2.4.2020 – Would pay to feel good!

Would pay to feel good!
Good feeling from kind words, acts.
What does that cost me?

One thing I always knew I wanted to avoid when I got older was taking pills.

I think of one episode of Gilligan’s Island where Thurston Howell III was left to manage his day without his wife.

He announced he had figured out his ‘pill schedule’ on his own.

He would just take one of each every hour.

Now I got pills for headaches.

Pills for body aches.

Pills for my heart to work better.

Pills to make my stomach fill better.

Pills to help my gut stop hurting.

Pills to help use the restroom.

Pills to avoid needing to use the restroom.

Pills to fill in the gaps of things I need in my diet that I don’t get in my diet.

And pills to help just feel good because I feel so bad when I think about all the pills I take.

I look in the cupboard and I think, “something went wrong here.”

I don’t expect to feel GREAT.

But, well, better, wouldn’t be bad.

Or just good.

And I realized something.

Recently I have received unexpected complimentary comments on, of all things, my haikus.

I almost find it hard to believe it myself.

One, that anyone might enjoy reading this blog makes me feel, for lack of a better word, good.

That anyone would take time out of their day to tell me just blows me away.

Not a pill, but just a few kind words.

It made me stop and think about the times I have made time to compliment someone.

Recently my wife and I had to be out at Hartsfield.

You know, the local airport here.

The world comes to Atlanta through Hartsfield.

The joke is when you die and go to heaven/hell you still have to change planes at Hartsfield.

One of the odd pleasures of living in Atlanta is that when you travel and you are flying back to Atlanta, you can tell your seatmate’s that you are flying into Hartsfield BECAUSE you live in Atlanta.

ANYWAY, I can’t remember why we were there, dropping someone off or picking someone up and we decided to get some coffee.

The Starbucks was jammed so we walked down the concourse to an IHOP and got coffee and sat at a table near the railing and watched the world walk by.

Several times the IHOP manager stopped by for refills.

He was friendly in a truly friendly way.

Asked why we were there.

Commented on the business and such.

Each time he stopped he had another friendly comment or chatted for a minute.

It wasn’t just us.

This young man WORKED that dining area.

Got extra plates or cups or refills for anyone who needed anything.

He got everyone to smile and if you know Hartsfield, that is one hard crowd.

I finally asked if his boss was around or supervisor or whatever because I wanted that person to know how impressive this guy was.

He laughed and said no, no one, not to worry, he was just doing his job.

But as we left, he approached us.

He apologized and didn’t want to bother us but there was a guy, if I was serious, that I could email.

And he handed me a business card.

I told him of course I would, I would be happy to, and I took the card and his pen and asked him for his name which I wrote on the card.

And we left.

Me wife looks at me with what we call the BERG STARE.

It’s a look that could stop an elephant or cause water to freeze.

All her sisters can do it.

My daughters and grand daughters have learned it as well.

“You better do it”, says my wife.

When we got home I got on my computer and opened up my work email

When I need to sound official I use my work email.

In Atlanta, an email from someone at WXIA TV – 11Alive is a little bit different than an email from mikesox at GMAIL.

And I related the story I just told.

I said I wanted this company to be aware of the great work of the young man at the airport.

I told them that from my point of view, working out there at Hartsfied, they had a great AMBASSADOR for both Atlanta and their company.

I hit send and I felt GOOD.

Better than I could feel from all those pills.

My wife asks me later, “Did you email that guy.”

I said, “YUP” and I felt even better.

Couple of days later I get an email back from the guy on the business card.

He was the VP of the chain that managed most of the restaurants at Hartsfield.

He thanked me.

He said it made him fell good that I would take the time to write such a note.

He said they didn’t get too many positive notes like that.

Now I felt good all over again.

Better than I could feel with all those pills.

A few days later I got an email from the young man.

That company had weekly staff meetings out at the airport and my email had been read out loud and then he was identified as the person in the email.

He thanked me.

He thanked me because we noticed he was doing a great job.

He thanked me for taking the time to write an email.

I felt good for a week.

I felt better than good.

I sure felt better than I could have from taking all those pills.

I wrote an email.

What did that cost me?

1.27.2020 – Wonderful new word!

Wonderful new word!
Soppressatta! At same time,
new pizza topping.

Our youngest son has been auditioning for various summer dance programs.

All the auditions so far have been at the Atlanta Ballet studio in West Midtown, Atlanta.

The prize in this box of Cracker Jack is that my wife and I get a couple of hours to be downtown.

Not that we need an excuse to go downtown, but it helps.

Yesterday we went out for a late lunch.

We had stopped in at this spot for a cup of coffee last week and decided to go back and try the food.

The menu was filled with new words.

New words that I guessed were also new names for old foods much like Patagonian toothfish shows up on menus as Chilean Sea Bass.

Words like Muhammara, Chorizo, Guanciale and Boerewors.*

Yeah sure.

Like the old coach in the movie, The Natural, says to Robert Redford when they go out for Italian food, “You can’t pronounce it but it sure does eat good.”

One word stuck me.

Soppressatta.

Soppressatta?

Pronouced sop·pres·sa·ta, we had to ask the server what it was.

She smiles and says, ‘Its a fancy Italian sausage, like pepperoni.”

Sounded okay.

The pizza came with tomatoes, big leaves of basil and these paper thin, silver dollar sized slices of what I guessed was the Soppressatta.

Tasted great.

Just like soppressatta was supposed to taste.

At least to me it did.

In a way it was like the stories about the Connoisseur who samples a 200 year old bottle of supposed fine wine.

The Connoisseur pronounces the wine as excellent but then not too many, if any people KNOW what a 200 year old bottle of fine wine is SUPPOSED to taste like.

I enjoyed the soppressatta.

I loved the word.

Soppressatta.

“So PRESS at ta”, I said out loud.

“So PRESS a ta Don Corleone”, I said out loud until my wife told me to shut up.

I had to get out the Google.

Ever have one of those moments where maybe you really did not want to know?

The Google reported that soppressatta is an Italian pressed sausage made with Pig’s head, tongue, belly and stomach.

I left it there.

I did not ask the server about the origins of their soppressatta.

When I thought about it for a bit I decided, so what?

It tasted great.

This place proclaims …

To the mindful, to the curious
to the brilliantly flawed.
To those seeking comfort, respite,
splendor, and sustenance…
The Bold Monk welcomes you.

Quite a statement for a restaurant.

If you decide to eat in a restaurant that makes such a statement, don’t ask what it is in the sausage.

Just eat it.

Seek the comfort.

Seek the respite.

Enjoy it when you find it.

*Muhammara – a thick pomegranate syrup, can be found at Middle Eastern markets
Chorizo – mixture of chopped pork meat, pork fat, salt, whole pepper grains, cinnamon, achiote
Guanciale – an Italian cured meat product prepared from pork jowl or cheeks
Boerewors– coarsely minced beef and spices

1.24.2020 – morning traffic woes

morning traffic woes
plenty of warnings, had to
see it for myself

The TV station where I work puts a lot of effort into their traffic reports.

All the local media invest heavily in traffic reporting.

Traffic problems consistently rank as the one universal issue that interest all voters in the Atlanta area.

I myself get traffic alert emails every day, through out the day.

I have two traffic apps on my handheld device.

This morning, like most mornings, I ignored all it.

Backed out of the garage and made sure my iPhone was on and connected to the car’s audio system so I could listen to an audio book.

I made my way over rainy streets to get to my entrance to i85 and the drive downtown.

At one point, I drive on a back road that parallels the freeway.

Through the leafless trees I noticed something odd.

The freeway was empty.

At 6AM this wasn’t, well, impossible but highly unlikely that no one else was out driving.

Further along the road I could make out the bridge and intersection where my entrance ramp was located.

Rarely had I seen so many flashing blue lights.

“This is not good,” I said to myself.

But maybe this is all just to the north of my entrance, I thought.

Maybe I can still get on the freeway.

I turned on to Lawrenceville-Suwanee Road.

Just ahead, cop cars lined the overpass and the entrance to I85 was blocked off.

Great.

Just GREAT.

I continued down Lawrenceville-Suwanee Road and switched the radio on in time to hear, “RED ALERT in GWINNETT COUNTY. I85 at Lawrenceville-Suwanee Road completely closed for an investigation of an accident …”

I switched off the radio and made a quick assessment of my situation.

Made a u turn and back tracked across the overpass.

I headed for the next freeway interchange at Old Peachtree and was on my way downtown without much more than a brief hiccup to my commute.

In fact, once on the freeway, with all the traffic north of me cut off, I had a very easy, if rainy drive.

I was shocked to see evidence that most of the morning traffic that I have to contend with on I85 seems to come from places further away from Atlanta than I am.

What could have been a commuting nightmare did not happen.

I am convinced that no app would have recommended I make the turn that I made.

Traffic for me, in that wonderful phrase that is the motto of traffic down here, was able to “KEEP MOVING.”

I had all the traffic tools available to me.

I had all the traffic warnings available to me.

I didn’t make use of any of them.

Here is the point.

Had I watched TV.

Had I listened to the Radio.

Had I read my emails.

Had I checked my apps.

I would still have made the same drive to my usual freeway entrance.

I would still have had to see the problem for myself.

It isn’t that I don’t believe the reporting.

But maybe, I just don’t trust it.

The reporting is, “passionate, but does not persuade,” to quote the Emperor in Amadeus.

I have had as many success stories using traffic tools as stories where I end up saying, WHY DID THEY DIRECT ME THERE?

As most of my issues with traffic are anxiety related, just knowing there are problems and why there are problems is the information I need.

Once I get going, I will let traffic do its worst.

And I will do my best.

1.20.2020 – MLK Birthday

MLK Birthday
come so far, so far to go
Shall we yet overcome?

I found myself in a one of those small vendor booths at an antique mall in Dahlonega, Georgia on MLK Day.

The booth was filled with Confederate flags, blankets, license plates, mugs and books.

Faceout upon faceout of books.

Books with titles like “IN THE HOUSE OF ABRAHAM-Was Lincoln Illegitimate?“

A Tribute to Jefferson Davis.

And

Living Confederate Principles: A Heritage For All Time

Lots of arguments waiting to get started.

Arguing with folks whose minds were made up a long time ago.

Come far.

But so far to come.

Shall we yet overcome?

I am reminded of the lines from Mr. Sandburg’s poem, Grass.

What places is this?

Where are we now?

I am the grass ….

let me work.

Some day.

Grass by Carl Sandburg.

Pile the bodies high at Austerlitz and Waterloo.
Shovel them under and let me work—
I am the grass; I cover all.

And pile them high at Gettysburg
And pile them high at Ypres and Verdun.
Shovel them under and let me work.
Two years, ten years, and passengers ask the conductor:
What place is this?
Where are we now?

I am the grass.
Let me work.

Pile the bodies high at Austerlitz and Waterloo.
Shovel them under and let me work—
I am the grass; I cover all.

And pile them high at Gettysburg
And pile them high at Ypres and Verdun.
Shovel them under and let me work.
Two years, ten years, and passengers ask the conductor:
What place is this?
Where are we

I am the grass.
Let me work.

December 8 – Do you know a place?

Do you know a place?
Know the place by a person?
People, not places.

USAToday posted a photo gallery of “52 places Fodor’s Travel Go List says you should visit in 2020.”

I did click through the photos.

But I have to say none of the place made my list of ‘Go To Placs fo 2020″.

It wasn’t that the list included Albania, Medellin, and Rwanda (Rwanda???).

Or that the 1st place in the USA listed was Athens, Georgia.

I have no interest in these places.

I admit I am not a traveler.

Never had a passport.

Overall, looking at this list, I don’t know any one there.

When I think of places, I think of people.

Mitch Albom wrote today in The Detroit Free Press, “Have you ever known someone by the place you always saw them? Someone so delightful, they colored your view of the city or country where you met? If so, then you know the place is not the same when the face is gone.“

Mitch writes a delightful column about, Margaret, a woman he knew in Ireland.

I hope she was real and not made up.

Mitch has done it before.

Sorry to be pithy but I remember.

As would have been said but in my college classes, his work has a suspect animus.

ANYWAY.

Family and friends.

Now I have friends who they themselves have friends and family in these exotic places.

I think that is great.

I have friends who DO love to travel and see new things or old things anew.

I think that is great.

But me?

Not a traveler.

And I don’t fell like I am missing anything.

Now if we are talking about travelling for the food.

I can understand that.

But I live Gwinnett County, Georgia.

All the world’s people have moved to Gwinnett.

The world’s food has come to me.

After getting coffee at a Guayoyo Coffee & Bakery, a Venezuelan Bakery which was next to the Indian Restaurant where we had lunch and deciding not to go across the street for Korean Chai, I thought, why do I need to travel?

Gwinnett.

All this and home of Waffle House.

Life is good.