dad saw an opportunity to do what he had always had a burning desire to do and took it.  He applied to his church leaders for ordination as a pastor and started preaching full time.  Thirty-five years later, at 80 years of age, he’s still preaching full-time and will, if he has his way, almost certainly continue until he dies.

Adaptability.  What a great gift to have in your life.  The capacity to turn on a dime, exchanging one set of skills for another and accomplishing a completely different mission than the one you started with.  I’m not sure that I’m gifted in that way.  I’ve never had to do such a U-turn.  Oh, sure, I’ve had to seek out alternative methods for accomplishing my tasks.  We all do that.  Plan A doesn’t work out so we move to Plan B.  That’s not the same thing.  I’m referring, not to a Y in the highway, but to a dead end, compelling one to find a completely disparate route through life.  I say I’m not sure I’m gifted in that way, but I’ve never really had to find out.  I’m hoping I never do.

I jokingly say, once in awhile, that I’m still not sure what I’m going to do when I grow up.  Some days, I’m really tempted to take a stab at the bum idea, but I like regular meals and the comfort of a bed too much to go after that.  In reality, I’m hoping that the Good Lord will just let me keep doing what I’m doing, making small adjustments to keep things fresh, until the time I can’t do it anymore.  No stand-up comedy for me (you’d only groan at my jokes).  I’m also pretty sure that I wouldn’t do very well as a pastor.  I like to preach, but somehow, I get the idea that pastors work on other days besides Sundays.  

“Circumstances are the rulers of the weak, they are but the instruments of the wise.”
(Samuel Lover 1797-1868 Irish Songwriter and novelist)

Staying focused

~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment

“Dear Mr. Phillips,”  the note began.  It wasn’t a solicitation from Publisher’s Clearinghouse, but a real note and that, coupled with the formal greeting, should have started the brain working.  But I took no notice of the “Mister” thing and went right on reading.  The young university student wanted to photograph me.  An assignment for a class, she said.  They needed “environmental photos” of people at work.  She was a music lover, so the music store seemed logical to her.  Maybe I could do a repair on her guitar while she shot pictures.

I love pictures, especially ones with me in them.  I know that’s more telling than anything else I’ve said before in these posts.  You’re probably thinking “narcissist”  and “arrogant” right about now, and you might be right. But, I bet most of you do it too, don’t you?  You see pictures of an event you attended and can’t avoid sweeping all the photos with a glance to see if your image is there.  Of course, you notice others you’re familiar with, but you want to see yourself too.  We love to remember events with ourselves participating in them.  I think that’s human nature, but I may be about to change my modus operandi with regards to photos.

The young lady was very nice, allowing me to work while snapping dozens of pictures.  Every once in awhile, she would ask me to look at the camera and “smile”, to make a change from my usual glaring demeanor, I suppose.  How does one “smile” at a camera without it being fake?  The only smiles I have ever thought natural in a photo were those taken candidly, while I was smiling at a funny statement, or even roaring at an even funnier joke.  I don’t “smile” at cameras, because the cardboard caricature which emerges from the little box never makes me happy enough to really smile later, either.

As she left, I wondered aloud if she would be so kind as to email me a few of the better pictures, after her project was behind her.  She assured me that she would and this evening, a couple of emails arrived with the photo files attached.  I’m sure that she did her best work, but I think the camera must have malfunctioned as she snapped the images.  The guy in all of the pictures looks at least 50 years old!  How is that possible?  I could understand, if she had an old man for a subject, but this is me!  Well, all right, I am over 50, but that’s no excuse for not doing better work.

Sometimes, an action or isolated event, disturbs our fantasies of life as we want it to be.  We’re suddenly disillusioned and face reality.  This isn’t one of those times.  The camera must have been malfunctioning.  That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.  The old guy in those photographs won’t exist for another ten years or so.  Well, not in my head anyway.  One of the things I believe to be true is that if you think you’re old, you’ll act old.  Maybe the inverse is also true:  Act old and you’ll think you’re old.  For some reason, unfathomable to me, the generation just older than mine, my parent’s contemporaries, wanted to be older.  They ran helter-skelter for old age like it was a badge of honor to be won.  No physical games, no biking, no skate boarding, no fun allowed.  Card games, golf, and book clubs for them.  If you could be solemn enough, staid enough, sedate enough, you could win the prize.  Respect would be yours, and everlasting renown. 

Not for me, thanks!  I want to ride on the skate-boards with the kids, bike down the hills (not so much up them), and keep moving.  I understand kids and their unwavering objective of doing new things, learning new concepts, and getting a little scraped up in the process.  At least in my brain, that’s who I still am, so the pictures, while possibly factually authoritative, do not reflect the real me.  I’m pretty sure that I’ll always be a kid inside and will always love the new toys, always be looking for new ways to do the old jobs, and hopefully, always be looking for new things to learn.  With that really old rocker, Rod Stewart, I’d like to be “Forever Young”!

“Everyone is the age of their heart.”
(Guatemalan proverb)

“Father Time is not always a hard parent, and, though he tarries for none of his children, often lays his hand lightly upon those who have used him well; making them old men and women inexorably enough, but leaving their hearts and spirits young and in full vigour.  With such people the grey head is but the impression of the old fellow’s hand in giving them his blessing, and every wrinkle but a notch in the quiet calendar of a well-spent life. “
(Charles Dickens)

Cleanliness is next to impossible!

~ Paul Phillips ~ 1 Comment

We’re cleaning the music store so the cleaners can come tomorrow.  It’s a weekly event.  Oh, we also do the same thing at the house every other week, the night before they come to clean.  Does that seem pointless?

Let me transport you back 25 years to when we purchased our music store and moved it to a different location within a couple of weeks of taking over.  We picked up, packed up, bagged up clutter, and then did it all again several times and I said, “I’ll never let this store get like this while I’m running it.”  Thirteen years later, we moved again and we picked up, packed up, bagged up, and rented a dumpster.  (Filled it four times with junk we had accumulated.)  And, as we moved into our current location, I said, “I’ll never let this store get like this again while I’m running it.” 

Shift scenes to an old Victorian house in this same town.  We lived there for eighteen wonderful years, raising two children, any number of cats, and a dog or two.  When we got ready to move a few years ago,  some of our very good friends were kind enough to help us corral the clutter (they repented, too late) and together we picked up, packed up, and bagged up.  And I said, “We’ll never let our house…”  Well, you get the picture.

Now, I’ve admitted that I’m not the brightest color in the box, but as Mr Tolkien says with such clarity, “Even he can see through a brick wall in time (as they say in Bree).”  He was speaking of a character who “…thinks less than he talks, and slower,”  which seems to describe me to a tee, so maybe even I can learn, given enough chances. 

When we moved into the house, we hired a housekeeper who comes every two weeks to clean.  We do some light housecleaning in between and by we, I mean the Lovely Lady, since I can walk past the same piece of trash everyday for a week without noticing it.  And, every other Wednesday, we leave for work in the morning and as if by magic, come home to a sparkling clean abode! The thing about housekeepers though, is that they won’t tackle our clutter for fear that they might lose something important to us.  So every other Tuesday, as we arrive at the eve of their semi-weekly visit, we go though the house, sorting and throwing away, precleaning in preparation for their battle against our dirt.

A couple of years ago, we came to the conclusion that we could use a similar plan of attack for the music store, so we bought new shelves, sorted, threw out, and generally did the same thing we had each time we moved before, but this time with the purpose of staying put, only in cleaner quarters.  And now, like at home, each week we move errant returns off of counters, wind up guitar cords, and sort any stragglers that have escaped our paper filing efforts of the previous days. The transformation after the cleaners are done is not so mysterious here, since I’m usually sitting at my desk before they finish, but the result is no less stellar.

At last, we don’t have to be embarrassed, either by our home or the business.  Visitors to both are greeted with smiles and invited in without fear of distress.  Life is easier and less stressful than before.  And to top it off, we’ve developed a great friendship with the cleaners, a very nice couple with whom we share many common perspectives.  I frequently find it hard to allow them to do their work, since we love to spend time in conversation about many subjects, from music, to Bible doctrine, to our common love of auctions.

I do have one serious issue, though.  Their unreasonable refusal to deal with my clutter, and my own inertia, has left me with a location in the store which I think my mother would refer to as a pigsty.  I sit every day at a desk piled high with papers which may or may not have any logistical reason to be there. Come to think of it, many of them may even be simply trash.  I don’t know and really don’t have time or much of an inclination to find out.  So the stacks grow and each week, the cleaners work carefully around them, leaving the impression of cleanliness in our store, which flees as quickly as you look at the desk.  I’m not sure why I’m telling you this, not even sure that I want to correct the issue.  I guess sometimes, the pig just needs to have a little bit of mud to wallow in, even if the rest of the barn is spotless.  Can you understand that?  I just need a place to settle into, grunt once in awhile, and merely feel at home. 

I am sorely tempted to turn this into a moral tale, reminding the reader of the spots of pity and self-centeredness that we love to reserve in our otherwise orderly lives, but I’ll let you fill in the blanks.  For myself, I’m content to wallow here, comfortably answering emails, posting pictures, and taking orders.  Life is good, or would be, if I didn’t have to finish picking up those boxes before morning. 

“Look, ask me what paper came to my desk last week and I couldn’t tell you.”
(Ronald Reagan, President of the United States 1981-1989)

On working while impaired…

~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment

I’ve been under the weather the last few days.  Hmmm, did you ever wonder where that phrase came from?  Under the weather was how they used to describe a British seaman who was ill and thus had to be kept in his quarters below decks away from the wind and waves.  No longer out in the weather, he was safe below decks “under the weather”.  Of course, by that description, I don’t qualify, since I just keep coming to work.

I don’t know where the illness came from, since I’m in contact with hundreds of people in a week’s time, but I’d love to be able to blame this on someone.  The throat hurts, my voice is incapable of speaking much above a whisper, and the headache lingers on and on.  Massive doses of Vitamin C, and this Airborne quackery haven’t helped, but a trip to the doctor isn’t even under consideration, since the virus will undoubtedly just play out in a day or two anyway.  So I’ll do what all men do.  We act tough when strangers are around, and then whine and mope when our wives are here to get all the sympathy they will impart.  If my mom were around, the theatrics would be even grander, but I’ll finagle all the consolation I can get from the Lovely Lady and then tough it out from there.

I wouldn’t want you to be misinformed about the mode in which I carry out my work, either.  I am doing the bare minimum, completing only the most necessary of tasks.  Anyone I work with will attest to my petulant attitude, speaking only when absolutely essential, and emitting the moans and groans of a martyr when asked to do more than I deem crucial with my minimally functioning abilities.  I’m pretty sure my sister, who handles our shipping, was much happier than usual to leave at noon today when her duties were completed.  And, I’m not absolutely certain that I haven’t really offended one of my regular patrons, who merely wanted to talk with me about the functionality of an amplifier, only to be short-circuited by my brusque manner.  I may have to issue an apology in a day or two.  Not yet, though.  I still have a sneaking suspicion that I was within my rights as an impaired individual and the conversation might not go well. 

If you have been one of the injured parties, give me a day or two and then you may lay into me.  I’ll be appropriately contrite, I’m sure.  Until you notice an improvement in my vocal abilities, though, you might want to defer the confrontation.  I’m still relatively steadfast in my conclusion that I am totally within bounds and might further impede the process of making amends.

Come to think of it, it might have showed more insight had I heeded the Lovely Lady’s advice and stayed at home instead of working.  Ah well, at least I didn’t interrupt my normal routine.  Hopefully, everything else can be put right eventually…

“Duirt me leat go raibh me breoite”  Irish phrase meaning, “I told you I was ill”
(Inscription on comedian Spike Milligan’s headstone in England)

25 years and still trying to get it right…

~ Paul Phillips ~ 1 Comment
Twenty-five years?  How is that possible?  Today marks exactly that many years since the Lovely Lady and I purchased the family business from her dad.  We had been married seven years by that time and had two very young children and a mortgage on a recently purchased house, but we jumped into the music business without thinking twice.  Well maybe twice, but not much more than that. I thought that this momentous day might be a good time to mention an interesting experience or two along the way. (And, knowing me, maybe a sermon point or two to be drawn from them.) 
We learned early that self-employment wasn’t going to be a bed of roses.  The first complete year was filled with pitfalls, including the first and only time I’ve been accused of being a crook by a customer.  I didn’t handle it well.  We also learned about the rights (or lack thereof) involved with leasing property.  Rain damaged music and instruments led to a showdown with the building’s owner.  Of course, the cure, a new roof installed during the rainiest time of the year, proved to be worse than the disease, with two inches of water coming into the building when a downpour arrived with the roof unfinished.
But we got past the first year or two in decent condition only to realize that the government also wanted to have its share of our take.  One April brought us to the week before the fifteenth to discover that we were $2500 short on the amount needed to satisfy our obligation to Uncle Sam.  Two things stand out about that week.  The first is a young boy, who lived in our house, coming downstairs after bedtime one night with fourteen dollars and a few cents in his hand.  He had opened his piggy bank and taken out every penny he possessed and was offering it to help.  Yep…I cried then and I still get choked up when I talk about it.  The same week, my dad reminded me that Jesus told His disciples to go fishing when they had taxes that needed to be paid.  In thinking what that meant, I decided since the disciples were fishermen by trade, that meant that I should just do my job.  What a shock!  At the end of the week, the entire amount was in the account to pay the taxes!  When we do what we’re supposed to do, God does His part!
August, 1997…After several years of grudgingly paying lease payments, we noticed an ideally situated building that was for sale.  Quick negotiations led to a contract, but we needed a couple months for remodeling before an October 31st deadline for moving.  As you might anticipate, a long delay in approval and closing gave us scarcely four weeks for the job.  With the help of many friends and a few really dedicated relatives (who worked until 2:00 a.m. many mornings), the job was completed for the move to our own building by the deadline.  Were we apprehensive about the move?  You bet!  We had obligated ourselves to almost double the monthly payments with no visible way to meet them, but our business grew an incredible amount immediately after the move and we’ve never even come close to missing a payment.  Oh, and we got a great house right next door in the deal, so presently, I have only to walk down the sidewalk to be at work any time day or night.  (And, I do mean any time day or night!)
So many stories, so little space…You’ll just have to keep coming back here for those, a little at a time.  There have been many great opportunities, and more than a few mistakes, but I’m anxious to get to the next 25 years.  Who knows what the future holds?  I love what I do.  Period.  There’s no “but” or “if only” to add to that.  It’s a blessing that not many men can count as theirs.  I’ve known many people who daily go grudgingly to their jobs, counting down the years, months, and days until retirement.   God has given me the perfect job, one that I still love after 25 years.  I only hope the customers can put up with me for a few more, while I figure out how to be a success at it.
Oh, and one more thing…I have prided myself in being a student of human nature, but I’ve been fooled more times than I would have thought possible over the years.  I’ve trusted people who were lying barefaced to me and have been suspicious of others who were more trustworthy than I myself have been.  I’ve discussed the concept here before that we can’t look on outward appearances, but I’ve been shamed more times than I care to admit by my naivete in doing just that.  The thing that has amazed me the most is that people are far more honest than we expect in this suspicious age in which we live.  On several occasions, customers have returned to tell me that I undercharged them or that they had inadvertently put a guitar pick in their pocket without paying.  I even had one man return after more than15 years to apologize for his deceit and make it right.  Yes, there have been plenty who were dishonest, but the good experiences far outweigh the bad.

Twenty five years is a long time to do one thing, but what a great ride!  Good days and bad ones, they’ve all gone into making some wonderful memories.  And, as great as it is to get to the silver anniversary, we’re thinking we might wait to really celebrate until the golden one. Hope you’re still around to celebrate with us!

“The highest reward that God gives us for good work is the ability to do better”
(Elbert Hubbard, American editor and writer, 1856-1915)

With Friends Like These…?

~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment

“We’re raising grandparents at our house now,” came the almost-humorous statement from my good friend’s almost-smiling mouth.  The attempt at humor was not lost on the group, but we really didn’t laugh much.  It’s not a funny prospect when you’re all staring it in the face.  We’ve all got aging parents, some have adult-aged children who won’t grow up, and many of our peers are raising grandchildren when their time for parenting is long-past. 

“God knew what He was doing when He gave children to young people,”  was my Dad’s confusing (to me) statement when he was just over 50 years of age.  He was sitting on the back porch, reading “Bye Baby Bunting” for the fortieth time to his determined 2 year old granddaughter.  She was wearing him down and he wasn’t getting any help from the girl’s young dad, who recognized a much-needed respite from his responsibilities when he saw it.  I understand my father better now that I have four grandchildren of my own. 

My conversation today with another young father certainly gave me pause.  I talked about my enjoyment of the new social media for “reconnecting” with friends from my childhood and early adult years.  He argued adamantly that his interest was only in “real” friends, the ones who kept contact with him and gave him support each step of the way.  As we discussed our differences, I realized that I had been in his position 25 years ago too.  I remember how proud I was then of our close friendships, but I had no interest at all in childhood friendships which had gone by the wayside and certainly none in going to class reunions or other social events.

“You just wait.  Your day is coming and you’ll change your tune.”  I couldn’t believe the words were coming out of my mouth.  Why next thing you know, I’ll be saying things like “When I was your age…” and “We’ve never done it like that before.”  But from my vantage point, I can see the progression.  You go from the arrogant young know-it-all who,with a lovely young bride at your side, has everything necessary to make the planet yours (I hear Helen Reddy singing “…Sometimes it feels like you and me against the world…”), to needing a few close friends (not too many!), all the way to wishing you hadn’t lost contact with those people you met once on vacation.   But finally, I’ve come to what should have been an obvious conclusion years ago…I need people!  It only took me fifty-some years to figure this out, but at last I’m catching on. (The music fades into Frank Sinatra crooning, “People, people who need people…Are the luckiest people in the world.” It used to be Barbra Streisand, but she’s gone loony, so Frank will have to do.)

As I age, I realize that our lives seem to be sliced up into very definite seasons, some for which we’re well suited and some for which we’re seemingly not equipped at all.  The big problem is that I’m not sure I can handle being needed as a friend.  That’s the irksome thing about needing people.  You need them, they need you.  Dependency I can handle.  Responsibility, I’m not so very good at.  But I’m working on it.  Some of it is forced on me, some of it, I determine to take on.  It’s a work in progress.  I’ll let you know how I do.   No wait!  You’ll be the ones to know if I’m doing it right.  You tell me!

I’m just hoping that when my turn comes to be the grandparent being raised (if it hasn’t already come to that…), I will have been enough of an example to the next generation that they’re ready for what needs to be done.

From The Preacher in Ecclesiastes…“Two are better than one, because they have a good return for their work: If one falls down, his friend can help him up. But pity the man who falls and has no one to help him up!”

Just Don’t Rub ‘Em the Wrong Way

~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment

There are parts of that job that I disliked intently.  But it wasn’t all bad.  The real electrician was a jokester, setting me, his helper, up for one practical joke after another (“Do you want to see an Aggie trailer?  Follow me”…and like the dummy I was…), including the ever popular “ZZZZZT!”, uttered loudly as I worked with a live circuit.  Funny how things stick in your memory for years…Today, I’ve been thinking about a time when we were trouble-shooting a problem with the lights at the local convenience store.  Their fluorescent fixtures wouldn’t come on immediately when they were turned on in the morning, leaving them in partial darkness for awhile.  Baffled, we made a call to the manufacturer and they gave us an unexpected procedure to remedy the problem; With a clean rag, wipe off the surface of the bulbs.  Sure enough, we showed up early one morning and started rubbing on the bulbs.  Swish, one bulb on…swish, another on…It was amazing!  We had thought that we’d have to replace bulbs or sockets, perhaps even the ballasts (it controls the current in the bulb), but needed nothing more than a simple swipe down the lamp’s length and the problem was fixed.

The best part of the incident was the interaction between a couple of the patrons sitting in the shop.  As the man and his buddy sipped their coffee and watched our progress across the store, this fellow, obviously a deep thinker, observed to his friend, “Would you look at that?  He just rubs that bulb with his magic rag and it lights up!”  And his pal, thinking he was quite a wit, replied,  “Yeah, I wonder if he’d let me take the rag home and use it on my wife…”  Everybody laughed loudly (including me) and we continued the job until all the lights were glowing brightly as God intended (well, you know what I mean). 

I spent a year and a half on that job over 25 years ago, mostly wishing that I was back in the music business, but that one incident still sticks in my head.  Not only was it funny, and I love a good (or bad) joke, but it has made me remember repeatedly that many of our problems have very simple solutions.  We anguish over multiple scenarios in our heads, sure that we’ll have to spend too much or work too hard, only to find that a simple answer is staring us in the face all along.  This idea is not new with me.  You’ve heard it in the “work smarter, not harder” slogan, the “min-max principle” (minimum effort, maximum performance), and other motivational cliche’s.  But, you know, there’s also a different connotation to the event.

You can also apply the two guys’ conversation to the subject to which it referred, relationships between people.  I’ve finally figured out (pretty late in life) that we all have a magic rag and have always had it.  I just don’t always ply it so well.  Want to see your spouse light up?  Try rubbing them with a compliment.  You don’t have to make it a big thing, just a “Your hair looks nice today” or a “You make the best Kraft Macaroni & Cheese!”.  Okay, maybe not that last one, but it works for me since mac & cheese is my comfort food and she knows that.  Want to see your kids brighten up?  Mention how well they do some small thing.  They may die of shock, since we seem to be a lot better at criticizing, but they’ll love the attention.

We men are usually jerks, thinking that complimenting others shows weakness and devalues us.  It doesn’t!  It’s not a “zero sum game”, where one person wins and the other loses.  Turns out, in any good relationship, when one person benefits, everyone in the relationship reaps the profit.  The saying “When mama ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy” is only a negative way of expressing this truth.  When she’s happy, the rest of the family has something to celebrate.  And, when the kids feel important, life gets a lot smoother for the parents and siblings.

One other thing:  Don’t make stuff up!  If the compliment isn’t real, you’re using sandpaper instead of the magic rag.  How dumb do you think they are?  Flattery isn’t positive, it’s destructive.  Be honest, but be kind! 

And with that, I’ve said enough.  Got to go home and see her light up once more today… 

“I like her because she smiles at me and means it.”  ~Anonymous

The Cat’s In the Cradle, Again…

~ Paul Phillips ~ 1 Comment

I watch her, the next to the youngest, walking on her knees and dragging the toes of her shoes over the sidewalk.  At first I think she’s hurt, maybe she’s fallen and she can’t get up (no, that’s a commercial for old people).  But as I watch, she keeps moving forward, smiling, ignoring her mama’s instructions to get up and walk.  Oh, yes…She can walk.  She just doesn’t want to at this exact moment.

Sensing that she may have a “moment” with her mom if she doesn’t comply, I go to her and reach down my hand.  She reaches up and clasps it, grinning.  If I think she’s going to walk, I’d better reconsider that.  The second she’s up, she drops all her weight on my arm, swinging forward to let her feet touch the ground momentarily, only to jump forward again in a wide arc and touch down a couple of feet ahead of where her shoes last made contact with the pavement.  This girl is not going to do things the way anyone expects.  She’s exploring, testing the limits, and figuring out all the angles.  She watches her older brothers like a hawk to be sure that they don’t do anything fun without her.  She imitates and perpetrates and just primarily pushes the envelope.

I watch her and I’m amazed at the change in the short course of two years.  She turns two tomorrow and already, she has much of the personality that she will have when she’s my age.  Not a baby and not yet able to completely express herself verbally, still she lets you know what she wants.  The word “No” figures in predominantly and even “Don’t wanna” frequently, but she’s not only negative.  She loves to play with the “baby”, but won’t be limited to girly stuff, showing her skill in a pretend sword fight with little wooden slats (really the roof pieces from the Lincoln Logs set).  She can’t stand to be away from her brothers, asking where each one of them is, even if she’s just turned away from them for a moment and they’re out of her sight.  But she will not be bullied, shoving her way onto the piano bench between the two of them, even though they deny her pleas for help getting up.  And so, she sits, happily pounding, with a brother on each side of her.  It’s not Mozart, by a long shot, but the music is sweet.  (This, of course, is quickly brought to a close by one brother choking the other to get the pounding stopped, but that’s a different tale.)

And being the old guy I am, I can’t help thinking back twenty-some years (we do that, you know) to when her mom was that age, learning, fussing, smiling (but not yet fighting with her brother).  I’ve changed too.  Back then I was a perfectionist, demanding instant obedience, determined that my child would not be that spoiled little girl who had her dad twisted around her little finger.  I think I failed miserably at that aspiration, but I was a disciplinarian.  Things are different now.  Candy is available and I love to share, much to the dismay of their parents (after all, when they’re adequately hyped up, we send them home).  I figure it’s my place as a grandfather to give them what they want, not to discipline them.  By and large, I’m fairly content to let the tumult swell and generally like to have a “limited government” type of mindset.  (There are exceptions, but the revelation of those, like the choking story, will wait for another day.)

If you ask me today, I’ll tell you that being a grandfather is the best, but as I consider it, when it was happening, being a father was fantastic.  My main lament now, besides the sergeant-major mentality, is that I was in such a big hurry to get to the next stage.  You know, walking, talking, potty-training, running, going to school, graduating, going to college, getting married, and before you know it, it’s past.  Just a blink of the eyes and gone…  Even now, we can’t slow it down, but we can be sure that we cherish the moments we’re allowed.  The little girl swinging from Grandpa’s hands, the three of them pounding on the piano (I know a good piano-tuner), and all the other amazing moments…they’re all gifts from God.

We’ve had bad luck with our kids – they’ve all grown up. –Christopher Morley (American writer/poet)

Children are an endowment from the Lord…–Psalm 123:3