I love them, I love them not

Oregon Duck football! The team this year is rocking the house. Twenty straight victories at Autzen Stadium. The only loss this season to LSU. And have you seen the depth of that team?  Two star players are sidelined by injuries, yet the back-ups are every bit as good.

I should be happy.

I love Oregon Duck football. I just don't trust Oregon Duck football.

I became an Oregon fan in 1982.  Back in those days the Oregon football team was bad.  There were times where I thought the team got lost on the way to the stadium.  Fans' hopes and dreams were dashed year after year.  Each season ended with a litany of "would've, should've and could've" laments. Then something magical happened in the early 90s.  Things began to click. In 1994 the team went to the Rose Bowl.  The ROSE BOWL! This was huge for us die-hards who braved rain, wind, sleet, and darkness of night to support the team.  But the ups and downs continued through the 1990s.  Just when you got your hopes up, the team found some way to implode mid-way through the season. 

The team is really very good today.  But there is a part of me that can't forget the dismal seasons of years past.  There's a part of me afraid to get my hopes up for a national championship or even a Pac-12 championship.  What if they let me down again.  Will I just be disappointed?

It struck me that I have not been very willing to let the team change over the years.  In my mind - whether consciously or not - I've kept the image of the bumbling, fumbling, unable to execute team of the 1980s.  That's not really fair of me.  The team has worked hard over the years.  They've turned the corner. They have more than proved their desire and drive toward excellence.

I wonder in what other areas of my life have I failed to recognize change in a person?  Am I still holding friends or family to a certain expectation because that's what it use to be? 

Change is hard enough, especially change in our personal lives. I need to find ways to help others celebrate their changes, support those changes, and not force them back into a role they no longer need or want to play. 

Have you ever struggled with accepting and embracing a change in someone's life?

I will remember you

Birthday card mom left for dad

Epitaph, noun

1. - an inscription on a tomb or gravestone in memory of the person buried there
3. - a short composition in prose or verse, written as a tribute to a dead person

I wonder what my epitaph will be. I was thinking about that yesterday
as I strolled around the Willamette National Cemetery looking at the
markers on the Columbarium 5 wall. I thought it might be beloved daughter
and sister or maybe loyal and devoted friend.

But then I as I was looking at some of the sayings on the markers, I started smiling and then laughing. I found myself wanting to the know their story - wanting to know the person behind the name.

As I said when I started this blog, I love stories. And each one of
these epitaphs conjures all kinds of story possibilities.

FARRETTA, Thomas Albert. US Army - WWII, Korea, and Viet Nam

I am a soldier  

WAGGONER, Charles Albert. US Navy - Viet Nam

Cozmic jammer

BURKERT, Donna. US Navy - WWII

 Loved books, kids & nature

CARTWRIGHT, Farnandeze. US Army Air Corps - WWII

An ethical man

ARON, Morris. US Army - WWII

He sparkled

CAMPBELL, David Dean. US Air Force - Korea, Viet Nam

And that's that story

JONES, William. US Coast Guard

Just plain Bill

CLARK, Karl Edmund. US Army - Viet Nam

Shine on you crazy diamond

JOHNSON, Dale D. US Army - Korea

I love taters & gravy

SHIPMAN, Charles J. US Navy - WWII

I went to see for myself

HANABLE, William S. US Air Force - Viet Nam

Historian Dad

I thought about the family members and friends who came up with the epitahs for these people.  I appreciated how well they knew the man or woman and how they were able to sum up that person's life in a few words.  And I really think those short phrases speak volumes about the life at that person.

Mom said when she joins Dad in Columbarium 5, she wants to following added to the marker:  Holy shit! What a ride!  I'm not sure the staid Willamette National Cemetery will allow that complete sentiment, but I bet we can tweak it enough so that it works. 

And I think I know what I want: She kept us laughing until the end.

A cold long winter

Late December and early January must be excellent baby making weather. How do I know?  Let me count the birthdays this month.

It kicks off on September 2 with my friend Marie's birthday.  This is followed quickly by Charla's birthday on the 3rd.  Shelley comes along next on the 7th (Happy 40th!).  I stumble into the picture on the 11th still somewhat dazed from the birthday changing events of 2001.  My mom's birthday is today, the 14th (to which I've heard a million times how I should have been born on her birthday, but my OCD about arriving early to events apparently is in my DNA).  My mom's BFF, and my godmother, Helen's birthday is tomorrow, the 15th.  Rhonda and Stella give us a two-for-one combo on the 19th (also known as International Talk Like a Pirate Day). Rounding out my collection of friends is Susan's birthday on the 22nd. 

Maybe this is one reason I like September so much: many opportunities to celebrate, enjoy lunches out, and lots of laughter. 

Happy birthday beautiful women of September.  Let's do it again next year.

We will not forget

Americans have short memories. We are often easily distracted by the next shiny bauble that bounces along.  But there are some things we won't forget.

Tomorrow marks the 10 year anniversary of the attacks on the World Trade Centers, the Pentagon, and Flight 93. 

I had the opportunity to take some time off from work last Wednesday (another reason I like my job)  to help with the set up of the Field of Flags at Riverfront Park in Salem. After helping place some potted flowers besides the flags marking the fallen Oregon soldiers in the Iraq and Afghanistan wars, I headed back to the main gathering area.  I was given a page of about 75 names - the A's of the people who died in the World Trade Center.  As I began reading the names, other volunteers began placing the flags representing each person lost that day in the field.

Almost immediately in reading my list I ran into Andrew Abate and Vincent Abate. I wondered "were they related."  As it turns out they are brothers who worked at Cantor Fitzgerald, a stock trading company that lost over 600 employees that day.  This was going to be harder than I thought.

I focused on trying to say the names as best I could and silently prayed they would forgive me for any mangling of the pronunciation.

My favorite name in the list to pronounce was Ignatius Udo Adanga. Later, I looked him up in a book I have that lists all the victims of that day.  It told me that Mr. Adanga was born in Nigeria and had immigrated to New York 20 years earlier. He worked for the Metro Transportation Council in the World Trade Center. He was a husband, a father, and a friend.

I continued on reading the names, but my emotions finally got the better of me when I read first, Joesph J. Angelini, Jr. and then immediately afterward I read, Joseph J. Angelini, Sr.  Father and son. They were firefighters who did not survive the collapse of the World Trade Center.  The elder Mr. Angelini was a 40 year veteran with no thoughts of retiring.  His son, a relatively newbie, with seven years of service. 

The list of names continued as I handed off the next pages to the other readers.

Each generation has a defining moment. 

December 7, 1941

November 23, 1963

September 11, 2001. 

May we always remember.

Labor Day - Why I like my job

At church yesterday, Pastor Larry talked about loving our jobs.  Kind of a weird sermon topic, but fitting for the Labor Day weekend and it was in keeping with his summer long series called "Summer Lovin'". 

His sermon got me thinking about my job. I like my job. I really like my job.  I've been with my employer for 22 years. I've had five distinct jobs (and a few variations of the same job) while there. I've enjoyed them all. Sure I moan and groan along with the rest of my co-workers and joke in the elevator about how many days until the weekend. But when all is said in done, I do like my job.

Here's a few things that came to mind about why I like my job:

• I'm needed. The talents and abilities I bring to the table are needed. They are not special talents and abilities, but they are uniquely mine. When I can step into a room and facilitate a workshop filled with vice presidents, directors, supervisors and claims adjusters and the group ends the day with a clear vision and next steps, I'm thrilled.  Sounds like hubris? It's not - it's just the satisfaction of knowing I'm in the right place for right now.
• I have some measure of autonomy. That is, I get to work on things that I believe are important and will help the division and the company. I am allowed room to initiate ideas, to try things and fail, and to try things and succeed. In his book Drive, Daniel Pink writes that autonomy is one of the key elements in motivating workers today. When employees have some control over what the work is and how it is done, everyone succeeds. For too long management has assumed employees need to be cajoled, coerced, and badgered into performing well.  The old carrot and stick (sometimes more stick than carrot) routine. But new research is showing this is not true. I believe the vast majority of employees want to produce good work. It's just that sometimes management gets in the way and puts up too many obstacles. 
• I'm a true believer. I believe in the mission and vision of my company. I believe that every day the employees of my company make a difference in people's lives. Yes, it is an insurance company, but as our leadership principles state - and as my co-workers demonstrate every day - we are not just another insurance company.
• My boss and co-workers make it easy. Sure there are days when we are all on each other's last nerve.  That's bound to happen when you spend 8 or 9 hours a day, five days a week with people. But I don't doubt the sincerity and earnestness of my co-workers to do well.  There's enough success for all of us. There's no back-stabbing or manipulating to climb the corporate ladder.

These are just a few reasons why I like my job.  How about you? Do you like your job? Why?  If you don't, want do you plan to do about it?

The Help - a book and movie review

I don't usually jump on the bandwagon when a popular book or movie is released. In this case, I'm feeling rather smug that I read the book before it became a mainstay at the local book clubs.  But I really owe this to my friend SJ who kept after me to read the book. 

The Help - novel
There's so much to like about this book it's hard to pin it down for a blog posting. So here are my highlights:

• This is author Kathyrn Stockett's first novel. Imagine that! Isn't that all aspiring writers' dream? 
• The dialogue is compelling and deep. The book is told from the points of view of three women: Aibileen, Minnie and Miss Skeeter.  They each have their own voice - in the story and in the novel. Their perspectives are honest. The dialect used for Aibileen and Minnie is believable. 
• The characters where three dimensional. They had good and bad qualities. They were real people.
• The themes told against the backdrop of the budding civil rights movement are, nevertheless, timeliness and relevant today. Friendship. Forgiveness. Forebearance. Freedom. Family.

I was sad when the book ended. I missed all the characters and was left wanting to know more.  This, to me, is the hallmark of a well-written novel.

The Help - movie
It is always dicey to take a popular novel and turn it into a movie.  Readers conjure the characters to their own specifications and interpretations. I've been left wondering, at times, if the director and producer even read the book. (Case in point, the casting of Tom Cruise as Jack Reacher, the protagonist in Lee Child's series about a retired Army major turned heroic vigalante.) In The Help, however, the casting director did a very good job.  Miss Skeeter was a little shorter than expected and her hair was a bit more fashionable than the book led us to believe.  Aibileen and Minnie met my expectations, as did the supporting cast of characters.

But alas, while the movie is very good, I confess I was disappointed by how they handled the firing of Constantine. The act that led up to the firing seemed so unconsquential (even in the 1960s) that it seems hard to believe that it would have resulted in the firing of a 29-year servant.  *Spoiler alert! In the book, the offense was much greater. We learn that Constantine's daughter was fathered by a white man. Her daughter was born with much lighter skin.  Light skin African Americans in the 1960s fell into a "no man's land" - neither black nor white. Constantine's daugher arrives at the Phelan plantation passing as a white woman during Skeeter's mother's DAR grand party. The dispute ensues from there.

I wondered if the director (who I believe also wrote the screenplay) felt the subject of "passing" was too foreign a concept in the 21st century.  Perhaps he would have had to provide too much back story to set up this storyline.  I'm not sure - I am sure that the storyline was pretty weak and made Mrs. Phelan appear much worse than even Miss Hilly Holbrook.

That being said, you can't go wrong by seeing the movie.  I've actually seen it twice and it held my attention just as firmly the second time as it did the first.

Have you read the book?  Seen the movie?  Both?  What are your thoughts?

Why I can't have nice things

Aren't I pretty?

I love having the windows open in the evening.  That is until the neighborhood comes alive with dutiful companions walking their dogs. I don’t mind so much, but Gracie feels compelled to remind each passerby that this is HER HOUSE and that’s HER SIDEWALK.

My large picture window is a constant smudge of nose prints and overzealous bark slobber.  But the other night topped it all.

A sweet Jack Russell terrier trotted by with his companions in tow. With nary a backward glance to the barking –like-a-crazy-dog Gracie, he lifted his leg on a bush in the front yard.  Before I could say “Jack Russell” Gracie popped the screen out of the window and was half way through on her way to teach Jack a lesson. I only just grabbed her around the waist and hauled her 85 pound butt back inside.  The screen survived the punch – only slightly bent.  My heart slowed to a normal beat after a few minutes. And Gracie was pleased that she had so valiantly defended her post. 

And this is why I can’t have nice things.