Use Your Wisdom

Retailers hate me. I am the type of shopper who gets more out of browsing than actually buying. It is not uncommon for me to carry an item around a store for a good 15 minutes only to put it away and walk out without making a purchase. I get enough pleasure simply imagining I might buy the item. Opening the wallet is a different story. It brings more pain than enjoyment.

Thanks to my Depression Era Grandfather, I can’t seem to make a purchase without weighing the cost against the need. My Grandfather once advised I should always consider how many working hours were necessary to afford something. Let’s say you make $20 an hour and you are holding a pair of pants that cost $60. Is that pair of pants worth the most grueling 3 hours of work you can remember? Thinking about individual purchases this way really takes the romance away from the cash register. There was a time when my mind would take me to all of the wonderful things the new item and I would experience together. After my Grandfather shared his wisdom, my mind was only able to focus on the past and what it took to earn the money retailers would love for me to hand them.

Though I may not have as much fun shopping as other people, I can’t think of an item I returned to a shelf or rack that I regret leaving behind. Interestingly enough, when I have made a purchase without using my Grandfather’s wisdom, I’ve noticed a greater frequency of disappointment in the item.

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My husband and I enjoyed a date with our daughter yesterday at Amicci’s in Baltimore’s Little Italy. It’s the kind of place with a casual atmosphere, quick service and a smell of garlic that makes you wonder why a perfume hasn’t been created to match that incredible scent. While enjoying the shrimp dressed in garlic cream sauce and penne pasta entwined with sweet Italian sausage, marinated red peppers and ripe tomatoes, it is hard to fathom why there is a 60 minute wait at the local Olive Garden a mere 15 minutes away. Amicci’s isn’t more expensive. The wait is minimal. The service is so efficient your young children don’t even have time to melt down and ruin the meal.

The big selling point for Amicci’s is the fact my meal tasted better than what I might be able to pull off at home. That never happens at Olive Garden. I always think I could have done a better job. Granted, I didn’t have dishes to wash afterwards, but a clean kitchen isn’t my only motivation for enjoying a night out. I wonder what the draw is to these chain restaurants with long waits, less than inspiring food and cookie cutter atmospheres. Could it be the commercials featuring happy ethnic people telling us the food is like Mama’s? In truth, we really don’t know how good of a cook their mama is/was. Is it the promise we will feel like family? Perhaps that little tiff with the waitress when we indicated we had no interest in hearing her wine selections (both non drinkers) was staged to feel like a spat with my sister. What about the draw of the giant black olives? I can’t be the only soul so in love with the black olives in their salads that my mind fails to remind me I can simply pop open a can from my pantry home. It’s a real possibility I have given Olive Garden business for years just to enjoy an olive tucked in with some lettuce.

As I sat in Amicci’s yesterday, I realized it is the kind of place that makes you feel good. The thought the small restaurant with unique appeal might some day lose the battle against the Olive Gardens of this world made me ill. Though my husband and I like to explore different places near us, we often fall into the trap of craving what a commercial has told us to crave. We shell over $40 of our hard earned money for an experience we will forget (or at least try to) in short order. In Amicci’s honor, we will do our best to keep that to a minimum moving forward. There are so many different experiences waiting to be enjoyed. It seems silly to spend any more hours crammed in a door entrance waiting for a hostess to allow us our turn at a meal of salt and cardboard.

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I would love to have perfect teeth. My smile is the one thing I would change about myself. It’s not that my teeth are crooked or rotten. I was blessed with straight teeth that have only endured 2 cavities. My complaints are the subtle gaps between my teeth and the fact a few of my top pearly whites are a bit small compared to their neighbors. Several dentists have encouraged me to consider a smile renovation. “You’re a perfect candidate,” they say. Supposedly it wouldn’t take much to make a dramatic and positive change.

Aside from my fear of the dentist’s chair, another concern prevents me from jumping on the makeover bandwagon. What if improving my smile opens my eyes to other things that need fixing? It’s not impossible. My husband and I painted the walls of a small bathroom and suddenly all of the other walls in our home looked shabby. Once all of the walls were painted our dingy kitchen appliances stuck out like a sore thumb. The new appliances gave light to how outdated our countertops are becoming. We haven’t acted on changing the countertops because it is painfully obvious how wrong our cabinets will become afterwards. Looking back, we may have been happier, and certainly wealthier, had we simply left that boring bathroom alone.

See why the decision to improve my smile is giving me trouble? Once I’m no longer distracted by gaps and such, who knows what facial lines and saggy something-or-others will jump out at me. It’s bad enough on the week that follows a new haircut and color. My hair looks so good, there’s no way I can go without make-up. Imagine if I had good hair and good teeth. Nothing positive can come from it, if you ask me.

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In the past week that I’ve been sick I’ve been doing a lot of surfing on the internet to kill time. I’ve found some interesting blogs I will refrain from linking to my site. They are great reads but the language can be a bit strong at times and I don’t want to catch anyone off guard.  One site that has entertained me to no end is a blog dedicated to outlining why the modern woman is worthless. Why men should run for their lives and save themselves. Aside from the fact some lump all women in together when it comes to certain behaviors, most of the content is thought provoking.  If it weren’t for the fact I’m pretty confident I’m not the selfish, manipulative, princess like female they are describing, I might be offended.  In truth, I can think of several women I’ve met who fit the bill on a lot of their complaints.

To the point of this blog, the site I’ve been reading is clearly intended for a male audience. No where does the blogger give any hint he is worried about turning away any female readers upset by his message. Interestingly enough, there are several women there who have made it their cause to try to change these men and prove them wrong. One such poster contributed a series of comments that started out nice and turned into a ridiculous rant of name calling and such. I guess she doesn’t blog enough to realize comments aren’t always posted immediately. She thought the blogger was intentionally skipping her comments and couldn’t stop from submitting follow up comments with all sorts of rationale as to why he wasn’t a big enough man to share her thoughts with his blog readers. Let me tell you, she got pretty creative. When ALL of her comments appeared the following day she read like a first class idiot. Of course, the men there had a field day with this. She realized immediately she was in the wrong and attempted to back peddle. She had a reason for her burst of insanity. Any guesses on what it was? She justified her less than noble behavior on having her period. Yep, her period made her interpret the situation incorrectly and type those vicious words. Considering the mood of the site, any guesses as to how understanding these men were when she offered her excuse? Not very. It was terribly embarrassing to watch them skewer and roast her over attempting to use her period as a hall pass for saying stupid things on a site primarily intended for men.

I really hate it when my fellow woman perpetuates the myth having a period turns us into ridiculous nitwits one week out of every month. Not only that, we hate it when men suggest we must have our period when we are upset. We can’t have it both ways. We can’t be offended when a man implies such a thing, but throw out “my period made me do it” when we make a mistake or lose our mind over something. I’m fortunately a woman who has not been overcome by my period. I’ve always managed to stay in the driver’s seat when she is around. If I felt I was in any danger of being taken over by her though, I would run for the magical aisle in the grocery store of tiny white pills that take you to a land of sunshine and daisies. Problem solved.

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My husband lived in our current home for 10 years before we got married. He was the original owner, so he was able to pick the features he wanted in the house as it was built. One choice he made was to select hardwood floors for a majority of the main living area. I’ll never forget the first time he invited me in his home. As he opened the door the first thing that jumped out at me was what appeared to be a significant rug collection. Rugs were everywhere. Red, gray, cream, striped and patterned rugs were strewn over a majority of the area. Few matched. Most were in various stages of wear. When I asked him why he had so many rugs he responded it was to protect the wood floor.

Though I understand wanting to protect something that is special, it is interesting how we sometimes take that protection to a level that prevents us from enjoying and experiencing what we have. It reminds me of the sofa my Grandma bought when she moved into her new home. It was a beautiful cream with wild flowers and birds decorating it in places. She absolutely loved it in the store. From the day she brought it home it was covered in an afghan of brown, orange and yellow yarn. I’ve seen some ugly afghans, but this one took first prize. True, the sofa’s fabric remained in pristine condition and was untouched by stains, but the afghan never came off the couch until my Grandma passed away. It was in perfect condition for the next owner to appreciate, but she didn’t allow herself to enjoy the possession that had brought her so much pleasure to purchase.

Back to the rugs, when my husband and I got married I moved into the house of rugs and gradually started removing one at a time. After a bit, my husband realized he was starting to like the way his home looked. It felt good to walk in the door and see the wood. It was nice not to have an eye sore of mismatched patterns greeting him. He was giving himself (the current owner) permission to enjoy the house without putting all of the weight on the future owner’s enjoyment. There are now a few scuffs that wouldn’t have been there had rugs remained, but they are of little consequence compared to the enjoyment we have both received from the hardwoods.

My challenge to myself and to others is to not be so rigid in enjoying things. We get one shot at this life and we might as well take our fill from time to time. I’m not saying to be irresponsible. Table some of the concerns over preserving something for its next owner though. Take that car out from under the tarp and go for a joy ride. Dab on that perfume you never wear because you want it to last forever. Spend some of your hard earned money on yourself instead of worrying about how much you hope to pass on to others when you are gone. Don’t limit yourself to a life of ugly rugs when you’ve earned and actually possess something that is special and brings you pleasure.

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I wonder how God feels about prayers these days. No matter what faith you practice, many have a belief in a higher power and offer prayers to that being. Prayers these days have taken on an odd twist. Football players drop to their knees and offer a prayer of thanks when scoring a touch down. Music stars huddle in prayer circles and ask for God’s help in their concert performance as they prepare to sing songs about drinking, casual sex, infidelity and such. Opposing sides in a war send prayers for strength and victory in battle so they may be the one to kill the most while experiencing the fewest casualties. The plastic surgeon on “Dr. 90210” suggests ‘with God’s blessing’ the new set of knockers he is implanting will be perfect.

God must really wonder what we are thinking down here. He’s got a massive universe to tend to and we attempt to involve Him in the trivial matters of fake breasts and football games. He has a message of righteousness and we seek His assistance in promoting negative messages for outrageous profit. He demands goodwill towards others and we ask Him for help in destroying those we disagree with so our viewpoint will prevail.

I don’t mean for this to be a blog about Bibles and brimstone. My religious affiliations and beliefs aren’t going to be revealed and pontificated. It’s just fascinating to me that some individuals who make a public display of their belief in God through prayers and chants would pick such minute or negative issues to ask for His blessing or offer their thanks. If you’re going to ask the big guy for help, ask for World peace, health of friends & family, wisdom, patience and financial security. If you wish to express thanks, consider what blessings are more likely results of His crafting. Though I can’t place a phone call to God to confirm His opinion, I’d hazard a guess He would rather hear appreciation for the important things in life versus sporting event outcomes and presents Santa left under the tree.  I’m just asking for a little more consistency between the faith and the supposedly faithful.

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Thanks to a few dear friends of mine (Erin and Suzanne, cough…cough) I am officially hooked on Starbuck’s Peppermint Mochas. So very yummy. Because of the calories, I do my best not to order anything larger than a Grande (medium). During a recent trip to Starbuck’s I was handed a Venti (large) sized cup. Turns out they were out of Grande sized cups and were providing Ventis without charging more. As much as I wanted to celebrate my good fortune, I knew this wasn’t necessarily a good situation. The calorie count in a Grande probably counts for 2 meals. A Venti might as well come with a warning to anticipate needing a larger clothing size.

Because I consider myself a smart woman capable of keeping my head in difficult situations, I felt confident I could muster the discipline to avoid polishing off the entire mocha. It would be silly to be proactive and dump some out ahead of time. Besides, wouldn’t taking the lid off change the temperature? Luke warm mochas aren’t so good. I’d probably end up throwing the entire thing out and that would be a terrible waste. No, I carried on with the confidence my jean size was not in jeopardy. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

So, as I type this Blog with my top button undone, I want to offer some advice to the weak and weary. Know the limits of your self control. There is no fault in admitting when you may be in over your head. A false sense of confidence is dangerous. What’s done is done. I will say, a luke warm mocha probably would have been more appealing to me than a hot gym.

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A service group I belong to sponsors a local road for litter pick up. One Saturday every 3 months we don orange vests, grab gigantic trash bags and take to the roadside. Even though picking up petrified garbage is a bit gross, there is an element of fascination over what we find decorating the grass and underbrush. It’s hard to conceive of people actually rolling down their window and tossing such things out on to Mother Nature’s landscape. The feeling we are helping to set her back to rights is rewarding and helps make the task more tolerable.

You would think the garbage in the grass would be the least pleasant aspect of service project. Not true. Amazingly, people have come to assume anyone in a vest picking up garbage along the road must be paying penance for a crime. I mean, what law abiding citizen would choose to clean up after man kind? As we clean, we are often faced with dirty looks, cars that drive recklessly around us and even people who intentionally litter right in front of us. It’s outrageous. I don’t mean to imply that kind of behavior would be acceptable if we were indeed petty thieves. The fact we are innocents in orange makes it worse somehow.

People make assumptions based on what they see most often. Though I’m in favor of putting those who violate the law to work, I don’t think the average citizen is off the hook on cleaning up the human debris field. Perhaps if we make a commitment to take on trash daily, it won’t be so out of the ordinary to see law abiding citizens picking up cans and fast food bags.

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I love to network and meet people. By profession, I am a third party recruiter (a.k.a. – headhunter) of accountants. Any recruiter will tell you the importance of meeting people and getting your name out there. Friends often spy me at different events passing out business cards and negotiating for speaking opportunities. Many times the events have nothing to do with accountants. For example, I participate in a group that caters to technical writers. Why do this? You just never know who the person you are networking with is connected to professionally and personally. Very rarely is my initial contact the one I end up working with. Often times it is the friend, spouse, cousin or coworker of that contact.

I frequently speak to groups of job seekers and try to drive home the importance of networking to find employment. When I quiz attendees, I often find a belief it is a waste of time to circulate with individuals who are not hiring managers while on a job hunt. Many look disappointed when I reveal I primarily place accountants. The non accountants in the room have a look of “great, this is going to be a complete waste of my time.” Never mind the library of contacts I have from various walks of life and professions. It’s so easy to write people off based on general assumptions of what they may or may not be able to do for you. It is equally tempting to chase relationships with people you feel will directly benefit you and overlook the fact others may be able to offer more help indirectly than some are able to extend directly. I try to impress upon people you should view others as a scratch off lottery ticket. It’s impossible to tell if the ticket holds a prize if you don’t take time to grab a quarter and remove the layers that hide the answer. Passing up an opportunity to get to know someone new based on an assumption they couldn’t possibly be of any benefit is just like throwing away a scratch lottery ticket before scraping away the gray matter.

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As a kid I was the queen of ‘Oh, I can’t wait until…!’ I was always looking forward to a holiday or event and hoping it would hurry up and get here. One day my Grandma looked me square in the eyes and asked me to quit wishing my life away. I was stunned. It never occured to me I was, in a sense, willing the limited time I have on this planet to pass quickly. As if that weren’t enough, my Grandma offered that wishing my life away was wishing her life away as well. Until she pointed it out, I never considered my time couldn’t pass quickly without everyone else’s doing the same. I never forgot those words. The habit of uttering “I can’t wait until” hasn’t been broken completely. These days it is more of a figure of speech than a true desire for something to hurry up and get here.

Just a little tidbit to think about.

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