“My assistant’s love life? 

…more than I wanna know.” 

(And I’m actually afraid of her finding out about mine, so I keep a distance!) 

“And what’s so bad about that?  After all, I’m not running a social service organization here; this here’s a business.  There’s no room for touchy-feely, warm/fuzzy, cuddly-wuddly (“cuddly-wuddly”?) stuff — least of all between me and the people who work for me.  If we don’t keep a respectful distance, the work will never get done, and my granddaddy always said: “Don’t fish off company docks!”

WOW!  Some good arguments there, Mr. Hardass, and I’m sure that strategy has worked well for you because you’re still in business while others around you keep tumbling.  But, you know what?  Odds are for sure that you’re not getting the productivity levels you deserve out of those you employ.  Here’s why:

KEEPING THE BEST PEOPLE means treating them like they are the best, all the time, no exceptions, even when they screw up and you choose to feel angry about it. 

You might try, instead of anger, to choose (yes, anger is your choice!) the path of a constructive guide by:

1) Taking some deep breaths to calm down your neurological system, relax your muscles and stimulate more oxygen to your brain to become more alert.  You may have to quietly walk away or gently close your door to force yourself to concentrate on your breathing for a minute or two, then

2) Chalking it off to a learning experience for the employee (AND for your self for not having forewarned or kept on top of the issues involved) and taking some solice that the employee probably feels badly enough without being chastized.  Try instead asking for (in writing by the end of the day!) three ways to specifically prevent that kind of screw-up in the future, which puts a positive focus on problem prevention (vs. negative nonproductive scolding).

3) Remembering that Maslow’s Heirarchy still rules HR’s motivational universe of successful companies.  Small frequent rewards that specifically address the personal needs of each individual always motivate best, and can usually be more economical.  A recognition seeker will prefer a plaque to cash.  The parent of a crooked-toothed teenager will prefer one-time orthodontist bill payments over a permanent salary raise. 

The point here is that you will never be able to know what makes your people “tick” –and each marches to a different drummer– UNLESS you make more of an effort toward intimacy!  How will you ever know about the teenager’s teeth, for example, unless you’ve had some kind of informal small talk discussion with the parent over lunch or coffee?  Would you even know that person has a teenage child?

And it doesn’t stop with that.  We often change our wants and needs literally overnight.  A local TV interview, for instance, with the regognition-seeker may satisfy that need to the point where a plaque has no meaning. 

The teenager’s grandmother may have just come up with the cash for the braces, prompting the parent to be more interested in ressurecting pursuit of new tires for the family car.  (Again, a much cheaper and more appreciated one-time-expense reward for good work motivates more than a permanent ongoing salary raise!)  The trade-off to taking the time and trouble to know your employees better is that it will –in the end– cost you less and increase your business productivity levels.  

So, bedroom habits?  No.  Getting a fix and keeping tabs on each individual employee’s changing wants and needs?  Yes.  Listening carefully?  Yes.  Caring enough to provide the kinds of support –within reason of course– that those who work for you really need?  Yes.  Take the time; it pays!   

halalpiar

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The Problems Start Tuesday!  

If you own or manage a business, you’d better sit up and take notice at the plans being made for the week ahead.  [And what I am about to say here is not out of bitterness or sour grapes.  It is out of common sense.  It is out of respect for those Americans whose vigilence and acts of bravery have given us the freedom to be able to speak out and challenge abusive leadership no matter its source.]

     So, Is it just my imagination (isn’t that a song?) or doesn’t it seem inappropriate (like taking poverty-stricken people to a casino) and inauspicious (not conducive to success) AT THIS PARTICULAR STRESSED-OUT TIME IN AMERICAN HISTORY to be spending so frivilously and lavishly for Presidential Inaugural celebrations? 

     Okay, maybe it’s just me.

     Am I dreaming that Joe-the-plumber Americans have been rocked back on their heels with worries about how to take a more fiscally responsible personal and business spending path right now?  Am I alone seeing that most Americans appear to be clutching their pocketbooks like never before?  Or am I just fantasizing all this?

Why would ANYone with a conscience (hmmm) who is about to take control of the planet’s most powerful country, including all the ingredients that determine our nation’s economic well-being –or state of dissipation as the case may be– think for even two (2) seconds that over-spending for such self-aggrandizement and self-serving ends is an okay thing to do? 

     Do you think it’s okay?  I certainly don’t.  I don’t believe your’re “entitled” to a honeymoon when your family is starving just because you ran a successful political campaign.  And I believe we are obliged to question the man’s judgement. 

     What would ever make the new president think he is endearing himself to those he’s been chosen to represent by pissing away (pardon the term; it’s the most accurate I could muster) their hard-earned taxpayer dollars? 

What makes it okay to lend mere lip-service and tacit approval-by-avoidance to skyrocketing forclosure and bankruptcy levels then turn around to hold an extravagant party to celebrate oneself with cash wrenched from our wallets and our children’s piggybanks and our aging parent’s fixed incomes? 

     You don’t believe it?  Here’s a perfect example (and you won’t hear much about this from the idolizing, fawning, he-can-do-no-wrong mainstream media): Teetering on the precipice of financial collapse, the State of Maryland is reported to be coughing up ELEVEN MILLION DOLLARS for inaugural expenses. 

     The list of how many millions of dollars are about to be wasted is exceeded in shamefulness only by the list of dire financial circumstances surrounding the States that are being arm-bent into donating. 

Here’s a question:  Given the sorry state of America’s economy, if it was YOUR inauguration, do you think YOU might forego some of the megamillions of dollars worthy of pomp and circumstance and direct some (or heaven forbid, all) of the funds earmarked for partying into some high need areas? 

     Small business incentives, for example, could serve to create jobs.  Many self-sacrificing, battered, struggling military families could use their own “bailouts” — cash for food, transportantion and heating fuel (with apologies to Internet inventor Al Gore whose global warming theories . . . well, you can finish the rest of that sentence) would take America a great deal further than a week-long bash!

     On top of the points I made in a recent post here. . . that we are now faced with the two top leaders of our country possessing zero (0) business experience between them and, correspondingly, no appreciation for entrepreneurs being the ultimate catalysts of change . . . we are also forced to stand by helplessly watching Tuesday’s shameless splurge of outrageous expenses that could be better used to save lives and buysinesses.

     You own or manage a business?  Beware!  Stay alert!  Don’t get hurt!  We are on our own more than ever before.  Let’s keep our shoulders together and move forward as a unit of influence.  We are, after all, here to leave our marks on the world, aren’t we?  We have to make opportunities from the problems we face, the REAL problems , , , the ones that start on Tuesday.   halalpiar

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After all the hoopla,

comes stark reality.

     You run a business?  You know what I’m talking about.  You’ve been there.  You get your 100th (or 1000th or 1000000th) customer and you pull out all the stops to celebrate.  But in the haze of the next day’s hangover, you realize the ugly truth that you need to confront reality by picking up the pace to double-speed. 

     After pausing to pat yourself on the head, you need to jump back on the ever-accelerating merry-go-round.  You also know that when I say I’m sorry to have to be the one to not pull the wool over your eyes, I mean it.   

     Really.  I know there are many masochistic media-gobbling types out there who actually like being duped and manipulated.  But the truth is that next week’s Presidential Inauguration–which may be historic for some questionable reasons– is not about to mark the turn of anything more monumental than its own celebration venues.    

     Those of us who have inherited or built business enterprises from scratch understand that we are facing a long and difficult road ahead.  In just a few days, we will be seating a new President and a new Vice President who have not only never run a business, but who have zero business experience between them and have never managed any entity of substance . . . not even a National Guard unit!    

     These two politicians haven’t a shred of experience with entrepreneurship or entrepreneurial spirit, entrepreneurial thinking, attitude, or commitment to pursuits of enlightened self-interest.  While they may acknowledge that entrepreneurs built this country, they don’t have a clue that entrepreneurs are the true catalysts of change.  And yet they talk change.    

     As an owner or manager, your business is on the line.  No matter how recession-proof you think you are, you’re not.  No matter how bullet-proof you think you are, you’re not.    

     The only changes we, as business leaders, need are for government to do better at providing incentives that allow businesses to grow and thrive and create jobs . . . to do better at sealing and protecting our borders, and at preventing terrorist invasions of our homeland and cyberspace.  All the rest is talk.    

     A word to the wise, Messrs. Obama and Biden: BUSINESS is what makes America go, not educator tenures, not employee unions, not unchecked and unenforceable immigration policies, not foodstamps, not welfare rolls, not frivilous deep-pocket taxdollar funding of the arts, and not tax hikes to cover all the give-aways.    

     Failure to support and nurture America’s businesses is at the peril of America’s people. 

halalpiar                               # # # 

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“Panic At The Disco” ROCKS!

(ROFLMBO)

Well, I can tell you from two days of firsthand, frontline experience, that there’s very little in the world that can compare with what’s left of your brain after it’s been overhauled by a thirteen year-old girl.

You know those anti-drug commercials showing fried eggs with some line like, “This is your brain on drugs!”?  Well, a thirteen year-old girl (my spectacularly brilliant and charming granddaughter, to be specific) has the ability to fry your eggs and make you think you’re eating watermelon!

Grandma Kathy and I got indoctrinated to Fallout Boy, Panic at the Disco, and All Time Low among other top new recording sensations. 

(And yes, we do understand that Lady Gaga has “a message”!)

Of course we had our cell phone ringtones programmed to remind us of our our own, out-of-touch, oldtime favorites. 

And, no, it didn’t stop there.  Our granddaughter also connected my ipod to a new docking station Christmas present from her parents.  and promised to help me set up a podcast.  (“A piece of cake, Grandpa!”)  Double-cool! 

It might be awhile before I run out to buy any Panic at the Disco tunes to play, but I certainly enjoyed hearing The Eagles; Joni Mitchell; and Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young sounding –if such a thing is possible– better than the original recordings!

Like having a bee in your bonnet, this child (and I do use that term advisedly) keeps a schedule that would embarrass the workplace pace of any CEO.  Oh, right, and the economy is not, like, worth worrying about anymore than whether the awesome sparrows will, like, indeed return this year to Capistrano.

Here’s the point, Dear Bosses of Businesses: It’s an extraordinarily healthy experience for your enterprise –stodgy corporate or edgy entrepreneurial makes no difference– to shake up your awareness levels and get your tired boring self off the treadmill for a day.  Take the chance you can get your mind fast-forward catapulted into reality.

When you gain a fresh perspective,

your business gains fresh customers!

When you can look at things differently, you are prompting others to do the same.  Internal AND external customers will evaluate and re-evaluate your offerings with increased receptivity.

Now I know you can get some of the same values by getting down on the floor and playing with a baby or a puppy, but you’ll never learn about the hot new music groups or how “txt msgs” literally dominate the communication existences of those between the ages of 10 and 25! 

     Have you any idea, for example what some of these texting acronyms mean?  (Ask any 13 year-old!):

KWIM~~~~SHID~~~~YYSSW~~~~ROFLMBO~~~~?

Ah, just one other point of significant consequence, BTW: neither the baby nor the puppy can get you dynamically ring-toned! 

But don’t get me wrong.  Babies and puppies are good.  And they are better than nothing.  Playing with either and/or both will definitely divert your brain from your daily routines enough to force you to step up to your phone, desk, computer, meeting. or work site with some degree of renewed vigor –at least until the diaper needs changing or the puppy needs to be out the door.

So ANYthing you experience that’ s different 

can produce some ripples,

maybe even a tide change!

But if you’re going for some big-time rattle-your-business-cage kind of stuff, put aside (not literally of course) the baby and puppy in favor of a thirteen year-old girl, an experience that can help you create new ideas for exciting change.  The resultant energy can help you realign your attitude and reconstitute your commitment to move your business forward.

If you’re not already getting a daily dosage, spend a day with your kids or grandkids or a baby or puppy, and open your mind enough to allow them to step (or crawl, or jump!) inside! 

Then see how that experience changes the ways you think about what you’re doing every day to create and build sales, to attract and keep customers, to cultivate best employees and top suppliers.  If your life is all about getting ongoing adrenalin shots from kids already, look deep inside your business with their eyes! 

Go ahead.  What have you got to lose?  A stuck-in-the-mud reputation?  Another stress-filled day?  Opportunities to do more of the same thing you’ve been doing for weeks?  Months?  Years?  Go enjoy yourself!  Give yourself permission to play for a day!  (Or to see what you’ve been overlooking!)  

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www.TheWriterWorks.com or 302.933.0116 or Hal@BusinessWorks.US

Thanks for visiting. Go for your goals! God Bless You.

“The price of freedom is eternal vigilance!” [Thomas Jefferson]

Make today a GREAT day for someone

You’ve only one year to live.

What do you do with yourself?

Your business?

     Far-fetched?  Hopefully, yes.  But possibly, no.  It’s often been said that all of life is simply preparation for death, and that all we ever do from the moment of birth, is begin to die.  That’s admittedly some pretty heady philosophical stuff that many of us shy away from thinking about. 

     But is it worth considering? 

     Of course (unless, that is, you have little or no regard for yourself, your business, your family and friends, in which case –assuming you are reading this– you are probably a hermit in a cave with a laptop, and it’s probably time for you to rub some sticks together and begin thinking about what’s for dinner!) 

     Okay, back to serious for a minute, what are the first three things you think of in answer to each of the two headline (in dark red) questions above?  What do you think about your answers?

     What about if those questions followed a revised headline statement that said: You’ve only 6 months to live . . . ? 

     Would your answers change?  How?  How much?  And what if the headline statement only gave you one day? 

     This exercise can be very useful in the thinking process of establishing both life and business priorities (as well as delegating, and decision making) because whatever your responses may be, they serve to push the envelope.  It’s hard to imagine choosing to spend time doing tasks of avoidance, and harder still to imagine assigning lesser values to the tasks that are most important. 

     By forcing your focus on this for a minute or two, you can almost always prompt yourself to assess and evaluate situations and options (especially stressful ones) more realistically.  You will certainly make yourself more productive (the way you are the day before you leave for vacation?) more often. 

     Yes, yes, I know, you might rather join the hermit hunting down some berries and a squirrel to BBQ.  (I’ve heard the furs can actually be quite warm, assuming you’ve managed to save them from a few dozen meals’ worth, and sew them together. Okay, Gorilla Glue.)

     So, give it a chance (not the squirrel fur!).  For a grand total of about 2 minutes of applying your mind to such a “what if” circumstance, you stand to gain a finely-tuned and highly accurate appraisal of what’s important and what’s not, and what should be tackled in what order.  It sure beats dusting file tops, alphabetizing your DVD’s, and counting out-of-state license plates in a parking lot!

     “Bah!  Dis exercise is nuttin’ so revealin’,” you might exclaim. 

     Okay, so take it one more step.  You with me?  Get a piece of paper out (I know, you don’t own any paper; well, borrow a piece!) and write out your own obituary notice.  Ah, now there’s a challenge.  Notice what you mention first and second and third (and last) about your life.  Pay attention to what you have to say about you.  THAT’s what’s important!                halalpiar  

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A toy truck, a stroller, 

and pub coasters

strung with dental floss…

     A few years ago, our second or third trip to Ireland, Kathy and I –romanticized by the classic Bing Crosby Christmas song, “Christmas In Kilarney”– spent Christmas (our first away from home) at Kilarney Country Club. 

     Up a rocky, grass-between-the-tires dirt road from downtown Kilarney, jockeying “the wrong side” car controls to bounce cheerfully along between the seemingly endless stone walls that separated cows from sheep, we drove under a brick archway and pulled into a historic-looking brick complex that seemed to sport about three dozen two-story townhouses. 

     There was one other car at the far end.  We parked, found a smiling, green-eyed, freckled face and bubbling thick Irish accent at the office counter.  We registered and unpacked.  We had a spacious two-bedroom upstairs arrangement with living room and kitchen downstairs.  Our windows overlooked the property’s main courtyard and pathway to the Country Club Pub. 

     It seems when I think back that after the first day of being rebuked by a rude non-English speaking tourist family of six that literally comandeered the odd 3ft-deep indoor pool, we were actually the only guests there for the rest of the (Christmas) week. 

     We made the trek into town everyday, a beautiful, historic, bustling hub filled with happy holiday shopping locals, who seemed to visit a shop or two, then stop in a pub, then visit a shop or two, then stop in a pub . . . you get the idea.  And we drove hundreds of miles of picturesque unspoiled (and unlittered) countryside during the week, meeting only pleasant, accommodating-to-a-fault natives all along the way. 

     Night driving seemed a bit perilous, so we opted for evening visits to the Country Club Pub (the alternative was staying in our unit with three tv stations, two of which were German!).  The only Christmas tree we could find ($45 American) made Charlie Brown’s look like Rockefeller Plaza.  I think it was about 30 inches tall and had about 16 (or maybe it was 14?) scrawny branches. 

     We had no ornaments, but confiscated a wide range of carboard pub coasters in our travels, and strung them up with pieces of dental floss, a homemade alluminum foil star on top.  We stuffed two “Season’s Greetings”-scrawled plastic shopping bags with small sofa pillows and hung them in our windows. 

     We grocery-shopped for the all-time elaborate brunch of Irish rasher (bacon), eggs, cheese, jam, butter, toast, fruit, crackers, cavier, coffee, tea, and a bottle of asti that (being entrenched deep in beer and ale country, cost 11 trillion dollars American) tasted a lot better than it was. 

     We exchanged gifts we bought walking down opposite sides of the downtown, waving in between shops, a book for me, a piece of Irish crystal and a little stuffed Irish Christmas Bear for her, plus some other goodies.  It was great! 

     Every minute there was great, even when 15 native Kilarney guys had us singing with them (at the Country Club Pub where they’d hiked to by flashlight from their nearby farms) until 3am which led us to the discovery that no one there had ever even heard of the Crosby song, “Christmas In Kilarney”!!! 

     With the rows of “y’got ta finish dem” topped-off pints of beer and ale lined up from one end of the bar to the other, planted there when 11:15pm closing time came, it ultimately mattered not that anyone heard of any song as long as you sang.  And sing we did!

     So much for that, but we had a wonderful experience there.  Just one thing was missing.  Family.  We spent half the afternoon trying to phone home, with circuit connections going from where we were on Ireland’s West Coast, to Northern Ireland, to Boston, to Florida, to New York, to the clan in New Jersey who sounded like they were in a tunnel. 

     It made us realize that all the happiness of the week there was momentarily lost to being lonesome for family.  We managed to bounce back after that when the resort manager and his wife (who we suspect might have been listening in to our phone connection efforts) invited us to their home to see the doll baby stroller Santa brought for their daughter.  (Last Christmas, Santa brought the doll!).  I think their son got a toy truck.  One single present each and those children were in heaven! 

     That certainly gave us cause for pause.  We in America are blessed with so much, and family is, well, what Christmas is all about now, isn’t it? 

     I truly hope for you that you enjoy what you have today, and not take any of it for granted. 

     Oh, one last thing: Please remember to God Bless Our Troops for their eternal vigilence that grants us the freedom we have to celebrate this joyous day and season!  Enjoy!

Peace be to you.           

The original of this Christmas story appeared on 12/25/08 on this blog site.

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Hal@TheWriterWorks.com

Not A Cursor Is Stirring . . .

     I started a couple of nights ago with a post of some nostalgic recollections of some Christmas’s past, but then got myself caught into a second-wind rush of business thinking again for the last two nights’ posts.  Is that kind of like going on vacation and taking half a week to unwind and realize you’re on vacation? 

     Anyway, I hope you will take a look at all three of those posts.  They’re certainly two of my writing extremes.  You may like all or neither, but if you prefer one direction over the other, please call or write me and let me know. 

     I continue to straddle the line between literary fiction interests and hard-nosed (but light-hearted if one could possibly have both a hard nose and a light heart?) business teachings. 

     Having been a businessperson, professor, consultant, and author makes it hard to get it out of my system, but I love writing fiction too, and often find myself writing blog posts on a coin toss!. 

     As for this blog site, I have all kinds of analytical stuff to digest, but it rarely helps me know how to most effectively divide my writing pursuits because YOU –you who actually return here without threat of punishment– are really the only ones who can help me do that. 

     So do pass along your thoughts on what you’re more or less interested in.  I may not pay any attention, but I’ll love you for trying.  Seriously, I will greatly value your input. 

     I figure if you’ve read all this, and gotten this far, you either relate to something I’ve written, or you wish me off the planet, or you’re stealing my ideas to start up a new government in Bongo-Bongo (I DO get a lot of regular visits from many foreign countries!), or your tv is broken and you’re ready to join a lonely hearts club, or you’ve got 16 kids with stockings to fill and toys to assemble and you’re doing tasks of avoidance right now by pretending to be engaged in important research as you hover over your screen, or you’re a really sick puppy?!  

     SO:  Tis the night before Christmas, and all through your mouse, not a cursor is stirring, not even the souse who lives next door and pounds on your door when you stomp on the floor and call him a louse . . . whew!  Can you tell I had a glass of Christmas Eve wine? 

     Really, all you dear visitors, I wish for each of you the happiest, healthiest, and Merriest Christmas of all time.  Stay close.  Stay Safe.  Stay warm.  Love Those You’re With and Miss Those You’re Not With.  Relax.  Smile.  Laugh.  See you sometime after a late Christmas brunch (with some fun comments about one very memorable Christmas in Ireland!). 

     Have a great sleep (unless you’re in Bongo-Bongo and just woke up!) and a great day tomorrow!  

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You didn’t know Santa smoked?

     The stockings (um, our real socks, not today’s designer specials that hold ten gallons of goodies) were hung (actually safety-pinned to the back of the stuffed chair because the only “chimney” in our 3-room apartment next to the railroad tracks was the incinerator out in the hall that spewed nose-killing smoke around all the door openings when the garbage was burned in it every week) with care (rolling pin threats insured that the safety pins were delicately applied).

     Yeah, carrots for the reindeer and milk and cookies for Santa (left with a note begging for one or two things each) were inevitably transformed to early morning crumbs, drops of spilt milk, an empty booze bottle (Santa needed to warm up after all that North Pole snow) and cigarette butts (you didn’t know Santa smoked?).

     Let’s stay with the socks.  So, these were always the best because when we reached in, we pulled out great stuff like walnuts, and maybe an orange (depending on how big your feet were since this measurement dictated the sock you were allowed to pin up).

     Sometimes, we’d get hard candies, maybe even a candy cane, or Topps Bubble Gum with baseball cards, and almost always the big deal-breaker: a comic book!  If you were really lucky, you might get a new pair of shoelaces or (Zounds!) a pink rubber ball!

     I was probably 15 before I realized that not everybody removed and counted every single one of the 3,000 shreds of tinsel strips and laid them neatly in wax paper wrapped batches of 50 to save for next year, always a challenge after they had been sprayed with canned white “snow.” 

     We never got much in the way of gifts, but we were never hurting for canned white snow, which seemed to just miraculously appear somewhere in between the booze bottles.

     Relatives we hated always showed up with stupid presents we didn’t want (a new set of wheels for a toy car I didn’t have, a boat compass –whoot whoo!– a great amenity for my used, bent 24″ balloon-tire Schwinn bike that had a broken chain and a hitch in its git-along, a plaid shirt from the Salvation Army).

     Neighbors showed up to drink.  Dad’s drinking friends showed up to eat.  It was like somebody robbed the delicatessen across the street once a year.  From Christmas ’til New Year’s, we ate pounds of bologna, salami, cheese, ham (if the economy was good), and coleslaw ’til it was coming out our ears.  My little brother opted for his new shoelaces, which he claimed tasted better.

     Sounds pretty gruesome, huh?  Well, when you don’t know any better . . . it was just fine with us.  I guess there was too much drinking and smoking going on too, but, hey, it was what people did then (and some still do!). 

     Anyway, we did have two very special things that not many people seem to have today: family love and appreciation for what we did have.  I wish these two things for all of you.  They made a difference in my life.  (I do, though, have a rather hefty-size stocking over the fireplace right now!)     halalpiar 

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Check out and contribute to the daily growing 7-Word Story started 103 days ago (inside a coffin).  Click on the link to the right, or go to the “BOOKS” tab at the top of this page, then to the top headline link.

Hey, ja’hear the one about . . .? 

     You know how you get all kinds of email junk FWD’d to you every day from well-intentioned friends?  It’s like spam that’s endorsed (vs. unsolicited, which is much easier to delete). 

     There are the emails and attachments from “the guys” who have somehow convinced themselves that you are the perfect compatriot to share piles of what they think are yuck-it-up jokes (that come out of the same distasteful sexist denial closets as Elliot Spitzer and Bill Clinton).

     Then there are the “other guys” (sometimes the same ones) who love to bombard you with x-rated porn talk and photos and videos because they get off on it and can’t imagine anyone not being pleased for the viewings.

     Oh, yeah, and less offensive but equally weird, there are the schmaltzes who send every dripping piece of Hallmark-style drivel that give you the creepy-crawlys just to scroll through them. 

     Oh well, it takes all kinds, my Mother used to say (an Irish philosopher, of course!)

     Now I’m hardly a prude, and I enjoy a good email joke as much as anybody.  I especially love getting emails filled with spectacular photos of spectacular places I know I’ll probably never see otherwise … kind of a National Geographic fetish.

     But, you know what, the FWD’d emails I like best are those that make me think.

     The best of these that I’ve seen recently (anonymous of course) has provoked me to wrap tonight’s post around it because I think it’s something worth sharing, especially on the advent of our joyous and peace-filled holiday season.

     Personally, I try to never use the word “can’t” or “cannot” because I believe everything and anything CAN be done, but this list of 4 stopped me in my tracks.  It made me think.

     Tell me what YOU think (Click on “No responses yet” or “Comments” below then type in the window, or email with “4 Things” in the subject line to Hal@TheWriterWorks.com . . .

FOUR THINGS

YOU CANNOT RECOVER . . .     

1.  The stone, after it’s thrown.

2.  The word, after it’s said.

3.  The occasion, after the loss.

4.  The time, after it’s gone. 

 

Put your own spin on this, think about what it means to YOU.  Make the conclusion you come to about it work FOR you, not by regretting, but by being kinder than necessary, kinder than you usually are, kinder perhaps than you want to be.  Go ahead, try it for the holidays! What have you got to lose?  A little kindness?  Hmmmmm.          halalpiar

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See Nov 29th post (below) for New Year’s contest prize and rules – Then GO FOR IT!  Emails to Hal@TheWriterWorks.com with “SOUNDS OF THE SEASON” in the subject line.  # # #

Check out and contribute to the daily growing 7-Word Story started 98 days ago (inside a coffin).  Click on the link to the right, or go to the “BOOKS” tab at the top of this page, then to the top headline link.

Dogs, music, and BJ’s

. . . sounds a little raunchy, but remember the source.

       How hard is it to keep your stomach from gurgling with anxiety when you’ve got blog posts to put up and articles that need writing and editing, and the hours tick by, while no one at the cable company knows more than to tell you that your connections are not functioning?  Duh!  Uh, we called you, remember? 

     So me, the great 30-year teacher of stress management needs to . . . well, you know the rest. 

       A little diversionary follow-up report to yesterday’s post, btw, is that the BJ’s I mentioned, that had the gall to charge prospective customers for the privilege to shop in their new (197^th) store, opened today.   

     The most telling comment I heard was that there were more people inside the store at any given moment of the day than live in the entire town (and probably four surrounding towns as well).  So that just goes to show you how little I know about what works anymore in retailing.  Who woulda thunk it?  Right, BJ’s! 

       But the good news is that the store is 100% perfect, bright, cheerful, beautifully laid out, lots of quality merchandise at very low prices, and offering a huge selection.  Just too crowded!  Oh, well.  We’ll try it on a weekday.  I’ll let you know.  Humpf!  

     I just wrote a reminder note for Monday Vet checkup appointment for my two dogs and that stool samples are needed.  Best place to put it is with my papers for early morning meeting with clients so I remember to get on the road asap after the meeting.  Hope the note doesn’t fall out.  “Bring poop samples to next meeting!” might be hard to explain.

       It’s weird to be typing this in Word instead of my friendly little blog window. 

I was reminded today of two things you can never get back:

the stones you throw and the words you use.

     Belated Happy Birthday to my son the musician.  We spoke (and I sang!) on his day, 12/11, but I hadn’t yet managed to squeeze Christopher www.alpiar.com into my blog.  Anyway, he sent me the following link that he ran across:  http://video.stumbleupon.com/?p=kkdpiahine . . . a pretty cool solo performance no matter what your level of music interest.

       Oh, right, dogs.  So now you know the slow motion truth of my brain activity.  But since you already know about their poop, you should want to know that one’s an all black 5 year-old cocker spaniel, Tuckerton (he’s named after NJ’s Tuckerton Seaport, a mile from where we once lived), and the other’s an 11½ year-old golden retriever, Barnegat (she’s named after NJ’s Barnegat Bay, where we once welcomed the waves onto our front yard).  Now you know why I’m not moving to Machipongo, VA, anytime soon.  

     I promise more substance tomorrow, assuming the great awakening of my cable company.  In the meantime, have a wonderful night.   halalpiar

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See Nov 29th post (below) for New Year’s contest prize and rules – Then GO FOR IT!  Emails to Hal@TheWriterWorks.com with “SOUNDS OF THE SEASON” in the subject line.  # # #

Check out and contribute to the daily growing 7-Word Story started 95 days ago (inside a coffin).  Click on the link to the right, or go to the “BOOKS” tab at the top of this page, then to the top headline link.