When words are not enough…

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There’s something to be said when we begin taking people out of the equation. Oh, of course, your day begins and ends with interactions between your clients, but we are replacing the face to face, “I know you are here when I need you” with quick, on the spot, no thought given emails and texts. I want to ask you…do you think you can have customer service without customer relationships?

Columbia University saw the problem when they saw students walking aimlessly around the campus glued to the screens of their portable devices. Sadly, they had to come out with a scavenger hunt game which paid the students and forced them into daily connections. Is this what we want our customers to see? Our lives with our gadgets are more important? Maybe this is the problem and the point. We want people to see. We want them to see a screen, see the words on the page and see we just no longer have the time to build and establish the most important building block—direct, on site communication. We are asking them to see. What we are not asking them for is to feel.

I want you to think about the last time you received a text and were frustrated by the message. Perhaps it was short, they were hurried and the thought was lost in translation. Even worse, the message seemed almost cryptic, made up of some language that seemed so foreign to you. It made you feel like you needed a translator, like you needed an explanation. I am certain you wanted to pick up the phone and ask what was the meaning, but then you remembered: “Oh, she never answers her phone, she prefers to text.”

This is the everyday with your customers. They spend each day interfacing with the public and when they are trying to reach out to you for insight and your help with their business they are not getting what they need. They are getting what you give and quite frankly it is not enough. It is not enough to not have the energy to pick up the phone. It is not enough to send a quick email when they are reaching out. It is not enough when we place the value on our own time and forget they are the reason we are here.

We don’t need to be enough.

We need to be there.

We need to be more.

Be more to someone today.

Of paws and bobtails…

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Calli and her first born
The happy 5 babies
Sailor and Lil Man
Kelty and Cassisy

There is something to be said about cats and the enduring effect they have on your heart.  It would be impossible to think of my life without having a cat in it.  They have always been there.  From being a small child and dressing them in my baby doll clothes while riding them around in my dolly carriage to the harrowing feeling in my gut when Kelty died in my arms last year, a cat, to me, has always been as present as air.

I came by it organically.  My Momma was affectionately known as the CatLady when I was growing up.  We always had a cat and it seems our house was also a drop off point for the unwanted ones as we always took them in.  We had smart cats–Teedle who could open the door by placing her paws over the knob and moving it, Sunshine & her kitten Sunny who both used the bathroom on the toilet.  We had mischievous cats–Frosty, a stray Maine Coon who liked to “comb” my brother’s curly hair.  We had them all, all breeds, all shapes, all colors, all sizes.  They all enchanted our lives in different ways.  They all found their final resting place in my family’s back yard except for Sunny and we instead buried his collar that the nice man who found him hit on the road had brought us.  We each always mumbled “No more, this is the last”, well, at least until the next one showed up.

As I grew up I remember thinking if I were to die I wanted to come back as one of my Momma’s cats as she took care of them the same way she took care of us–with all of the love and patience in the world.  I also saw the same trait develop with both myself and my sister.  Our animals became family.  We sheltered and made them our own.  We talked to them like they were children and included them in adult conversations. We made sure they were taken care of in the best way possible.

I met my husband in 2002.  He had never been owned by a cat.  I know, I, too, was shocked by this.  We all know there are cat people and there are dog people, but there are just some people who miss so much by not having had the experience so during the halftime of an Alabama football game  in 2003 we went out and adopted Kelty, a long haired tortie from an abandoned litter of nine.  She adapted well and soon my husband was smitten.  She was named after a camping gear brand since she was quite the adventurous one.  She rode in the car on top of his head  resting her paws on the bill of his baseball cap during trips.  She was smart and loving.  She made us a family of three.  We adopted number 2 in 2006.  Cassidy, a beautiful Tabby who attached herself to Jay from day one.  She was very protective of him, perhaps because I was with Momma when she fell ill for three months, but she made sure I knew he was hers.  In 2011 she fell victim to kidney disease and the vet suggested we put her down.  We found another vet. We lived with  daily IV bags and injections, but we had her with us, playful and vibrant for another year.  When she came to the point of failing health we made the decision to have her put to sleep.  We blessed her with holy water and slept on the floor with her throughout the night.  Even Kelty licked her head as to say it would all be okay…Blessedly she passed in her sleep in the night.

Fast forward to 2015 and a move to the mountains with Kelty in tow as an only “child”.  It seems it is easy to become so used to your life as is that when things change rapidly it is sometimes so hard for your heart to catch up. Sailor came to us on July 16 at 4 weeks old, abandoned at my sister’s seafood restaurant in the middle of a storm and found seeking shelter under the Captain statue on the back deck.  She was tiny, fluffy and no short of love.  Kelty found her as an annoying, hissable piece of fur, an intruder in her home.  Toleration came four weeks later, but so did tragedy–we lost Kelty.  I still cannot talk about how she passed, it was unnecessary. Time has taught me it was to open our house and hearts to all we have now.  I think Cassidy needed her more in heaven.

Upon Kelty’s passing I knew we needed to find Sailor “a friend”.  It was off to the local shelter and making the point of saying we weren’t just coming home with a cat.  We needed a connection.  We walked in and out of the cat room to no avail.  We were about to leave when they took us to a room with the quarantined babies, some sick, some needing medication and some needing to be spade/neutered. And there he was–actually reaching out and grabbing my husband by the sleeve–a sleek, strong Mackerel Tabby kitten. The bond between Sailor and Lil’ Man took only  36 hours.  They began to do everything in tandem–eating, playing, sleeping, even sharing the litter box at the same time.  I felt God had placed them into our lives to help us heal.

Come November we had really settled into our home and were getting ready for the holidays.  We all know as soon as you say settled things become unsettled.  I was at the restaurant and watched as a Calico was darting between cars in the parking lot.  You know what happened next–I was up the mountain, new kitty in tow with a mission to find her family.   I posted with the shelters and after we had no response we had a new family member and a vet appointment where we were told she was pregnant!  After passing the gestational period with no babies we figured we were given a wrong diagnosis so the holidays went as planned, glass ornaments remained boxed and we all settled in as what our normal would be.  We had become a family of 5, three with paws, but still our family.

We rang in the new year with our new normal.  Cat toys everywhere, cat paws on the counter (which makes me cringe) and teaching manners along with new tricks.  Sailor became the quiet, docile one with a hidden bad streak.  Lil’ Man learned to sit, fetch and play catch with an outspoken streak of menace.  Calli got out of the house the week before she was scheduled to be spade.  She came home with a smile.

I did the things my Momma did when we had kittens when I was little.  I planted boxes with soft blankets throughout the house in closets. I placed a calendar on the fridge with her potential due dates. I watched her food intake and I could not help but laugh when my husband dubbed her “The Hindenburg”.  When the time came she ignored all of my planning and decided to have her babies in a box a placed next to my desk as I worked on company spreadsheets.  She wouldn’t let me leave her side.  It seemed she was telling me since I had no children of my own (without paws) she wanted me to be able to experience the wonder with her.  Calli delivered her kittens on April 20 during a labor lasting over 4 hours.  The first was a dark orange Tabby, the second a Calico and the third a bobtailed blonde Tabby. Two hours later, another orange Tabby with a bobtail, one hour after that the last one arrived, a blonde Tabby with a stump tail.  Momma and babies all healthy, myself and Jay in awe of the births and proud grandparents.

I can’t imagine a life without the “babies” as we call them and now, the additional 5 real babies downstairs.  They each have brought us laughter and joy just as the ones who were here before them. They teach us that a little claw mark doesn’t ruin your day it just enhances texture. They show us it doesn’t take much space for your heart to be moved in the right direction. They remind us that taking a leap doesn’t always have to involve fear and that in the long run, you don’t have to be a dog or cat person.  You just have to be able to love and make room in your heart.

 

IMG_6153.JPGFootnote:  The children turn one on the 20th of April.  All have wonderful homes!  Two are here with us (1 & 3), the orange bobtail as well as a 2nd kitten our Calli fostered are with my sister, the calico, Tipper, is in Charleston with a dear friend & my insurance agent has the last, the stumped tail named Tupelo. Always room for one more cat!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Updating our faith status

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I would be lying if I told you I looked around at the world we are living in and said I felt good about it. In actuality, I look around and I am disgusted. I am bewildered. I am saddened. We have become a society that is attached to electronics, where a family goes out to dinner and they each maintain their own private conversation with their electronic god. They have no need to look up from what my husband calls the I-coma. They are engrossed. They are tied in. They are lost. Even in mass I see adults and children alike who cannot get through an hour of worship without having to check the status of their electronic pulse. In church? Yes. Sadly it seems society is raising a new generation who does not need God because they can go to Google to find all of their answers. Sad, but worse, true.

Then there is “Big Brother”. Everyone is watching. You cannot go anywhere without being tracked. I remember going to revivals in the Baptist church as a child and listening to Pat Harrington speak about the end of days. We were all going to be attached to a number, was it 666 or is it now your coordinates set by GPS? Is it your IP address? I don’t know, but I do believe God is sad. I feel He looks down and says look at what you have done with what I have given you. You have thrown it all away for things that cannot give you peace, things that are not enriching the lives of others and you have stopped coming to Me for your answers, choosing to search on your own time, on your own keyboard with your own set of rules.

Everything is full throttle. Everything and everyone is accepted. We map our routes, but no one seems concerned about their faith destination. We post to YouTube and record the world, but we aren’t concerned about the younger generations who watch our actions and think it is okay to follow suit by being attached to their devices 24/7. We are raising children who do not know how to communicate, who cannot sign their own name and who abbreviate everything including their own lives.

No matter how you phrase it, no matter how it is worded, we are living in a world of calamity, a world without boundaries and a world without God. Every day I am astounded by what is going on in the news—not just the ISIS threats, the killing of Americans on American soil by deranged gunmen, the stirring up of race wars, but by the lack of soul and kindness we have allowed into our lives through technology. Yes, technology, the new antichrist.

Maybe it is time we update our faith status.

What we are “given” from our parents…

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A week on the Gulf  in 2014 with great friends, followed by four days with my sister and brother-in-law prompted me to think about what our parents pass down to us.

It started as a conversation during our ocean side happy hour ritual at 4 each day from my sister who reminded me, steadfastly, that she has Momma’s legs.  This has been on ongoing battle since I was a child.  I inherited Daddy’s legs, white, chunky and as my husband and brother-in-law said  “that of a linebacker”.  My sister has my Momma’s tanned, sleek legs and olive complexion.  Many battles have been ensued over this throughout the years and more so since they have both passed.   It made me think, even more so, of what we take with us every day that came before us.

For me, I have my Daddy’s love of photography etched into every grain of my soul.  I am never without a camera, wanting so much to document every facet of life and each memory made whenever and wherever this may be.  I have file after file of memories from friends, family, and places.  Each one opens up a plethora of heartfelt souvenirs, some which sooth my soul, some which take me back to places that grind at my heart, others that make me laugh out loud.  There are days when opening a file opens a tundra of stirrings so deep that I am taken back to that moment in a single shot.

I feel blessed by this.

I feel free.

I feel there is so much of life in one single lens opening, that simply through a shuttered moment,  I am there again.

My daddy bought his first camera in Venice, Italy while stationed there with the United States Navy.  He gave that camera to me seven years ago and I cherish the fact he entrusted me with something so valuable.  It may not be something of monetary significance (although it might and I could never part with it), but the start of what had him document our lives from stills to 9mm to VHS to CD over his years.

When Momma passed he gave each of us three kids a 3 volume CD that ranged from 1952 until 2006.  It brings me back to memories of sitting in our family living room and watching our family movies on the wall. (One of two walls without paneling that had seating!)  Nothing is sweeter in my mind and nothing is as priceless as listening to the click, click, click of that movie reel.  It is a childhood memory and sound that warms my being and makes me who am I today….a bit of the past blended into the person I have become.

Sitting at the beach this past week made me realize I am my father’s child, linebacker legs, fair skin and all.  I have my momma’s love for writing and quick wit. Kim has Momma’s coloring, ageless looks and of course, those legs!   We all three kids got Daddy’s “never met a stranger” demeanor.

We are and always will be their children. We are and always will be a reflection of them both…especially through the lens of my camera as I watched the rays shoot from the clouds and were reminded they are still with us.

What a blessing!

How much money for stupidity?

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I am still amazed at how dysfunctional the new Birmingham airport actually is. I waited, anxiously, for the new terminal to open in expectation of a congruent travel experience. You see, when you know the TSA, counter and gate agents by name you know you spend too much time at the airport. I expected to see a fly by lane for frequent travelers. I expected to see the parking problems solved. I expected and I was wrong.
Following the horrific accident which killed a child due to negligence I was even more surprised to hear a sink had fallen out of its basin. (You never heard about this? It was told to me by airport employees.) Really? What if someone had been in its path as it fell? Do we spend over millions of dollars for lack of conscience? Did the contractors not check their work or was the city in such a hurry to open that the little things were overlooked? (Please remember it is always the little things that mean everything.). Which was it?
The city of Birmingham and the airport need to begin being accountable. They can start with the parking. My husband owns a Ford F-150 truck. He travels as much as I do and is a frequent flier and a frequent visitor to the Birmingham airport. Finding parking is near to impossible in the OVERSIZED parking ONLY lot. Why? It is the closest area to the gates and every Prius and other small car is finding their space there. These selfish drivers do not understand that the oversized vehicles cannot find just ANY spot, they NEED to park in these spots. There is a reason they are marked as OVERSIZED VEHICLES ONLY. (Obviously these small car drivers show their ignorance by their inability to read.) Large trucks and SUVs cannot access the parking on higher levels due to the height of their vehicles. On our last trip out there were over 53 small cars in the oversized lot. There were no spaces for the vehicles meant to park there. We have been told it is the Birmingham Police Department’s responsibility to ticket the cars.
This is only a part of my frustration as NO ONE wants to be accountable for the parking fiasco. We have spoken with the parking controllers who have told us it is the responsibility of the Birmingham police. We have spoke with the Birmingham police who have told us it is the airport’s responsibility. We have voiced our concerns, as I am sure many others have, and they have fallen of deaf ears.
Yes, the new facility is nice, but how has it improved the travel experience in Birmingham? It has not. Esthetically it is a gorgeous facility, but let’s be honest–pretty is as pretty does. Until some party can stand up and take accountability for the problems nothing will be solved. I just want to know how and when on both the parking and fly by lanes, then, again, I only expect the finger to be pointed elsewhere, just as it was when a board was not secured to a wall.
Seems to me, no one is willing to step up and take on the responsibility.

When the concrete changes your view…

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It seems to get harder and harder to come back from the mountains. There, I exhale. I breathe. I meditate in God’s wonders. I take in nature and I see the world through a different lens. Simply, I live.
Riding on the mule at sunset I drove through the canopy of towering trees as fireflies glistened all around me. In some ways it all seemed very surreal, like I had been tossed in a tunnel of thousands of cascading lights. I rode in awe of the forest around me. There are days when I feel I have been enveloped by nature and I behave like a child seeing things for the very first time. I am giddy over the wild turkeys, the little bunny rabbits and the deer who stood and held our glaze.
Maybe that is it–seeing through new eyes, like a child. I have no expectations of what the mountains will bring and I hold an amazing respect for all they hold. It is the simple things–the rain approaching through the trees that begins with a murmur and lands with a strong burst. It is the way it can be pouring, but the trees provide an umbrella of refuge. It is watching a storm brew in the distance from the ridge as the clouds form what looks like the ocean. It is the feeling that the real world is so far away and life, like my little mountain town, is simple.
I like it that way.
I never realized just how easy it can be to take life at a slower pace, to breathe in the wonder of the mountain’s beauty and how a ponytail and no makeup beats a flat iron and heels any day. It is the view from a pair of “tenny shoes”, covered in mud and the smell of Off. It is ending the day with a ride through the woods with family, laughing at the day and looking forward to tomorrow. It is simple. It is peaceful. It is a part of me now.
I like that.

On beginnings and endings, gliders and porch rockers

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My Granny Baylor had a great house where my Momma and her four sisters grew up. It was the house where I spent the first two years of my own life, rocking in her Naugahyde green rocker watching the Edge of Night, her ‘stories’ as she called them. I remember the floor furnace which my own siblings and cousins had convinced me was the gateway to hell. I never walked across it out of pure childhood fear and also was fast to pee in her bathroom since my sister made it known that rats would come through the sewer and bite you on the ass. I loved the L-shaped screened porch with the wooden rockers and the glider where we all spent time on as children. I loved her house, not just for all of its comforts and memories, but for what it represented…a wonderful togetherness of family.
Years after Granny passed I remember Momma and my Aunt saying how wonderful it would be if we moved the house to the beach. Ah! What a grand idea! A wonderful home, wonderful memories and the beach!!! Can’t you just imagine sitting out on Sullivan’s Island with a cocktail In your hand gliding or rocking and listening to the ocean waves? Watching the sea oats sway as you came back for your nightly sunset walk??? Oh! I could too!!! Problem is, it never happened. It never happened.
As we grow older we all remember the talks of our friends and relatives about where they wanted to go, what they wanted to do, how their lives were going to be ‘different’ in some way from how they grew up. It always has saddened me to listen to loved ones on their death beds speaking of all of the things they wished they had done. All of their dreams never realized. Time had simply, ran out.
Why is it we let time determine our course? Is it out of fear? Is it thinking we will actually get to it, eventually?? Is it that we really want more, but we let life get In the way?
After Daddy passed away in December of last year it brought back so many memories of the things my parents never did. They wanted to head back and see my Aunt in Oklahoma. They wanted to spend more time with us kids. They wanted to travel. They wanted, but they never did.
Three months later my husband and I sent a letter to the man who owned the 9 acres ten acres away from my sister. Nine days later, he called.
That night I had a wonderful dream about Momma and Daddy. It was a wonderful dream in a couple of ways. It was the first time I ever dreamt about the two of them together since they both had passed and The Lord always gives me the answers I need in my dreams. Always.
In my dream I am with my “work wife” traveling and laid over in Atlanta. She suggests we road trip. When we arrive in the mountains, my (deceased) parents are sitting in Daddy’s mule and Daddy says “Hey! Willy! Let’s go see your new land!” I knew when I woke up my husband and I had made the right decision–live your life for today and buy that land.
Live your dreams. Buy that piece of property that makes your soul strong! Go see your old friends! Travel to somewhere, even if is only a town away. Move that family house and make it your beach house. Quit wishing and just make it a reality.
We did.

Filed away with some kind of memory

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I have spent the weekend purging our house, compiling piles of household goods for charity, looking over old photos and finally addressing the size two and four formal dresses in my spare closet. I had to be flat out honest with myself that this ass was not going to see two again unless it’s from too much wine. I looked through old cards Jay and I had given one another and laughed a lot. It is a good feeling to look through the what was when you are looking to the what will be.

But the purple file, yes, that one got to me. Writings from years ago spoke of teenage heartbreak and a girl who to the outside world was crazy and confident, but inside held a fire of hurt and disappointment. It was like reading a book and trying to connect to the main character, but knowing the ending at the beginning and wondering how she did the things she did, how she felt the way she did and how did she grow into a truly confident, spirited woman when she held such angst in her heart.

Mangione on a Sunday

I think of yesterday and I remember
Mangione, Riunite and a love I never knew.
I looked into the wine and I remember
A cool wind that swept the hurt from my mind.

You, like the wind, took away my hurt and
left a new impression of love.
Like Mangione on a Sunday and Riunite on the beach
You eased my mind.

Yesterdays slip away and
Though I can only hold onto the thoughts
I still recall that new impression…
It may be today or a far away tomorrow
But I will always remember Mangione on a Sunday.

Sometimes I sit and open up the memories
Like your love it was my security
But once you let go
I was lost.
In a new world I looked for others,
But not for love.
The tune had faded and I had lost.

So, I sat back and read this and realized I did not remember.The ironic thing is this was written sometime back in 1982 and I have no idea who this was about and why it was Riunite. Thank goodness my wine tastes have changed! Even more, thankful for today and that I have come back to writing again. For years I put my thoughts to paper and then one day I just walked away. I was challenging my own heart by stopping. I found the last poem I wrote, no date, just a scrawling series of words that said:

I sit, I cry.
I’ve turned away from the person I dreamed I would be,
From all of my dreams–
From my heart.
I sit. I laugh.
I’ve turned away for the truth,
The truth of what I believed, the fact
You weren’t meant for always.
And I laugh at my heart.
I walk. I think.
I think I have lost all feeling.
Love can’t be found.
It’s only a menagerie in my mind,
Just as you are
In my heart.
I write. I hurt.
I call. You’ve gone away.
And I’ve turned away with no one
To turn to.

Living like life is a cake walk…

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IMG_1689Momma always got so frustrated by my Daddy. He knew the ESPN scheduling whether it was football, baseball or Japanese Pygmy wrestling. He did not know his way around a kitchen while she was alive except for a distinctive trail to the Ritz crackers and peanut butter or to the ice cream in the freezer. He loved to break out into a gracious tune of ‘I married the tattooed lady’ which kept us all in stitches. She wasn’t amused. Maybe it was somewhere between the fact that she said only sailors and hookers got tattoos or that she was generally annoyed by his live life for today attitude. I saw it the most when he would be preparing for a surgery. Instead of being wound tight, instead of worrying, he smiled and would be wheeled off with laughter in his voice and heart. I never will forget her looking at him saying, “You act like you are going to a cake walk, Don!”
I woke up this morning at my sister’s house and walked out on her porch upon waking and all that my heart and head could recall was my last time with Daddy before he died. He was standing there with my brother singing The Lord’s Prayer as my sister, my husband and I scattered my Hannah’s ashes in the front yard of her mountain home. It was the place my Hannah spent her last year and also my Daddy. Perhaps that is why my heart yearns to be in the mountains so much. There is so much of my love there and the people I love and loved the most. Simply, my Daddy stood and sang to The Lord and us all in honor of a dog who loved and journeyed with us all.
Daddy was like that. He woke every morning and faithfully read his daily readings and scriptures. He sang in the choir until his hearing no longer supported his voice. He was quick to share the sports trivia for the day including his disdain for Alabama football. He took pleasure in meeting people and displeasure from any guidance or words his wife or daughters felt they needed to share. He felt we worried too much about tomorrow when today was what we should be living.
Daddy has been here with us today through his presence on the front porch to my brother in law breaking the shaft on the riding lawn mower–I think Daddy smiled at that one knowing Jim always thought it would be Daddy the reason for repair.
I can’t help to laugh and cry in the same breath as it is so hard to not have him here, but so precious to know that in some ways he hasn’t left at all. I guess that is what happens when you focus on the cake walk today instead of what is in the oven for later.
We have ended our day, riding on Daddy’s UTV, Tukie (which was Momma’s nickname and certainly something that would have been uncouth in her eyes, why in the hell would he have named it after her she would have said…), watching the fireflies dance just as I am sure Momma, Daddy, Aunt Mackie and Uncle Chic are doing in Heaven.
Amen.

I’d rather see the government change laws than see another pink ribbon…

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Now, before you read the title and think I am starting a fury about the pink ribbon campaign, please read on as I am mad. I am so tired of opening my Facebook page and seeing yet another friend, another friend of a friend or even a complete stranger being diagnosed with breast cancer. It breaks my heart to see young children being left behind as their mother loses her battle. I am sad when I see another woman say it was detected at her first mammogram when she was forty. We need to push the laws to change.
Young girls are reaching puberty at a much younger age. They are developing at a faster rate and are hit with all within our foods and environment that are likely toxins. Simply sit back and remember your Granny frying up chicken if you are over 45. It was a delicious dish where you may have grabbed seconds or even thirds. Why? They were not produced chemically. They were not doused with antibiotics that made them four times their normal size. It was likely it came from the backyard, not some cramped chicken farm. It was simply chicken…
No one can convince me that even the free range chicken are actually pure. They started somewhere. You cannot tell me that somewhere in their line their great grand daddy chicken was not induced with some growth hormone somewhere down the road. So, here we are today with young women dying from breast cancer in their 30s and 40s at alarming rates. Pink ribbons are everywhere. They have become big business on their own, but where is the fight to change the laws to have women beginning to get mammograms at 30?
Think about it, if young girls are developing breasts at an earlier age would it not make more sense to bring the age down from the age of 40? Would it not seem to be the right thing to do in order to start saving more women rather than waiting until they are fighting a stage 3 or stage 4 battle, fighting for their lives?
I long to see the day when I see less pink ribbons, less blue ribbons and yes, less yellow ribbons. They are all signs of battles. Battles that could be prevented. Emory Austin once said “Some days there won’t be a song in your heart. Sing anyway.” I don’t want to sing. I want to yell. I want to scream. I want to take the pain away from friends, families, a complete strangers just by one ounce of prevention by allowing mammograms at an earlier age. Won’t you yell with me??