Attitude of Gratitude

On Choosing Minimalism

“If you want a golden rule that
will fit everything, this is it:
Have nothing in your house
that you do not know to be useful
or believe to be beautiful.”

William Morris

We live in a society in which people often judge others, and themselves, by their accumulation of wealth and possessions. Affluent people tend to live in upscale homes in desirable neighborhoods. These homes often include amenities which are not found in most homes — three-car garages, swimming pools, jacuzzis, tennis courts, home theaters, game rooms, and enough bedroom space to accommodate a family of a dozen or more. It is common for the residents of these types of homes to drive high-end automobiles with easily-recognizable logos. And the neighborhoods where such homes can be found are usually places where it’s safe to walk around at night without fear of becoming a victim of crime. What a blessing for those who live there! I am truly happy for anyone who can afford such luxury.

Of course, the percentage of people I know who live in such dwellings is minimal. Sure, I have a few wealthy friends, but none of them flaunt what they have. They all seem to recognize that their economic status is a gift, hard-earned though it may have been, and they seem truly grateful for all they possess.

I grew up in a blue-collar family. In my early years, my Dad worked three jobs to enable him and my mother to put my siblings and me through Catholic schools. We didn’t always get everything we wanted, but my parents managed to provide everything we needed and some of what we wanted. 

When I made the decision to devote my life to teaching in Catholic schools, I was well-aware that it meant choosing a lifestyle which would not allow me to enjoy some of the finer things in life. Despite this, however, I have always been able to provide, for myself and for my family, everything we’ve ever needed. Some people in my situation might be tempted to compare their lives with others — most always, with those who have more material possessions. That seems to be a very common human response. We look around at what other have and we feel deprived. I don’t think I have ever experienced this feeling myself.

Just as I developed an interest in and focus on the importance of gratitude in one’s life prior to gratitude becoming a trendy thing in society, I had committed myself to living a life of minimalism long before minimalism became a trendy lifestyle. Perhaps, if my economic status had been different, I might not have embraced minimalism as a lifestyle choice, but that’s how things turned out — and for this, I am grateful.

Since purchasing my first car, a used 1972 Volkswagen SuperBeetle, in 1976, I have owned six cars. Only one was purchased new from a dealership. In November 1984, I bought a 1985 Honda Accord. It served me well until I was rear-ended in April 1991 and the car was determined to be a total loss. Since that time, I’ve had four other vehicles, all either purchased second-hand or gifted to us. They all served us well.

Our home, a modest three-bedroom, two-bath condominium, has provided adequate shelter for us for more than thirty-five years. The living room is filled with, for the most part, second-hand furniture we inherited from family members. Our dining room table used to belong to my parents’ neighbors in San Francisco. The furniture in our main bedroom was purchased in 1981, three years before I met Kathy. And even here in my home office, I have almost entirely second-hand furniture — a desk from Bellarmine College Prep, two bookshelves that were in my brother’s room in Los Altos prior to his move to Rome, and a recliner my mother gave us when she moved into her senior living community in Mountain View. All of this serves me well, and I’m grateful for everything I have.

While I’ve embraced a minimalist lifestyle throughout my entire life, many people I know are now doing the same. It seems that once we hit a certain age, we find that we are significantly less impressed with material possessions and actively seek ways to simplify our lives. I think this is a good thing. I most certainly don’t feel deprived.  

[Image courtesy of Sister Terry Davis, SND]

Invisible People

“I wonder how many people
I've looked at all my life
and never seen.”

~ John Steinbeck

These words from American author John Steinbeck can be found in his book, The Winter of Our Discontent, the last novel he published. While a major theme of this work is the effect of societal pressure, this is not what I want to write about today. Rather, I’d like to focus on the quote above. I find these words to be both challenging and a bit bothersome.

There are many needs we have as humans: love, appreciation, and recognition, to name a few. It’s this last need — recognition — that comes to mind when I ponder Steinbeck’s words above. I’m fairly certain that I’m not alone in wondering how many people in my life, people I encountered on a regular basis, I failed to acknowledge. 

Some of these individuals, such as the homeless man or woman begging for money outside the local grocery store, may be people we notice, but consciously choose to ignore. Others, however, may be people with whom we feel we have no meaningful connection. This category of people might include the baristas at our local Starbucks, sales people in retail stores, postal service letter carriers, or landscapers who maintain the property where we live or work. Others in this category might include receptionists in offices, random people walking around in our neighborhood, or coworkers with whom we have minimal direct contact.

Unfortunately, it is quite common that people fail to see some of their neighbors, the elderly in the community, or people with disabilities. Some of these individuals describe the experience of feeling invisible, well aware that there are people who don’t want to see or acknowledge them.

So what are we supposed to do… say hello to every random person we pass on the street? Well, that IS an option. And why not? A simple nod of the head, accompanied by eye contact, lets the other person know that, if nothing else, you noticed them and acknowledged their presence. A gentle “Good morning!” can do the same thing. In fact, it might be the only “Good morning!” the person hears all day. 

Steinbeck’s words challenge me to consider how many people I have ignored or taken for granted in my lifetime. I know I’m guilty of doing this, though as I’ve gotten older, I’ve made a more concerted effort to acknowledge others, and even to engage them in conversation. More often than not, the experience of doing so has been a positive one. We all want and need to be loved, appreciated, and recognized by our fellow humans. I’m grateful for the opportunity to remind others that no one deserves to be treated as though they were invisible.   

Wonderfully Unusual

“For every ‘Drive Safely’ sign,
shouldn’t there be a
‘Resume Normal Driving’ sign?”

~ Robert Breault

I used my car today. Prior to the pandemic, I would never have thought to mention this, as it could rightly be assumed. Not so much anymore. This morning, I drove to Mountain View to do some grocery shopping for my mother. This afternoon, I drove to Kaiser Medical Center in Santa Clara for an appointment. On my way home, I stopped at Peet’s Coffee for an iced tea and some outdoor reading time. Why I noticed what I did today, I’m not really sure, but as I reflect back on the day, there was something about it that was definitely unusual.

Everywhere I drove today, drivers around me were being civil and complying with the driving laws of the State of California. As I merged onto northbound I-280 from Saratoga Avenue, everyone followed the every-other-car strategy as two lanes merged into one. No jerks. No honking. No tailgating. No road rage. So nice.

At every intersection with a four-way stop along Miramonte Avenue in Mountain View, drivers seemed to understand that the first car to arrive at the intersection had the right of way, and that the car to the driver’s right would be the next to go. It seems so simple when people follow these practical laws.

I didn’t see anyone texting while driving today. I’m sure there was plenty of it going on, as the problem is basically out of control, but I didn’t see it today. It was quite refreshing. 

Merging onto southbound I-280 from Foothill Expressway can always be a challenge, as the merge happens just before the I-280/I-85 split. The merge zone can be a chaotic and dangerous quarter-mile stretch, but today I was able to make a smooth transition. Many drivers used their directionals to indicate their intentions, while other motorists adjusted their speed to allow cars to merge safely. Why can’t it be this way every day?

I chose to write about this experience today because it’s too easy to complain about bad driving and overlook responsible motorists doing what they are supposed to do for the common good. I am grateful for those I encountered on the roads today. I can only hope that this might be a foreshadowing of Silicon Valley driving in the future.  

One Person CAN Make a Difference

“If you want to eliminate hunger,
everybody has to be involved.”

~ Bono

Today was another spectacular January day in the Santa Clara Valley. Bright sunshine and temps in the low 60º’s made for a perfect afternoon to sit outside, enjoy a Peet’s iced tea, and observe life happening around me. The seating outside Peet’s was fairly crowded, so I opted for a table in front of Noah’s Bagels, which is adjacent to Peet’s. I was sure this wouldn’t be a problem, since Noah’s and Peet’s are owned by the same parent company.

I enjoyed watching people coming and going. The cars that pulled up to the curb while I was sitting there, which included a brand new Tesla, a shiny Lexus, a convertible Corvette, and a weather-beaten 1970’s-era Ford Pinto, represented the economic diversity of Silicon Valley. The occupants of these and a few other vehicles exemplified the ethnic diversity of the area.

One particular person caught my attention. Her name is Erica. She walked into Noah’s just before closing time. A few seconds later, she walked out hauling a large plastic bag filled with bagels. After putting them into her trunk, she left the trunk open, returned to the store, and exited with a similar bag. I sensed a gratitude story was unfolding before me. I invited Erica to sit and talk for a few minutes.

Erica described herself as a “non-working mother.” Of course, she was understating her calling in life. Even I know there’s no such thing as a “non-working mother.” The job of a mother is endless, thankless, and occasionally dismissed as non-essential. Nothing could be further from the truth.

When Erica’s children were enrolled at Willow Glen Elementary School, she got involved in providing service to the school and to the larger community. Her service continues to this day. Three days each week, Erica picks up leftover food and delivers it to those who might otherwise not have access to such food. Today she was picking up bagels from Noah’s in the El Paseo de Saratoga Shopping Center and delivering them to a Section 8 housing development in San José. On other days, she picks up complete meals from Kaiser Hospital that were not used for patients that day. She delivers these meals to a facility for economically-disadvantaged senior citizens in San José. Erica also occasionally picks up unused food items from The Red Lobster on Almaden Expressway to deliver to those in need. 

One day, she was asked to deliver food to a fourplex. When she arrived with the goods, she learned that seven veterans shared the relatively small living space and simply did not have the resources to provide for all their needs. The donated food enabled them to eat well without dipping into their rent money. 

Erica told me that she enjoys this volunteer work and appreciates that she can engage in it without bringing attention to herself. She also acknowledged that while her actions may seem selfless, she, too, enjoys tremendous benefits from the volunteer work she does. It’s no secret that the act of giving, of helping others, offers tremendous gratification for the giver, as well.

The food that Erica provides for these needy men, women, and children provides much-needed nourishment for their bodies. The act of donating her time and energy to pick up this food, and deliver it to those who need it, most certainly nourishes Erica’s soul.   

I Was Only 10

“There is nothing I’d like more right now
than to SLAP YOUR FACE!”

I’m sure many of us can recall some vicious words people said to us when we were younger. I so clearly remember some things said to me that it’s as if I heard them for the first time just last night. I was the recipient of the words quoted above in the summer of 1964. They were spoken by a summer camp counselor, who was a seminarian for the Archdiocese of San Francisco, at the CYO camp in Occidental, California. I was ten years old.

It is said that “Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words can never hurt me.” I’m sorry, but this is simply not true. Words can and do hurt sometimes. Why else would the words of the summer camp counselor be so fresh in my mind almost sixty years later? So here’s what happened.

I loved CYO camp. I was assigned to a tent-cabin with eight other kids and a camp counselor. We slept in our sleeping bags on cots with lousy mattresses. We went swimming every day, learned how to shoot a bow and arrow, participated in a variety of group activities, watched some movies at night, went for canoe rides on a small lake, and experienced an overnight camp-out during which we slept under the stars. One of my cabin-mates was a kid named Mitch. He seemed to be a pretty nice kid and we hung out together during most of the activities. On the night of the camp-out, however, Mitch developed a serious case of homesickness. 

During dinner, which we ate sitting around a campfire, Mitch confided in me that he wanted to go home. After dinner, we walked away from the fire pit and talked about it. He was crying. There was something inside me that thought that if he could just get through the night, he’d be back to his happy, fun-loving self the next morning. So I explained a plan to Mitch, confident that he’d be okay with it. We returned to the campfire, where we sang songs, roasted marshmallows, and listened to spooky stories told by the camp counselors. I vividly recall looking up and seeing a ring around the cloud-shrouded moon. It was eerie, and added to the scariness of the counselors’ stories. 

The plan was that Mitch and I would go to sleep when everyone else did. Then, at some point in the middle of the night, I would wake him up. We would then hike into town and catch a bus back to San Francisco where he could be reunited with his family. Of course, I had no intention of actually executing this plan, nor did I have the knowledge or resources to do so. I was sure that if Mitch could just get to sleep, he’d sleep through the night and feel better the next day.

I think it was around four o’clock in the morning when the counselors woke us all up from our sleep. It was pouring rain. We had to pack up our sleeping bags and other gear we had with us and put everything in the back of a truck. I don’t recall if we had to hike back to the main camp area or if transportation was provided for us. I also don’t remember much about what we all did the next day, but I do remember being approached by one of the counselors who had somehow heard about the plan I had concocted. I guess the counselor thought I seriously intended to carry out the plan. I tried to explain the rationale for making up such a story, but he didn’t want to hear it. That’s when he spoke those memorable words.

As I reflect back on that experience, I can’t help but be amused that a ten-year-old would have the creativity and presence of mind to distract a homesick friend with such a preposterous plan of escape. If our sleep had not been interrupted by the rain, I would like to think that Mitch would have woken up the next morning, looked up in awe at the redwoods bathed in the light of the rising sun, and been grateful for the opportunity to be at the camp. I would also like to think that the remaining days of our CYO camp experience would have been enjoyable. I guess I’ll never know.  

You, Too, Can Do This!

 

In recent years, in religious gatherings of various denominations, a brief verbal exchange between faith leaders and the congregation has become quite popular:

“God is good!”

“All the time!”

While I have no problem with these words, I’ll readily admit that something about the overuse of this liturgical conversation annoys me. Despite this, I would like to use these words to explain a thought which crossed my mind today as I waited in line at a Kaiser facility in San José for yet another Covid test. 

Covid-19, and the variants of the virus which have emerged in recent months, continues to affect our lives in a variety of ways every day. In an attempt to wrap one’s head around the realities of this pandemic, a person familiar with Ignatian spirituality might ask the Ignatian question: “Where is God in this?” Others, who are less spiritually inclined, may be tempted to ask a more generic question: “Where is the good in this?” The liturgical dialogue mentioned above reminds me that these are actually two versions of the same question.

As with just about any crisis, it is possible to look for the good, or for the presence of God, in this current pandemic — and to find it. I recognized such good this morning. When I arrived at the Kaiser facility for my Covid test, the line of cars was long. My initial assessment of the situation led me to believe that I would be there for two hours, perhaps even longer. The lines inched forward a bit, then a bit more. Before too long, I realized that the lines were moving at a much faster pace than I’d expected, based on previous visits to this facility.

As I approached the tents where the testing was being conducted, I could see that in each of the four lines, the Kaiser staff was testing occupants of three cars at a time. It was a system which was well organized, well thought-out, and extraordinarily effective. There was also a team of Kaiser employees going car to car so that by the time the cars arrived at the tent, the registration process was complete and testing could be done without delay. 

I observed the women and men doing the running (which, in reality was fast walking) between the cars and the computers with the information about those with appointments for today. They would check Kaiser cards and photo identifications at the car window. Then they’d run over to the computers and get the printout of a small adhesive ticket. After returning to the vehicle and verifying, once again, that the Kaiser card and photo ID matched the information on the ticket, they’d attach the ticket to the windshield of the car. Those doing the actual testing would take the sticker and apply it to a plastic bag containing the swabs used for the testing. It was that simple.

Kaiser staff members have been performing this service for almost two years — on the occasional oppressively hot days of summer and on the cold, windy, and rainy days of winter. They do their job and they do it well. I’m sure they must receive an earful from some individuals who feel that the wait in line was an affront to their freedom, yet what I experienced from these workers today was smiles and warm hospitality. 

I noticed something good today, which is another way of saying that I recognized the presence of God today. For this, I am incredibly grateful.   

"Friends" Revisited

“Writing things down
enables a higher level of thinking.”

~ Professor Aldon Butcher

Over the past fifteen years that I’ve been writing this blog, I’ve written and published several articles on the topic of friends or friendship. While some of these posts expressed my genuine appreciation for the women and men who have made a positive difference in my life, I remember at least one post I wrote which lamented a feeling with which I’d been struggling at the time — that I had few, if any, close friends. It’s been awhile since I wrote that piece, but after reading an online newsletter by an author friend last night, I feel compelled to address the topic yet again.

Dr. Hal Urban, a graduate of and former professor at the University of San Francisco, has written a number of books about teaching and the importance of character education. In fact, Hal is a nationally-recognized expert in the field of character education. He also wrote a book originally titled 20 Things I Want My Kids to Know. In a subsequent edition, the name of the book was changed to Life's Greatest Lessons, so that readers would not be misled into thinking the book was only for young people. His writings are uplifting and inspiring.

The title of Hal’s most recent book is The Power of Good News. In an effort to promote his book, and the importance of focusing on the good which exists in our world, Hal publishes a Good News Letter. The most recent edition addresses the topic of friends. It begins by reminding readers that old friends enrich our lives and help us grow wiser, and that new friends, while also enriching our lives, bring new energy to our souls.

Hal then identifies seven things good friends do for us. He points out that this information is based on research at the Mayo Clinic and Harvard Medical School. Here’s his list:

1. Good friends enhance our physical health.
2. Good friends support our mental health.
3. Good friends add humor and laughter to our lives.
4. Good friends stimulate our brain cells.
5. Good friends offer valuable perspective and advice.
6. Good friends provide understanding, empathy, and comfort
7. Good friends increase the joy of living.

As I reflected on this list, and recalled the feeling of not having many truly close friends, I realized that I was being a bit too restrictive with my understanding of what makes someone a friend. I readily admitted that I had been blessed with a large number of acquaintances, and that I appreciated the level of friendship one might expect from neighbors, coworkers, or relatives. What I failed to recognize at that time is that many of these individuals, too, were true friends. I had focused too much on the the term close friends.

Hal ends his newsletter with a simple suggestion, which, perhaps, may trigger a higher level of thinking about our relationships. He recommends that we make a list of non-family members who have added joy and meaning to our lives. How many we choose to include is up to us. Then, each day for five days, look at this list for as long as you wish each time. You may also add names to your list if you realize you left someone off your list. After five days? Think about these people as often or as little as you choose, and do whatever you want with your list. It’s that simple.

So why would we do this? It doesn’t seem like much. Well, Hal closes his newsletter with a promise: If you do this little five-day exercise, you’re in for a special treat. What is this special treat? I don’t know. I haven’t done the exercise yet,… but I will.  

The Peril of Arrogance

“The greatest enemy of knowledge
is not ignorance,
it is the illusion of knowledge.”

~ Stephen Hawking

Back in the late 1970’s, while working at Bellarmine College Preparatory in San José, I met a freshman student who knew everything. It was pretty amazing. He knew more about every topic than anyone else he’d ever met. In fact, he’d had more life experiences than anyone else he’d ever met. When another student or staff member mentioned that he had done something, or had achieved some accomplishment in life, this young man claimed to have already done it — and done it better! He regularly, yet subtly, reminded us that we were fortunate to know him.

That was a unique experience for me. I knew very few people, if any, who had accomplished as much as this fourteen year old was convinced he had. Of course, I wasn’t very intelligent at the time, because I was unable to recognize this young man’s incredible brilliance. To be honest, I didn’t lose any sleep over it.

Throughout my life, I have encountered very few individuals like this high school freshman. In the past eight years, however, have I become aware that this condition is more common than I’d previously believed.

In one situation, an employee, with a fair number of years of experience, found himself dealing with a new administrative team in his workplace. The top administrator, a personable, middle-aged gentleman with ambitious, yet egoistic plans for his own professional future, was perceived by a number of his employees as ostentatious, dictatorial, contemptuous, and even vindictive. Those in his inner circle were spared his condescending ways, but others were well aware that their jobs were in jeopardy due to this administrator’s self-indulgent arrogance.

The second-level administrator in that workplace was also personable, to a degree. She wanted very much to be loved, appreciated, and respected by her subordinates, but her pretentious and overbearing ways, combined with her autocratic management style, left many in the workplace feeling disrespected and unvalued. The combination of this administrative team’s approach to “leadership” made for a toxic workplace environment. Within three short years, the organization went out of business.

A number of wise voices from our past can help us better understand what happened in this and similar situations.

Confucius tells us that “Real knowledge is to know the extent of one’s ignorance.” When it comes right down to it, we are all limited, to some degree, in our expertise in any particular matter. Learning is a lifelong process. It is dangerous to assume that we already possess all the answers, and are therefore resistant to accepting input from others.

Charles Darwin seemed to understand what was going on with the fourteen year old high school freshman, as well as with the administrators mentioned above. He said quite clearly that “…ignorance more frequently begets confidence than does knowledge.” An eye-opening realization, to be sure.

And finally, Russian writer Leo Tolstoy explained why arrogance is such a counterproductive trait. He wrote, “An arrogant person considers himself perfect. This is the chief harm of arrogance. It interferes with a person’s main task in life — becoming a better person.”

There is actually a scientific term which describes this phenomenon. The Dunning-Kruger Effect identifies a type of cognitive bias in which individuals possessing insufficient knowledge, ability, or expertise assume that they have exceptional knowledge, ability, or expertise. This happens when they fail to recognize or accept their own limitations in these areas.  

Becoming a better person, as Tolstoy mentioned, should be an achievable and desirable goal for us all. I will always be grateful for those who make this a priority in their lives. 

To Serve and Protect

Kathy and I, with our then six-month old son, Tom, moved into our current home on October 10, 1986. Our second son, Steve, was born a year and a half later. About six months after Steve’s birth, Kathy and I returned home from our respective jobs to find that our home had been broken into. It was a Friday afternoon. After assessing the loss, we determined that whoever entered our home took our video camera, my favorite canvas athletic bag (which I’d had since my high school years), and… all my white socks! Yes, all my white socks — about a dozen pair, to be exact. A few other items were taken, too, but when the police arrived to investigate, and learned of the losses, we were told that it was more than likely a “crime of opportunity.” Our home is adjacent to what was then Blackford High School. 

The officer surmised that a student, or group of students, probably hopped the fence at lunch time, broke the window to gain entry, and took what they thought could be easily sold on the street — our video camera. But my canvas bag? To conveniently conceal and carry the camera. And my socks? To protect the camera from damage when they tossed the bag back over the fence to the Blackford side.

From what I understand, crimes of opportunity happen quite regularly. An open garage door may lead to the loss of a bike or athletic equipment. An unlocked gate might provide an opportunity for someone to steal lawn furniture or gardening equipment. An open window of a car might tempt someone to take a purse, a computer, or anything else of value that might be visible.

While crimes of opportunity are a reality in our world, so, too, are times of opportunity. I experienced such a time this afternoon while enjoying a cup of hot chocolate at Santana Row.

While sitting outside Starbucks, in the plaza near Maggiano’s, I observed four San José Police officers stop in for a break. They were sitting together at a table not far from where I was sitting. I didn’t think much of it at first, but then I realized that this was a tremendous opportunity for me to have a friendly conversation with these law enforcement officers and ask them about their experience with SJPD.

After exchanging introductions, and learning that three of the officers were born and raised in the South Bay, I asked them the typical question San Franciscans ask when they meet someone from The City: “So where did you go to (high) school?” One officer told me he had attended Branham High School. Another went to North Valley Baptist. The third is a graduate of Oak Grove. This information enabled us to break the ice by acknowledging who we knew in common from those schools.

I asked the officers a variety of questions, from why they pursued a career in law enforcement to whether they felt respected by the citizens of San José. It was their responses to my last question, however, that was of most interest to me. I asked these men how they dealt with fear on the job.

Surely, there must have been times in their careers when these men experienced fear in a tense situation. Their responses were refreshing. One officer told me that their extensive ongoing training for such situations helped to mitigate any fear that might arise. Another officer noted that his intense focus on the situation at hand really didn’t allow time for fear to set in. A third officer simply said, “Breathe. You’ve gotta breathe.”

I was happy to hear the officers acknowledge that they felt that about 95% of citizens respected them and what they do for us. I have to admit, I didn’t expect to hear that from the officers — not because I think they are undeserving of such respect, but because law enforcement officers, by the nature of their job, interact so closely with a segment of the population which I thought might distrust, if not despise them altogether. That same percentage is likely to accurately represent the number of San José law enforcement officers deserving of such respect. 

I’m grateful for the time of opportunity I was given today to meet these public servants and to listen to their stories. The City of San José is fortunate to have such an impressive group of dedicated professionals to serve and protect our city. 

2022: We're Just Getting Started

 

There are countless hazards associated with the art of driving, not the least of which is the weather. Rain, wind, snow, fog, and black ice can wreak havoc on our nations roadways. I will admit that I have never driven in snow, nor do I have the desire to do so. Each winter, I see news videos of cars in the Northwest, Midwest and East sliding down frozen slopes playing pinball against parked cars along the way. I’d rather not deal with such a scenario. Growing up in San Francisco, and living most of my adult life in the San Francisco Bay Area, I learned to cope with the challenges of driving in fog.

Beginning with my behind-the-wheel driver training classes, which took place on the hills above Daly City in 1970, fog was a reality with which I had to contend. Some days were better than others, but there were times when visibility was less than a city block. 

The same was true during my high school years living in the outer Sunset District. It seemed that fog was an ever-present reality, and dense fog, which severely impeded visibility, was a fairly normal experience. While the challenges of driving in dense fog are obvious, doing so taught me some valuable lessons — about life:

1. We don’t have control over the weather, but we do have control over how we respond to it.

2. When visibility is limited, while there are still places we must go, it’s best to slow down and proceed with caution.

3. Familiarity with the neighborhood or road is an extraordinary advantage when it’s difficult to see where we’re going.

4. There are times when it’s best to just stay off the road and wait for conditions to improve.

As we begin our journey through 2022, we find that our travels continue to be hampered by the “fog” of Covid-19. It’s been almost two years since the initial Covid shut-down of March 2020, yet we continue to struggle with the reality of the pandemic. New variants, seemingly undeterred by the Covid vaccine, have again caused many schools and some businesses to close their doors. Infection rates are up, hospitalizations are up, and Covid fatigue has most of us feeling powerless and wondering what the future will bring. Welcome to 2022.

In reality, every year begins with uncertainty. We never know, in early January, what joys and sorrows we will experience in the months to come. This year, however, is a bit different, in that it feels that the presence of Covid is like a blanket of dense fog hovering over us, blinding us from even a glimpse of what’s to come in this new year. Uncertainty is disconcerting.

This is where the four life lessons mentioned above come in. We may not have control over what’s happening, but we do have control over how we respond. Of course, we have things that we must do and places we wish to go, so it would be prudent to be cautious when we’re out and about. While we may be familiar with our surroundings, it might be wise to be a bit more selective in where we go and with whom we choose to spend our time. And yes, given the circumstances, there are times when it would be best to simply stay home, out of harm’s way, and wait for the situation to improve.      

Will the New Year Be Better?

“What the new year brings to you
will depend a great deal on
what you bring to the new year.”

~ Vern McLellan

In the past few weeks, I’ve heard numerous people expressing their hope that 2022 is a better year than 2021. I understand. The past two years have been a challenge — devastating for some, a mild inconvenience for others. Hoping for a preferred future seems to be a natural response to such difficult times. Although hope is a virtue, I think it is an insufficient strategy for achieving the degree of improvement we hope to see in the new year. We need more than simply hope if we expect to achieve substantive positive change in our lives.

I’m not suggesting that we give up hope. Rather, I believe it’s imperative that any sense of hope we do have be accompanied by a genuine commitment to making such changes in our life. These transformations will not come simply as a result of turning the page on our calendars. Sure, we’re starting a new year, but yesterday is still yesterday and tomorrow will be tomorrow. Change requires time, action, motivation, and consistent diligence on our part.

Author Jon Kabat-Zinn published a book in 2005 titled Wherever You Go, There You Are. I have not read the book. From what I understand, it’s a book about meditation and mindfulness. What caught my attention was the title. There is tremendous wisdom in those six words. Throughout history, individuals who were discontent in their current situations have transitioned to a new location, a new job, or a new relationship with the expectation that things would be better. Over time, no small number of these women and men came to the realization that things had not improved. Perhaps this is because the problem was not with the previous location, job, or relationship. “Wherever you go, there you are.” It takes more than simply change to make a situation better.

Not all change is better, just as not all progress is forward. If we are serious about 2022 being a better year than 2021, we need to make an effort to consciously identify for ourselves exactly what it is we hope to improve. We need to determine exactly what it was that was leaving us feeling anxious, discouraged, or unfulfilled. Then we must be realistic about what, or who, might enable us to feel more contented, more inspired, or more gratified. Finally, we must commit ourselves to changing ourselves in such a way that we don’t sabotage our own potential happiness with the same habits and deficiencies which led to our unhappiness in the first place. 

This is not an easy task. In fact, it may well be that this is something we cannot accomplish on our own. The input of a mentor or therapist might be required to guide us through the journey we must endure to accomplish our goal of a better 2022. As Vern McLellan said in the quote above, “What the new year brings to you will depend a great deal on what you bring to the new year.” 

Meeting John Madden

“If you think about it,
I’ve never held a job in my life.
I went from being an NFL player,
to a coach, to a broadcaster.
I haven’t worked a day in my life.”

~John Madden

There have been countless times when I found myself in situations in which I felt out of place. It was like looking at one of those memes with four images that asks: Which one doesn’t belong here? I’m guessing many of us have experienced such awkward times.

One such time was in November 1983. While completing work on my Master’s degree, I took a job at Kennedy Business Machines in downtown San José. I had gone in to Kennedy’s to get my typewriter fixed so that I could update my résumé to find work. I thought I’d saved enough money to get me through the academic year without working, but that didn’t work out, so I was job hunting. While at Kennedy’s, the owner recognized me from when I had taught at St. Christopher School in San José. We spoke briefly, I told him why I was there, and he offered me a job on the spot. He told me to show up the next morning at 7:30 — and to wear a tie.

When I arrived at Kennedy’s the next day, the owner showed me to my desk, which was right next to his, and then led me into a conference room where about eight others were sitting around a large, oval-shaped table. He then introduced me as “the new operations manager.” Manager? Me? What was I doing there? What is an operations manager? In the end, it all worked out well, but I most certainly felt out of place at that initial meeting.

During the years I was teaching and doing youth ministry work at St. Christopher School and Parish in San José, I would take an annual two-week vacation to South Lake Tahoe in the first two weeks of August. On my way up each year, I’d stop in at the training camp of the San Francisco 49ers at Sierra College in Rocklin. One of my students at St. Chris was Patrick McPherson, whose father, Bill, was the defensive coordinator for the Niners. I’d spend an hour or so watching the team practice. Then, when the team took a break for lunch, I’d say a quick hello to Coach McPherson and continue on my way to Tahoe.

On one of those visits to Sierra College, Coach McPherson invited me to join him for lunch. It was intimidating enough going through the food line behind Joe Montana, Ronnie Lott, Randy Cross, and other 49er greats, but once I had my plate of food, I followed Bill to our table. It was a table for four. The other two people sitting at the table were 49ers’ head coach Bill Walsh and former Oakland Raiders’ head coach John Madden, who was doing a preseason news story about the Niners for his new CBS show. After brief introductions, the conversation was lively, and not surprisingly, focused on football. I had absolutely nothing to offer to the conversation. I felt like a fish out of water. There was no question whatsoever regarding which of us didn’t fit in there.

This morning, I read of the passing of Coach John Madden. Despite his success on the field as a player and coach, Madden will long be remembered for his work as an NFL sports broadcaster. His gregarious personality, his intimate knowledge of the game of football, and his incredible passion for the game contributed to the increasing popularity of professional football in America throughout the past forty years.

Although I certainly cannot claim to know Coach Madden, and he definitely would not remember me from our one meal together at Sierra College in the early ’80’s, hearing of his death this morning reminded me of how fortunate I was to meet him and to be a passive observer of that lunchtime conversation. He has been the face of the National Football League throughout most of my life. He will be missed by many.    

A Moment's Pause for Gratitude

“Christmas waves a magic wand over this world,
and behold, everything is softer and more beautiful.”

~ Norman Vincent Peale

Recognizing that the holidays can be an extremely difficult time for some individuals, today I am filled with an overwhelming sense of gratitude. Christmas 2021 was, perhaps, the best Christmas ever for me. I’m not sure about the magic wand of which Peale speaks in the quote above, but upon waking up this morning, it does seem that everything is a bit softer and more beautiful.

Kathy and I hosted Christmas dinner for our immediate family this year. Our home is fairly small, but there was plenty of room for everyone. Kathy definitely did the lion’s share of the work, but everyone pitched-in to make it a memorable celebration. With the addition of Scarlett (Steve and Morgan’s second child) just three weeks ago, Kathy and I now have four grandkids: Liam (7), Emily (4), Penny (1), and Scarlett. Not surprisingly, it’s the little ones who put the magic back in Christmas!

The celebration of Christmas is a very different experience for a seven-year-old than for someone my age. When I reflect back on my own childhood, Christmas was all about the gifts. I remember desperately wanting a Dick Tracy 2-Way Wrist Watch when I was about seven. It was such a pleasure to see Liam’s eyes light up as he opened his gift from his Uncle Brendan — a few tech decks and a tech deck skate park. Uncle B hit the mark with Emily’s gift, too. He got her a DJ set-up. Emily played with it for most of the rest of the night, encouraging us all to dance the night away. It truly was a magical time for the kids.

While Christmas gifts for people my age are still nice, most of them have too many calories! I appreciate good wine, Bailey’s Irish cream, and See’s candy, and I will most certainly enjoy them, but I’ll have to do so in moderation. Of course, it’s the thought that counts. My boys know that there is nothing I truly need at this point in my life, so I’m sure it’s a challenge for them to find something they think I will enjoy. I wonder if they realize that they gave me the best gift I could possibly have received last night — their presence.

Today is definitely an appropriate time for me to take a moment’s pause for gratitude. When I woke up this morning, and thought about last night’s gathering, the feeling was almost indescribable. Yesterday was such an enjoyable day. In addition to being with family, I also received a number of Christmas texts and Facebook messages from friends. To realize that others were thinking of me on Christmas Day, and that they took the time to send a quick message wishing me well, was very much appreciated. 

Yes, there is much for which to be grateful today. Wouldn’t it be nice of this feeling of positivity could carry over into the new year?

15 Years

I’m back!

I’ve taken a seven-week hiatus from blogging to focus on a little self-care. It has been time well-spent, culminating in a relaxing three-day getaway to Pacific Grove, California with my son, Brendan. He and I both needed a change of scenery, and we needed some quality time together. It could not have been a better experience.

The combination of time, relaxation, exercise, reflection, conversation, good food, and ocean therapy has put me in a much better place than I was at the end of October. Self-care is not selfish. Rather, it is the foundation upon which we can care for others.

The timing is good, too. Today, December 23, 2021, happens to be the 15th birthday of my Attitude of Gratitude blog site. I began blogging about gratitude on this date in 2006, just a couple of weeks after attending a weekend retreat titled “A Moment’s Pause for Gratitude” at the Jesuit Retreat Center in Los Altos. That weekend experience was a game-changer for me. Since that time, I have focused on gratitude in my life, blogged about gratitude on this site, written a book on gratitude, and given about forty presentations on the topic of gratitude at schools, parishes, libraries, businesses, and retirement communities. These activities came to a screeching halt in mid-March 2020 with the arrival of Covid-19. (If you are interested, you can check out my author site HERE.

For many, the pandemic made it difficult to focus on gratitude. Lives were lost. Jobs were lost. Businesses closed. Our lives were turned upside-down. For those of us still standing, although we may be tempted to ask the futile “Why?” question, we are challenged to ask a more pertinent question: “Where do we go from here?”

We cannot change the past. To quote a generation of young philosophers today, “It is what it is.” Yet, while we cannot change what has happened, we can and must take full ownership over what we do next, and the mindset with which we choose to do it.

Just over seven weeks ago, it was clear to me that my mindset needed an adjustment. The time since then has provided me with an opportunity to make that change, to re-focus my attention on what is good in the world, and to re-commit myself to living my life, every day of it, with an attitude of gratitude. I look forward to continuing my journey of gratitude and sharing it with you in this blog.  

It's Been a Good Run

 

Something is happening inside me. It’s a bit difficult to put into words, but I’m going to give it a try. In my blog post last Thursday, I mentioned that it had come to my attention that what I’ve been experiencing for quite some time can be accurately described as languishing. What exactly is languishing? For me, it has been an overall feeling of physical, emotional, and spiritual weakness, characterized in part by prolonged inactivity and a general feeling of indifference towards life. It was one thing to experience that feeling, but in naming it, something else has happened — and in the middle of a sleepless night last night, I realized what it was.

For the second night in a row, I didn’t sleep well. Actually, that’s understating the truth. I couldn’t sleep. Feeling tired, I’d gone into bed around 8:30 p.m. I started lying flat on my back, turned onto my right side after awhile, then returned to my original position. I focused on my breathing. I thought about people and things for which I am grateful. If, at any point, I dozed off, it wasn’t for long. The situation was exacerbated by some inconsiderate neighbors who decided that setting off powerful fireworks at 11:00 p.m. in late October would be entertaining. It wasn’t. Finally, at midnight, I got up.

Kathy was still awake. She was in the living room watching the end of a movie. I made myself a cup of hot chocolate and sat in one of the living room chairs. Kathy muted the television and we talked about what was going on. As we talked, it dawned on me. Just as the word languishing had struck a chord a few days earlier, I became consciously aware of another word. As I reflected on how I was feeling at the moment, the word that came to mind was agitated. 

When some people hear the word agitated, they immediately relate it to anger. I wasn’t angry at all. I have no reason to be angry. For me, the experience of agitation was more a feeling of restlessness (thus, the lack of sleep). The challenge for me, as I reflected upon this feeling, was to identify the source of this restlessness, a task which might take some time. 

This morning, or should I say this afternoon (I finally did fall asleep around 3:00 a.m. and then slept until noon), I devised a plan. True, I haven’t given this plan a great deal of thought, but it’s a starting point. To address these feelings of languishing and agitation, I’m going to make a few changes in my life. These are not drastic changes, but I think my new list of to-do’s (and not-to-do’s) might help to alleviate some of the negativity which has crept into my life. 

To begin with, I am going to take a break from blogging. I don’t consider this to be the end of Attitude of Gratitude, but I do feel as though a break will be beneficial. How long of a break? At this point, I just don’t know.

I’m also going to limit my screen time. In terms of social media, I’m on Facebook, and that’s it. I don’t use Instagram, LinkedIn, or any other social media platform. Beginning tomorrow (the first day of a new month seems like a good starting point), I will avoid scrolling. It’s addictive, it’s time-consuming, and it’s not how I want to spend the hours I have remaining in my life. I will continue to check Facebook for messages, but I have no plans to post anything nor respond to the posts of others. This is really no big thing, but it should add significant time to my day.

Finally, I am making a commitment to walk every day. I am embarrassed by the poor physical condition I’m in at this time. Physical activity was always a significant component in my life — basketball, bike riding, tennis, and golf kept me in good shape for most of my life. In recent years, I’ve done none of these things. This must change.

So to those of you who take the time to read my blog posts, thank you. I always appreciate your feedback and comments. As a writer, it is gratifying to know that some few individuals actually read what I write. But now it’s time to make some changes. I’m hoping that this feeling of agitation in my life will help me transition from an experience of languishing to one of flourishing.  

The Power of Words

“The more you write,
the better you get at writing.”

~ Danielle Raine

There is so much truth in this simple quote. I began writing my blog, Attitude of Gratitude, back in December 2006. Though I don’t do this often, when I look back at articles I wrote in the first year of my blog, it is humbling. I thought I was a fairly good writer back then. Fifteen years and eighteen hundred blog posts later, I’d like to believe my writing has improved. I think it has, and I guess that’s all that really matters.

When I began Attitude of Gratitude, I had no idea how often I would write, or for how long I would continue writing. I also didn’t have a specific audience in mind. I wrote for myself. I wrote as a way of expressing my gratefulness for the many ways in which my life has been blessed. I did not use social media at the time, so my readership was quite limited. The only person who I know for certain read my blog back then was my mother. It was a humble beginning.

One thing I’ve learned in the process of blogging is that writing truly is therapeutic. This platform has offered me an opportunity to give voice to what was going on in my head, as well as in my heart. It also helped me to clarify what was important to me, as I had to select topics and present my thoughts in a somewhat coherent fashion. 

Especially on days when I was feeling low, I found writing to be incredibly energizing. Once I got writing, the flow of thoughts generated even more thoughts and the writing became quite easy. I’ll readily admit that I’ve written many things which, until I began writing, I had not realized were important to me. 

The fact that I chose the overall topic of gratitude for my blog was providential. So much of the research on the topic of gratitude spells out the physical, psychological, and emotional benefits of focusing on gratitude in one’s life. Again, I found this energizing. I also found a tremendous sense of fulfillment in sharing my writing with others and encouraging readers to focus on gratitude in their own lives. 

There was one point, back in 2008, when my writing helped me to recover from a significant loss in my life. My father’s unexpected death on the last day of July knocked the wind out of me. Of course, I was always aware that his life would end some day, but I had no warning whatsoever that it would be that day, and in that way. Much of my writing in the second half of 2008, and in the years since then, reflects the struggles I faced as a result of his passing. Writing helped to get me through that journey of grief. It gave me the opportunity to process many thoughts and feelings I felt no one else wanted to hear. Yes, it was therapeutic.

Finally, writing on a regular basis is an excellent way to enhance one’s writing skills. And when others read what I’ve written, my writing is an effective way for me to share what is important to me with those around me.

I am grateful for this blog and for the many ways writing has enriched my life. I can only hope it has had a positive impact on the lives of others, as well.  

A Simple Gesture

“The trouble with being punctual is that
nobody’s there to appreciate it.”

~ Franklin P. Jones

It’s a normal part of life to wait. We wait for doctor appointments. We wait nine months for the arrival of a new child. We wait for the weekend to arrive. We wait for a boring homily to end. We wait for our meals in restaurants and in lines at the grocery store. And we wait for the light to turn green at busy intersections. It’s such a routine part of life. Despite this, I don’t like to keep people waiting for me. I would much rather have to wait for the other person than have that person wait for me.

For this reason, I am most often early for my commitments. If I’m picking someone up at the airport, I might arrive thirty minutes to an hour before the scheduled arrival time. When I’m meeting someone for lunch, I am most often fifteen to thirty minutes early. If I’ve committed to picking someone up at their home, I’ll usually arrive ten to fifteen minutes early, but I’ll sit in my car until the scheduled time before going to their door to let them know I’ve arrived. That’s just how I am. To many, this simply doesn’t make sense — and I understand this.

Some might consider my need to be early to be poor time management on my part. Others might think my habit may be associated with some type of personality disorder. For me, however, arriving early to any occasion reduces my level of stress. Living in heart of Silicon Valley, and often driving to locations around the greater San Francisco Bay Area, I can never be certain when I might find myself caught-up in congestion on the roadways. Interminable road construction, too, can cause unexpected delays as I travel from one place to another. By leaving home early, I allow for such delays.

Quite often, I encounter no impediments at all. It is at these times when I find myself arriving well before the necessary time. For such situations, I always keep a book in my car. I enjoy reading, so arriving at my destination early offers an opportunity for me to relax and do some reading. And in the past month, since trading-in my reliable flip-phone for an iPhone, I also have the option to check email, social media, and the local news, though reading is still my preferred pastime.

I don’t have any specific details about daily life during the Renaissance, but apparently, punctuality was a concern even then — enough so for William Shakespeare to make the statement quoted above. Punctuality is a virtue. Being on-time, or arriving early to an engagement or meeting is a sign of respect for the person with whom we are getting together. Of course, I’m not suggesting that anyone arrive three hours early for dinner at the home of a friend. That would be anything but polite. But arriving in close proximity to the person’s home, and then waiting until a socially-appropriate time to enter the home, minimizes the possibility of being late. That’s when it’s advantageous to have a good book in the car.

I do not recall how, when, or from whom I learned this lesson of punctuality, but I am grateful to have learned it. It has served me well throughout my lifetime.  

It's Not Always Easy

“It’s not always easy, but that’s life. Be strong.
Know that there are better days ahead.”

~ Unknown

For the past fifteen years, I have focused on the benefits of living my life with an attitude of gratitude. I’ve read books and articles on the subject. I’ve listened to podcasts and watched TedTalks about the transformative power of gratitude in our lives. I’ve blogged about my own experiences of gratitude on this platform. I even wrote a book about gratitude, which resulted in my being invited to speak to more than forty groups about the importance of being grateful for the people, experiences, opportunities, and other blessings with which we have been blessed. It’s been a magical run.

When the pandemic hit in March 2020, I had to cancel speaking engagements. For nineteen months, along with the rest of the world, my life has been impacted by the reality of Covid-19. Oh, there’s still much for which to be grateful. When I say “impacted,” in reality, my life has been mildly inconvenienced by the pandemic. I did not contract the virus, nor did anyone in my family. I did not lose my job, nor did anyone in my family. We never even ran low in our supply of toilet paper during the mad dash at local stores. 

Kathy and I were affected in less dramatic ways. Our cruise to Alaska was canceled. The musicals at the San José Center for the Performing Arts, to which we had season tickets, were canceled. We couldn’t get together with friends for awhile. We couldn’t see our mothers in person, as both Kathy’s mother and mine live in retirement communities which were locked-down for several months. Perhaps the most challenging impact of the pandemic on us was our inability to go out for dinner as often as we liked. 

The pandemic, however, has affected many of us in more subtle ways — in ways which reach to the core of who we are. I didn’t notice it at first, but as the months passed, I realized that I was in a funk. I wouldn’t go so far as to call it depression, but I definitely wasn’t feeling as energetic or motivated as I had been prior to March 2020.

Recently, I listened to a podcast which spoke of a word with which I am familiar, but a word which I don’t think I have ever used in my writing or speaking — languishing. As I listened to the speaker, it hit me. This is exactly how I’ve been feeling lately.

The word languish is defined as becoming weak or feeble. It describes one losing vigor and vitality. It even references the reality of prolonged experiences of inactivity. Yes, that’s what I’ve been experiencing. In a strange way, it is such a relief to have identified a word to accurately describe the feelings with which I've been struggling.

The speaker in the podcast explained that when one is languishing, “…you are indifferent to your own indifference.” That one hurt, but it was spot-on.

This awakening has enabled me to realize that all those words I shared about embracing gratitude in our lives and living life with an attitude of gratitude are all well and good when things in our life are going well. The pandemic, however, pulled that security blanket right off my gratitude journey, exposing the reality that being grateful is not always easy. In fact, in some cases, it might not even be possible. 

I will continue trying to live my life with an attitude of gratitude, and I will continue to encourage others to do so, as well. But I now also have an increased awareness that feeling grateful can be a tremendous challenge for many. It’s important for me, and for all of us, to recognize this.  

On Giving Directions

When I first moved from San Francisco to San José to begin my college years, I didn’t have a car, nor did the Santa Clara Valley have a reliable public transportation system. For this reason, I relied on my Raleigh Grand Prix 10-speed bicycle for my transportation needs. One of the advantages of riding a bike, as opposed to driving, was that I was better able to observe the details of the neighborhoods I visited. I became familiar with the location of donut shops, fast food establishments, parks, department stores, and so much more. Knowledge of these landmarks was helpful to me when asked to give directions to someone.

Offering accurate directions in the South Bay was quite a challenge, given the number of streets which randomly change names from one block to the next. El Camino Real becomes The Alameda, which becomes Santa Clara Street before changing names once more to Alum Rock Avenue in East San José. Pruneridge Avenue becomes Hedding Street, and eventually morphs into Berryessa Road. Stevens Creek Boulevard becomes West San Carlos Street, Bascom Avenue becomes Washington Street in Santa Clara, and in the other direction, becomes Main Street in Los Gatos. Moorpark Avenue becomes Bollinger Road. Saratoga Avenue becomes Bellomy Street. The list of street name-changes goes on and on.

It was for this reason that I used the familiar landmarks I’d gotten to know to provide accurate directions to anyone who asked for help.

“Oh, yeah,… just go down Winchester until you see the Taco Bell on your right. Turn right at the corner, go about four blocks, and you’ll see Winchell’s Donuts at the corner. Turn left there and go about a mile. When you see K-Mart on the left side, it will be directly across the street on your right. You can’t miss it.”

As I got older, and relied more on a car than on my bicycle, street names became more important. So, too, did a general sense of direction — north, south, east, and west. I like to think I’m pretty good at giving directions to those who request help. Now and then, however, I encounter people who respond like the meme I saw on Facebook this morning:

“When I ask for directions, please don’t use words like ‘East.’”

I’m not sure why, but I have an uncanny sense of direction. For this reason, at this point in my life, I often give directions relying on this ability. This, of course, can be problematic for those who are directionally challenged. It is never my intention to confuse anyone, yet words like north, south, east, and west just don’t make sense to some people.

Intentionally or not, one thing I notice when I’m in a place with which I am unfamiliar is the sunrise and sunset. Once I get a sense of the sun’s path across the sky, I’m able to orient myself to the location. It seems like such a simple thing. Apparently, it’s not.   

What's Really Important?

“The widespread belief among politicians and pundits
is that high test scores are everything. I strongly disagree.
What matters most is character.
Working hard, treating others with respect, and honesty —
those are the keys to success.”

~ Hal Urban

Throughout my formative years, I often heard the warning, from a variety of sources, that if I didn’t get good grades, I wouldn’t amount to anything in life. The emphasis placed on academic success was both challenging and intimidating. I did not question this advice, as I was hearing it from people much older and smarter than me. As a result, given the mediocre grades I earned in middle school and high school, I didn’t expect to amount to much. 

Fortunately, I got swept-up in a tsunami of good fortune which enabled me to overcome my low self-image and to live a fairly successful and productive life.

Now, at the age of 67, what is truly important in life is quite clear to me. Attitude and effort are important. A sense of gratitude is important. Forgiveness is important, too. In fact, there are many traits, qualities, and factors which are of significant importance in life. One, however, stands tall above the rest.

I have not always been a person of integrity. As I reflect back on the life I’ve lived, I can point to more than just a handful of situations in which my actions were inconsistent with my values. As I have gotten older, however, I’ve made a conscientious effort to live my life in such a way that my actions are consistent with those things I value. It’s not always easy to do so, but the more I do it, the easier it gets.

It is important for me to live my life in such a way that when my three sons, or my students, or my friends, or anyone else who knows me think of integrity, they think of me.

I appreciate C. S. Lewis’ definition of integrity: “Integrity is doing the right thing, even when no one is watching.” Bingo!

Even Bob Marley had some thoughts to share on this topic: “The greatness of a man is not the wealth he acquires, but in his integrity and his ability to affect those around him positively.”

The most challenging quote about integrity, perhaps, comes from author Tom Peters. He wrote, “There is no such thing as a minor lapse of integrity.” Either we have it, or we don’t.

Gratitude? Yes, it’s important, yet it pales in comparison to living our life with integrity.

The Preciousness of Time

“We will not appreciate water
until the well runs dry.”

Benjamin Franklin

I don’t wear a wrist watch. I used to. Throughout my elementary, high school, and college years, and well into my teaching career, I wore a simple timepiece on my left wrist so that I would always know the accurate time of day. Punctuality was, and still is, very important to me. In the mid-1980’s, things began to change. I had always made good use of the clock on the wall in my classroom, but when I was transitioning from one place to another, I found the wrist watch to be extraordinarily helpful — especially when I was in the car. Then, in November 1984, I purchased a brand new Honda Accord. It had a digital clock on the dashboard. 

Still, there were times when my watch was the only time source available to me. I don’t recall exactly when I got my first cell phone, but that’s when I no longer needed a watch on my wrist. I was happy to ditch it. Except for the dozen or so trips I’ve taken to Japan, where my cell phone did not get service, I have not worn a watch since that time.

I enjoyed an engaging conversation with my good friend Penny this morning at a small café in Santana Row. She mentioned that she and her husband, Bill, had recently purchased new watches. Bill is in the early stages of dealing with multiple myeloma, a cancer of the blood. He is responding well to treatment so far, but he’s got a long road ahead of him. Penny explained that the new watches have a significant meaning for them. Whenever they check the time, they are reminded of the preciousness of that time. This is one of those realizations which can benefit us all. 

We know our lives are finite. We were all born, we all live our life to the best of our ability, and, at some point, our life will end. We know this to be true. For those, however, who are confronted with their mortality, or that of a loved one, this fact becomes more than simply a reality we’ve come to accept. Every time they look at their watch, they are reminded that time continues to pass… uninterrupted. Nothing they do can stop it, or even slow it down. 

There are twenty-four hours in every day — 1,440 minutes. That’s it. That’s all we get on any given day. I think most of us can live with these facts, as well. When the number of days remaining in our life becomes threatened, however, we gain a greater appreciation for the value of each one of those minutes.

It seems to be human nature for us to take things (and people) for granted. Then, at some point, as Ben Franklin points out in the quote above, we realize that what we once took for granted is no longer available to us — or may not be for much longer. Sadly, then, and often only then, do we gain a true appreciation for that which should have been a source of gratitude throughout our life.

The clock of life is running. It’s up to us to acknowledge this reality and to develop a genuine attitude of gratitude for the many gifts with which/whom we have been blessed.

Where Are You Going?

 

I was born in 1954 and grew up in San Francisco in the 1960’s. Such a revelation might cause one to think that my young life must have been tainted by the presence of the tie-dye-clad, weed smoking, long-haired hippie freaks of that era. Well, my grandparents did live in the Haight-Ashbury, so it wasn’t as though I was unaware of the alternative lifestyle being lived in that part of The City, but in the outer Sunset District, where my family lived, life was fairly normal. I’m guessing that, at some point in my early childhood, my parents probably sat back and wondered what kind of world I would experience in my lifetime.

Kathy and I have three sons, born in 1986, 1988, and 1992. As I saw each of them taking their first steps, and then as they began to venture outside on their own, I vaguely recall wondering what kind of world they would experience in their lifetime. Keep in mind that this was in the era before Google, YouTube, social media, or the internet. There is no way I could have known how different the world would be for them as they got older.  

Now I look at my youngest grandchild getting her land legs. After more than a year of crawling, she is up and running with confidence — or is it reckless abandon? So when I saw the image of her shown above, the thought returned to my mind: what kind of world will she, her cousins, and her soon-to-be-born sister experience in their lifetime?

I spent the past hour doing a bit of casual, unofficial research to compare the cost of living today with that of 1955, when I was the same age Penny is today. I doubt that anyone will be shocked by these numbers:

• Average cost of a new home:  $10,950 in 1955,... $1.34 million today
• Average cost of a new car:  $1,900 in 1955,... $29,000 today
• Per gallon cost of gasoline:  23¢ in 1955,... $4.40 today
• Per gallon cost of milk:  93¢ in 1955,... $4.79 today
• One loaf of bread:  18¢ in 1955,... $3.99 today (for the cheap bread)

What might be shocking, however, is the staggering thought of these numbers projected out over the lifetime of today’s young people.

I don’t know how my grandchildren will make ends meet, but I’m confident that they will. I’m sure my grandparents would be shocked to see the prices of homes, cars, food, and other necessities today, yet their children, their grandchildren, and their great-grandchildren have managed to maintain a fairly comfortable lifestyle despite the challenges of inflation. No doubt, their great-great grandchildren will fare just as well — if not better.

The words of Thomas Edison offer us tremendous hope for the future. It was Edison who reminded us that “if we did all the things we are capable of doing, we would literally astound ourselves.” Each generation seems to have a way of doing just that.  

Difficult Days

“Act as if what you do makes a difference.
It does.”

William James

We all have them. Bad days. Difficult days. Days when we just want to go back to bed and wake up the next morning hoping that things will be a little better. Such days are inescapable, it seems.

Some people handle these times better than others — so well, in fact, that we might mistakenly believe that they never experience difficult days. Others are a bit more transparent with their feelings and emotions. One look and we know something is not right. Either way, the challenge of coping with days, weeks, or longer when we’re not feeling up to par is a universal experience.

One quote, which appears on social media from time to time, urges us to “be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle.” There is so much truth to this simple statement. Life is hard. Harder for some than for others. We just don’t know what others might be going through at any given moment. So yes, it is best that we give others the benefit of the doubt and treat them with compassion, rather than contempt.

One common cause of difficult days is the feeling that we don’t really make a significant difference in the world. A distressing lesson I learned many years ago is that no one is indispensable. While we might want believe that our job or role in life is absolutely essential, the reality of our world today is that just about anyone can be replaced at a moment’s notice. This can be humbling, frightening, and downright depressing.

How can we effectively navigate the choppy waters of difficult days? What can we do to steer our ship back into the peaceful waters of contentment, fulfillment, and meaning? If I knew, I’d write a book about it and, just possibly, make a fortune. Until such time, I do my best to keep my eyes and ears open for messages of hope — words of inspiration from friends, in books, or on social media that remind me that life is good and that my life does, indeed, make a positive difference in some way.

I happened upon these words on a Facebook post this morning:

Just a reminder, in case your mind is playing tricks on you:
You matter. You’re important. You’re loved.
And your presence on this earth makes a difference
whether you see it or not.

Thank you to whoever it was that posted this pearl of wisdom. I’m sure I’m not the only one who needed to hear these words today.  

Now Available for Purchase!

So here's the story... Two years ago, I wrote a series of poems about different types of fruit for my grandson, Liam. I wrote them just for fun. At the time, I had no thoughts of publishing any of the poems. Last year, however, I became aware of the artistic ability of one of my sixth grade students from St. Victor School in San José, California. When the Parent Club asked students to submit a self-portrait, I was stunned to see the work of Vivian Nguyen. Seeing her artwork gave me an idea.

I sent Vivian a copy of one of my poems, which I had titled "Cherries in the Summer." It contained 48 lines. I asked her if she would be interested in illustrating the poem to be published as a children's book. She was pretty excited about the opportunity. I was initially thinking that it would be nice if we could finish this project by the time she graduated eighth grade in June 2023, but Vivian had other plans. She spent most of this past summer creating the 48 images for the book. Now, much to my surprise, the book is already available for purchase online at Balboa Press.

I put in my own order for a few hundred copies of the book, as well. Copies will be available for purchase directly from Vivian and/or me. These books will be signed by Vivian and me. They will be available for purchase by the end of October. Those interested may pre-order now at kmc_sjc@aol.com. The cost of the book is $15.00 ($13.95 + sales tax).

To be honest, I spent only about 45 minutes writing the cherry poem. Vivian, however, devoted countless hours to creating the vivid, colorful illustrations. So this will be Vivian's book. 100% of the profit from sales will go to Vivian's education fund.

I'm looking forward to getting out to visit local elementary schools to share this wonderful book. Those interested in a school visit should contact me directly via email at kmc_sjc@aol.com.
   

City Folks

I was born and raised in San Francisco. I’m proud to tell people this about myself, though I don’t know why. It’s not like I had anything to do with it. That’s just where we lived. It’s something I took for granted in my childhood, but as the years have passed, I’ve come to realize how special it actually was. 

My family lived on 38th Avenue, between Vicente and Wawona Streets, just ten short blocks from the Pacific Ocean. In my early years, it never dawned on me how many people in the United States have never seen an ocean. We lived exactly two miles from Golden Gate Park, one of the most popular tourist destinations in The City. The park is home to such attractions as the Japanese Tea Garden, the Steinhart Aquarium, and the DeYoung Museum. It is also the location of the Beach Chalet soccer fields, where I played much of my childhood soccer. 

The old main entrance to the San Francisco Zoo, which was the primary entrance to the facility throughout my childhood, was located just a short ten-minute walk from my home. Due to my job at Silver Tree Day Camp in my high school years, I visited the zoo every Wednesday morning during those summers. One benefit of this weekly activity was the opportunity to eat my breakfast, if you could call it that, with some of the other camp staff at the famous Doggie Diner across the street. (Some might consider French fries and a vanilla shake to be something other than the breakfast of champions!)

There were so many features of The City that I simply took for granted in my youth. Thousands of people save their money for many years to afford a trip to San Francisco to see such sites as the Golden Gate Bridge, Fisherman’s Wharf, Ghirardelli Square, and Alcatraz Island. I saw these venues on a regular basis in my childhood. I also grew up riding the famous cable cars as a routine means of transportation, rather than as an over-priced tourist attraction. My family would regularly enjoy dinners at restaurants in North Beach, visit family in Noe Valley, and attend Mass at St. Ignatius Church, one of the most stunning places of worship on the West Coast. The City had so much to offer. 

San Francisco was my home, but much has changed. The world has changed. The City has changed. And I have changed. I’ve lived in San José for more than two-thirds of my life now. Thoughts of taking a drive to The City are blurred by the ever-present threat of car break-ins, parking woes, and City traffic. The City of my childhood — where I felt safe taking public transit downtown, and walking along City streets didn’t require one to keep an eye out for used needles and human waste on the sidewalks — no longer exists. It is a sad state of affairs, to be sure.

Fortunately, however, there is still something about meeting someone and finding out that they, too, were born and raised in San Francisco. There is an automatic connection there. There is also an expectation that we will have mutual friends or acquaintances. And even if we don’t, the fact that we’re both from The City creates a mutual bond of trust and friendship.

I enjoy living where I do now, but I will always be grateful for the opportunity to have lived my first eighteen years in the City of San Francisco.   

The Dignity of Work

“Whatever your life’s work is,
do it well.”

Martin Luther King, Jr.

Like so many others in my generation, I engaged in some type of work beginning about the age of nine or ten. My first job was cutting lawns for some of my neighbors. I must have done a fairly good job, because I ended up cutting the lawns of others in the neighborhood due to referrals. In the summer of 1965, at age 11, I had a paper route. It was actually my next-door neighbor’s route, but he went away for the summer and asked if I’d take it on. I delivered the San Francisco Shopping News on Wednesdays and Saturdays in the Parkside District of The City.

Beginning in the summer of 1967, I worked for the San Francisco Recreation & Parks Department as a junior counselor at Silver Tree Day Camp. I would have done that for five consecutive summers, but in 1971, I had the opportunity to visit Jamaica for six weeks, so I worked only two weeks at Silver Tree that year.

In 1972, as my senior year of high school came to an end, I was not as conscientious as I should have been in securing a job for the summer months. I knew I’d be moving to San José at the end of August to work in the dormitory at Bellarmine College Prep and to begin my college studies, but I should have known that the powers that be at home would not allow me to just sit around all summer. So it was already mid-June when I reluctantly applied to work at McDonald’s in Daly City. Yes,… McDonald’s. They were hiring.

Some might think that such a job would be demeaning for a graduate of St. Ignatius College Prep. I didn’t think that at all. In fact, I enjoyed the experience. Not only did I learn a valuable lesson which has improved my life considerably, I also met a coworker with whom I have enjoyed a friendship of almost fifty years!

The life lesson was simple: Clean as you go. In other words, don’t put off cleaning up after yourself until the end of a shift or until there is a break in the rush of customers. Clean as you go means just that. Did something spill? Wipe it up. Did you drop something? Pick it up. Is trash accumulating in your workspace? Throw it away. By doing these simple things, I was able to keep my workspace clean, organized, and productive, and I didn’t have a mess to clean up at the end of my shift. This practice has served me well in my own kitchen at home, as well as in the workplace as an educator.

As for the friendship, yes, I met Mary in my second week on the job, when her family returned from their summer vacation. We hit it off immediately. We went out together quite often over the next two years, but when I had the opportunity to teach in the Bahamas in 1974, we amicably parted ways. Ironically, Mary and I both got married in 1985. We both have three children, and now grandchildren. And I’m grateful that even to this day, we share a special friendship.

One evening a few years ago, Kathy and I attended a party in San Francisco hosted by our friend George, who was Mary’s neighbor in their childhood years. Surprisingly, way back in 1972, when I mentioned to George that I’d gotten a summer job at McDonald’s, he told me about Mary and said I should get to know her. At George’s party, which Mary also attended, I noticed that Kathy and Mary were sitting on a piano bench deeply engrossed in conversation. For a brief moment, I thought, “Uh-oh…” Then I remembered that I have absolutely nothing to hide. I later learned that they weren’t even talking about me! So yes, to this day, I am grateful for Mary’s friendship.

A summer job at McDonald’s. Okay, so it’s not the highlight of my résumé. It was still a job with dignity. It was a job in which I learned a valuable life skill (and probably a few more). And it was a job through which I met a lifelong friend. So much for which to be grateful.  

Be the Light

Norm Macdonald died last week following a lengthy battle with cancer. He was a successful Canadian comedian best known, perhaps, for his work as a popular cast member on Saturday Night Live. There is a story he would tell which I think deserves our attention and consideration. It goes something like this:

A moth went into a podiatrist’s office. “What’s wrong?” asked the podiatrist.

The moth replied, “Doc, I hate my life. I hate my career. My marriage is a failure. I don’t have any friends. My relationships with my kids are terrible. It’s all just too much for me to handle.”

“You need help,” replied the doctor, “but you need a psychiatrist, not a podiatrist. Why did you come in here?”

“Because,” the moth replied, “the light was on.”

You may have had an experience similar to that of the podiatrist — or, perhaps, the moth. Many times throughout my life people have shared with me intimate details of their life, or of a particular situation in their life, which has left me wondering why. Why me? Why are they sharing this personal information with me?

It is also possible that you have shared some details of your life, or of a particular situation in your life, with someone who was left wondering the same thing.

It is true that moths are drawn to light. The moth in Macdonald’s story went into the podiatrist’s office simply because the light was on. Similarly, we have the opportunity be a light for those around us, and we must recognize that there are some around us who are a light for us, as well.

I am grateful for those who have placed their trust in me and turned to me when things have been difficult for them. I am equally grateful for those who have been there for me — those who have listened attentively and compassionately to me as I confided in them about challenging situations in my own life.

As Amanda Gorman said so eloquently in the poem she read at the January 2021 presidential inauguration:

"There is always light,
if only we're brave enough to see it.
If only we're brave enough to be it."

On Feeling Good

So you want to feel good about life, and about yourself? Then do something for someone else without the expectation of anything in return — including gratitude. It’s true. When we freely do kind things to and for others, we feel better. It’s that simple. 

We’re all pretty good about doing things for other when we know they’ll do something for us in return. And while there’s nothing wrong with that, such actions will not produce the overwhelming level of happiness that comes from our unconditional generosity of time, talent, or treasure to others.  

I first learned this lesson in my early childhood. For several years, my family would “adopt” an economically-disadvantaged family at Christmas time. My parents would provide a few bags or boxes of food, along with age-appropriate gifts, clothing, and household items for each member of our adopted family. Then we would visit the home of this family to deliver the food and gifts. I don’t recall exactly when the realization came to my attention, but it was clear to me even at that young age that I experienced more happiness and satisfaction in delivering those goods to a family in need than opening my own gifts on Christmas morning.

During the holiday seasons of my junior and senior years of high school, I coordinated the annual Christmas Basket Drive at St. Ignatius College Prep. For two weeks, students would be asked to donate canned goods and other nonperishable items for economically-disadvantaged families. A number of us would solicit donations of fresh turkeys from local grocery stores. Several school families donated turkeys, as well. Then, in the days leading up to Christmas, those of us who could drive would deliver these resources to 150 families throughout The City.

In the Acts of the Apostles, Luke wrote, “In every way, I have shown you that by hard work of that sort we must help the weak, and keep in mind the words of the Lord Jesus who himself said, ‘It is more blessed to give than to receive.’” (Acts 20:35) 

Yes, it is more blessed, and that blessing can be experienced in our genuine happiness. 

I am grateful to have learned this lesson early in my life. I’m also grateful for the opportunity to share this pearl of wisdom with others. 

What the World Needs Now...

 

It is tempting to look at our world today with a sense of helplessness — even hopelessness. Thirty minutes of local television news is enough to ruin one’s day. We’re in the second year (of how many, we don’t yet know) of a global pandemic. Random violence seems to be a daily occurrence. Political differences have created enmity between family and friends. Our climate seems to be changing in ways which are having a detrimental effect throughout the world. And when I drive around Silicon Valley, I regularly witness an alarming disregard for local traffic laws and basic civility. Despite it all, it is critically important that we maintain a positive mindset. But how can we do this?

Gratitude is the difference. Gratitude makes a difference! When we take time each day to focus on the things in our life for which we are grateful, we are better equipped to cope with the challenges confronting us each day. We are all invited and encouraged to live life with a genuine attitude of gratitude. It’s not always easy, but it can be transformative. 

Today is World Gratitude Day. What better time than today to commit ourselves to a focus on gratitude. Developing an attitude of gratitude is one of the easiest ways to improve our lives. How, you might ask, can gratitude improve your life? A significant amount of research, much of it at the University of California in Berkeley, has been conducted with some startling results. Some of the benefits of practicing gratitude include:

…improving the quality of our sleep.
…improving emotional regulation.
…increasing feelings of overall happiness and positivity.
…fostering greater hope for the future.
…reducing one’s level of stress.
…increasing one’s resilience. 

If you are interested in documentation of the research on the benefits of gratitude, check out Courtney Ackerman’s article 28 Benefits of Gratitude & Most Significant Research Findings on the PositivePsychology.com website. The evidence is there.

I wish you all a wonderful World Gratitude Day 2021.

Simply Delicious!

There was a time in my life when I was a regular at Jamba Juice. I’d convinced myself that the smoothies served there were a type of health food, so I stopped there on a regular basis with a clear conscience. Perhaps the smoothies do have some health benefits, I really don’t know, but I’ve learned that, generally speaking, anything that tastes that good is probably not healthy for me.

I began ordering Peach Pleasure smoothies. How could that not be healthy, right? That was my go-to drink for several years. Then I tried the Mango-a-Go-Go. I loved it, and certainly anything with fresh mango in it had to be good for me. The Orange Dream Machine smoothie was pretty good, too, though it tasted more like orange sherbet than fresh orange juice. Then one day I made the mistake of ordering a Chocolate M’ood smoothie. As much as I enjoyed it, there was no pretending that it had any nutritional value whatsoever. Just last year, however, I was introduced to one of the seasonal smoothies — the Pumpkin Smash Classic. My knees buckled.

In my childhood, I had no interest whatsoever in eating anything pumpkin-related. For years, I declined the slice of pumpkin pie at the end of Thanksgiving dinner at my grandparents’ home. Maybe it was the color, I’m not sure, but I had no interest in things pumpkin. It was in my college years that I first tried, and thoroughly enjoyed, pumpkin pie. Through the years, I’ve enjoyed pumpkin muffins, pumpkin bread, and pumpkin scones. While I’m always grateful for the opportunity to enjoy such treats, nothing measures up to the Pumpkin Smash Classic at Jamba Juice.

It’s that time of year! The pumpkin spice lattes are in season at Starbucks, the bakery at Andronico’s Market is selling a variety of pumpkin delicacies, and the Pumpkin Smash Classic is available at Jamba Juice. I justify indulging in this treat by employing a bit of self-discipline. I remind myself that anything, in moderation, is good for me. (Well, almost anything.) So I am careful not to get in the habit of visiting Jamba Juice on a regular basis in the months before Thanksgiving. Every now and then, however, I convince myself that I deserve it. The Pumpkin Smash Classic is simply delicious. And I am simply grateful.   

Kids Need Them, Too

Early in my professional career, I accepted a teaching position at Saint Christopher School in San José, California. I was asked to teach seventh and eighth grade literature and to be the religion teacher for my homeroom class. I also coached two of the school’s athletic teams. It was the 1979-80 academic year. Though I still had much to learn as an educator, it was a good experience overall.

As the school year came to an end, I received a phone call from the pastor, Monsignor Norman Allen, inviting me to the rectory for a visit. He asked me if I would be willing to take responsibility for the parish high school youth ministry program. The program consisted of about a dozen students, mostly from Willow Glen High School. I told him that I would be happy to do so, but I didn’t consider that to be a full-time job, so I’d like to continue teaching, as well. He agreed.

In the following academic year, because I had taught the eighth grade students in the parish school, a good number of them joined the high school youth group. The older, veteran members of the group provided solid leadership for these younger students. We had weekly meetings on Tuesday evenings, social activities on the weekends, a weekend ski trip, and a weekend retreat. As word of the successful program got to the current junior high students, they began to ask if they could have a youth program, too.

As the 1981-82 academic year got started, we began a junior high ministry program. Also, several of the older, original members of the high school group had started their college studies, yet wanted to continue to be active in the program. To accommodate their needs, a young adult ministry program was formed. The young adult group (ages 18-25) met on Monday nights. The high school group continued to meet on Tuesday nights. The junior high group met just once each month, on Wednesday nights. While all this was good, I was still trying to keep up with my responsibilities as a full-time classroom teacher.

One Friday morning, I arrived on campus after all three groups had met earlier in the week. I had stayed late in my office on Thursday night to catch up with grading papers. I was young (27 years old) at the time and I thoroughly enjoyed the various responsibilities of my jobs, but that Friday morning, I was definitely tired. As usual, I arrived on campus at about 7:15 a.m. and got my classroom in order for the day. I then went over to the faculty room to make some photocopies for my classes. It was then that my principal, Sister Eileen Diggins, stopped me in the hallway and told me to go home.

Go home? It was a school day! Sister Eileen explained very compassionately that from her convent window she had seen my office light on until at least 10:00 p.m. every night that week, and she told me I looked terrible. (I wasn’t exactly sure how to take that!) She then introduced me to a term I had never heard before. “You need to go home and take a mental health day.” She explained that getting someone to cover my classes for that one day would not be a problem, but she didn’t want to risk the possibility of my getting sick and requiring an extended absence to recover. So, yes, she sent me home for a three-day weekend.

I have never forgotten that lesson. While Sister Eileen was the only administrator who initiated such a day off in my life, it wasn’t the only mental health day I took. In my 30+ years working at St. Lawrence in Santa Clara, I judiciously utilized such days when it was absolutely necessary for me to do so.

These past eighteen months, during which we’ve all been challenged with the realities of the global pandemic, the need for mental health days has increased significantly — for teachers AND students. Yes, even students need an occasional mental health day, and I would hope that parents, teachers, and school administrators would acknowledge such and provide for these essential days off when needed. I’m well-aware that mental health days by students or teachers could easily be abused. Despite this, the need for such time off is real. We need to recognize this and encourage everyone to recognize some of the indicators that such a day is needed: feeling down, feeling detached from the world, an alarming loss of energy, inability to focus on daily tasks, increased levels of anxiety, and outbursts of short-temperedness, to name a few. These symptoms must be identified and acted upon.

I don’t recall what I did with my principal-designated mental health day in 1982, but I remember that it was exactly what I needed, even though I wasn’t aware of it myself. I will be forever grateful to Sister Eileen for the wisdom and compassion she exhibited in sending me home that day. 

Fresh-Baked Bread

One of the websites I follow is gratefulness.org. One feature of this site is a Daily Question. Today’s question was an easy one for me to answer: What smell/aroma provokes a grateful memory? What is the story of this memory?

In my early childhood, my Dad, a San Francisco firefighter, worked at 7 Truck, which was located at 19th & Folsom Streets. Every now and then, my Mom would drive us kids down to the firehouse to visit Dad. Seeing my Dad in his workplace was always special, as was having the opportunity to climb on the fire apparatus. While this, in itself, was memorable, so too was enjoying the delightful smell of the Kilpatrick’s Bread bakery directly across the street. Even now, almost sixty years later, I recall the aroma with a sense of gratitude.

There were other places, of course, where the smell of fresh-baked bread could be experienced. I always enjoyed going to the Vicente Street Bakery with my Mom. We would often go there to purchase a loaf of cinnamon bread. I was always fascinated watching the bread going through the electric slicer, but the highlight of the trip was the aroma of fresh-baked goods.

On special occasions, we would stop by the Golden Brown Bakery on Lawton Street to pick up a cake for someone’s birthday or some other noteworthy celebration. There, too, the smell of fresh-baked bread permeated the air.

One other opportunity to enjoy this pleasant fragrance during my childhood presented itself once each week when what we referred to as “the bread man” would drive his yellow truck up 38th Avenue. The vehicle would stop right in front of our house and the driver would get out to open the double doors on the back of the truck. Again, that enticing smell of baked goods would fill the air. Inside the truck were several large drawers filled with various types of donuts and pastries, as well as loaves of bread to be sold. The primary items of interest to me were the chocolate donuts and cinnamon twists, but the aroma from all the delicacies was something to be savored.

So yes, the smell of fresh-baked bread (and other baked goods) is one which provokes a grateful memory for me — then and now.

Why I Dislike Football

 

I know, right? What an… unmanly thing to admit. The football field is where boys become men. In many southern states, “Friday night lights” is what life is all about. College football on a Saturday afternoon is an institution. And Sundays,… well, as it must say somewhere in the Bible, “…and on the seventh day, God popped open a Bud and watched football.” The famous mural of “Touchdown Jesus” on the campus of Notre Dame University certainly attests to the validity of this theory.

I used to enjoy watching football games. I have fond memories of taking public transportation from my home in the Sunset District of San Francisco to the corner of 5th & Market on a Sunday morning in the mid-1960’s. I’d walk around the corner to SFFD Station 1 in “the alley” where I would meet my Dad. We would join other firefighters in the downstairs television room to watch Vince Lombardi’s Green Bay Packers dominate and out-class their opponents. 

I recall watching some of the powerhouse college football teams of my childhood — Ohio State, USC, Michigan State, and, of course, Notre Dame — working their magic on the gridiron on Saturday afternoons. And, occasionally, I had the opportunity to attend a high school football game on a Friday night or Saturday afternoon, or the annual city championship game on Thanksgiving Day at Kezar Stadium. Yes, like so many other boys and men, I was fascinated by the game of football.

Sadly, times have changed. Or, perhaps, I’ve changed. While the perennially snake-bit San Francisco 49ers of the ’60's were my home team, I thoroughly enjoyed watching Bart Starr (Green Bay Packers), Roger Staubach (Dallas Cowboys), Johnny Unitas (Baltimore Colts), Gayle Sayers (Chicago Bears), Deacon Jones (Los Angeles Rams), and so many other NFL standouts of that era. They played with passion, pride, and a commitment to their teams. Professional athletes today most often seem to be motivated by less altruistic factors with minimal loyalty to a city or team.  

There was one particular moment, however, that changed my impression of the game of football. No, it wasn’t Oakland Raider Jack Tatum’s vicious hit which ended the career of New England receiver Darryl Stingley in 1978, though it could have been. Tatum ushered in a violent and reprehensible era of unsportsmanlike conduct which became fodder for NFL highlight reels for many years. For me, what changed my opinion of the game was something much closer to home.

It was the late 1990’s and I attended a Saturday afternoon high school football game. I was sitting near mid-field in the top row of the bleachers. Sitting about fifteen feet to my left were three assistant coaches of the home team. One had a headset and microphone which allowed him to communicate directly with the head coach on the sideline. When the home team’s best player received a brutal blow to the head, leaving him disoriented and unable to walk to the sideline without assistance, I heard the assistant coach with the headset tell the head coach not to allow the medical team on site to check on the player, warning him that if they checked him out, they most likely would not allow him to reenter the game. I could not believe what I had just heard. I immediately stood up, stepped down the bleachers to the field level, and walked directly to the head coach to inform him that the injured player was not to return to the game under any circumstances. I then instructed the medical team to check on the player’s condition.

Why, you might ask, did I do that? What gave me the authority to walk to the field and tell the head coach what he could or could not do? I was the athletic director of the home team. Those players were my students. I cared more for the well-being of those kids than I did about the outcome of the contest on the field. Sadly, the desire to win had blurred the soon-to-be ex-coach’s ability to make a responsible decision during the game. My love of the game ended that day.

712 Steiner Street

 

There are countless noteworthy places to visit in San Francisco. Certainly, the Golden Gate Bridge, Fisherman’s Wharf, and Golden Gate Park would be on the list of most visitors to The City. Some might also want to visit Chinatown, the Presidio, Oracle Park (home of the San Francisco Giants), or Union Square. Lombard Street, the “crookedest street in the world”, is also a popular tourist destination. And a trip to San Francisco would not be complete without a ride on one of the famous cable cars.

Yet another famous venue in The City is Alamo Square, a scenic park which offers stunning views of what have come to be known as the Painted Ladies, with the impressive San Francisco skyline in the background. The row of ornately colored Victorian houses has been featured in television shows, movies, and advertising campaigns for many years. The opening scene of the popular TV sitcom Full House, which aired from September 1987 through May 1995, featured the outside of 712 Steiner Street, one of the Painted Ladies. While these structures may look attractive from the outside, many visitors seem to overlook the fact that these Victorians are people’s homes. Yes, real people live in the Painted Ladies.

For this reason, access to the inside of these homes has been significantly restricted. They are not open to the public — at least, not until now. Recently, my friend George, who owns and lives in the light blue Painted Lady at 712 Steiner, began offering personally-guided tours of his home. It does not take visitors long to realize that the building is not just a house. It is, in the truest sense of the word, a home.

Built in the late 1880’s, this structure survived the great earthquake and fire of 1906. Today, the restored Victorian offers guests an experience of revisiting an earlier time in San Francisco history. The architecture, furniture, and artifacts throughout the home provide a glimpse into San Francisco’s past. George personally guides most of the tours of his home and provides a colorful description of the life and times of the early 1900’s. 

Daily tours of 712 Steiner Street begin at 4:00 p.m. Those interested in participating in the tour should gather at the wall of Alamo Square, directly across the street from George’s home. The cost of the tour is $20 cash (or Venmo). All visitors must have a photo identification and wear a mask throughout the tour. Each daily tour is limited to 22 guests.   

I’ve been to George’s home many times for various social gatherings or just for a visit with George. I’ve taken the tour. I recommend it highly. I’m grateful for my friendship with George and for the opportunity to explore the inside of one of San Francisco’s most recognizable homes. It truly is a San Francisco experience.

instagram.com/bluepaintedladyhousetour/

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I took my one and only typing class during the second semester of my freshman year of high school. I earned a grade of “B” in that one-semester course, which was taught by the varsity football coach. I’m sure he was well-qualified to teach typing. When I look back on my four-year curriculum at St. Ignatius College Preparatory, however, typing was the most valuable course I took.

It was early 1969. The manual typewriter I used in class was much like the one in the photo above. I remember it well. If electric typewriters existed at that time, I’d never seen one. When I made a typographical error, it was clearly evident on my paper. As I got to the end of each line of text, I had to use the now-obsolete lever on the left to return the carriage to the beginning of the next line. The placement of letters on the keyboard hasn’t changed, but in the twenty-five years following my completion of that course, technology revolutionized the written word.

In my college years at Santa Clara University, I was grateful to have access to an IBM Selectric typewriter in the office of one of my part-time jobs. If I recall correctly, it had a correction feature which enabled me to delete and replace a letter if it was within the last ten characters typed. As an English major with an emphasis in writing, such an advanced office machine was a tremendous benefit to me. For my graduate studies at the University of San Francisco, I purchased my own electronic typewriter. It, too, had the ten-character correction feature. What more could I possibly need?

In the mid-1980’s, I was working at St. Lawrence in Santa Clara, where I taught in the high school and coordinated several pastoral ministry programs in the parish. The jobs required that I do a good deal of typing — handouts, tests, newsletters, etc. A good number of those involved in the Young Adult Ministry program, ages 21-35, were employed by high-tech companies like Apple, Intel, and Hewlett-Packard. Several of them, when they saw me doing my work on my electronic typewriter, recommended that I consider getting a Macintosh computer. I assured them that I didn’t need a computer, as my typewriter could easily make corrections to the last ten characters. They laughed… and told me about this thing called word processing. It took awhile, but I was finally convinced that, perhaps, one of these computer things just might be helpful in my work. 

Wow! Sitting in that typing classroom at St. Ignatius in 1969, I never imagined that typing and writing would become so convenient such a short time later. By 1985, I had done so much typing for school and jobs that I’d pretty much mastered the art. The computer made the task of writing and editing so much easier. Then, in the late 1990’s, I was able to utilize the internet to improve my research and writing skills. This led to the development of this blog site in December 2006 and the publication of my first book in 2017. 

I will always be grateful for the opportunity to learn how to type correctly and efficiently. Typing, and the incredible technology which supports it, has served me well throughout my adult years. 

It Just Makes Sense to Me

The 2021 Farmers’ Almanac leaves little doubt as to when the season of fall begins:

“Fall begins with the Autumnal Equinox,
Wednesday, September 22, 2021, 3:21 p.m.” 

This is not a difficult concept to understand. I get it. Despite this factual information, however, I have my own unofficial date for the seasonal change. (Not that anyone cares about this!)

Throughout my lifetime, I’ve often heard people refer to the start of the academic year by saying something like, “When classes resume in the fall,…” In the world of athletics, football is considered to be a fall sport, even though some games are played in August and the Super Bowl is now played in February. And to confuse things even more, professional baseball’s World Series, which is affectionately known as the Fall Classic, takes place in late October, with occasional games in November. So clearly, there’s a little wiggle-room when it comes to embracing the start of autumn.

There’s a part of me that would like to make it simple for everyone by claiming that fall begins on September 1st, but that’s a little too early. For me, the last day of summer has always been Labor Day. Therefore, the first day of autumn this year would be today, Tuesday, September 7, 2021. Nothing preceding Labor Day should be referred to as anything other than summer.

My point here is that I see no reason to postpone the start of autumn until September 22nd. Life would be much less complicated if we simply considered the season of fall to include the months of September, October, and November. (With the exception, of course, of those few days between September 1st and Labor Day.)  Similarly, winter would include December, January, and February, while March, April, and May would constitute springtime. In this way, we might be better able to reclaim the entire months of June, July, and August as the summer months. 

I don’t lose sleep thinking about such things, but I do often wonder why we are so preoccupied with the astronomical guidelines for the seasons. Dividing the months of the calendar year into four equal three-month seasons just makes sense to me.

Speaking of No Guarantees...

 

As I mentioned in yesterday’s blog post, there are no guarantees in life. Well, if there are any, there are very few. With that said, it should come as no surprise that schools across the country, including right here in San José, California, are coping with the reality of students testing positive for Covid-19. I agree that students need to be back in the classroom. The isolation we all endured beginning in March 2020 took a heavy toll on many of us, particularly young people. As far as I know, schools are following the recommended Center for Disease Control (CDC) protocols for the pandemic. Despite these efforts, however, kids are getting sick. This results in entire classes of students being sent home for a ten-day quarantine.

This is the “new normal” we hear so much about these days. Even though most people I know have received the Covid vaccine, we are all at risk of being exposed to the virus. There is still so much we don’t know about the Delta variant, and I’ve recently heard of yet another variant making its presence known in our country. We have no idea where all this will lead us. Are we turning the corner and approaching the end of the pandemic, or is this global crisis still in its embryonic stage? Only time will tell.

For now, we have a choice. We can hide out in our homes, isolate ourselves from the rest of society, and have our groceries delivered to our front door for the foreseeable future, or we can conscientiously wear a mask when we’re around others, reasonably socially-distance ourselves from others, and try to maintain some semblance of a normal life. For me, the choice is an easy one. The life of a hermit is not compatible with my personality.

Like so many situations in life, The Serenity Prayer seems to be a wonderful source of wisdom at this time in history:

God, grant me the 
serenity
to accept the things I cannot change, the
courage
to change the things I can, and the
wisdom
to know the difference.

Yes, prayer seems to be an appropriate response to this pandemic — and to the other crises (hurricanes, wildfires, etc.) confronting us these days. When we pray, we humble ourselves, acknowledge that we have no control over these things, and seek divine intervention. This may not work for everyone, but it works for me.

The Gift of Visualization

It’s such a simple, optimistic quote, one attributed to the ever-popular “Unknown.” I’ve seen it posted on social media many times, but for some reason, it caught my attention when I saw it again today:

“Some of the best days of your life
haven’t happened yet.”

These words certainly engender a sense of hope for the future, but is there any validity to this statement? Can we be certain that the best is yet to come?

I’ve lived a magical life. It hasn’t been perfect, by any means, nor have I been perfect. Despite my foibles, however, my life has been blessed far more than one could expect — and far more than I deserve. From my earliest days to today, good things have happened to me, and continue to happen to me. For these things, I am incredibly grateful.

This is not to say that I haven’t had some tough times. Of course I have! Everyone does! It took a while, a long while, for me to recognize that it is because of the difficult challenges I’ve experienced in my life that I can truly appreciate the good I’ve enjoyed through the years. We appreciate a warm, summer day because we endured a cold, dark winter, right? That’s how life works.

So getting back to the quote, how can any of us be so sure that the best days of our life haven’t happened yet? We can’t. There is no way for any of us to know for sure — yet we have the opportunity to believe. We have the opportunity to look with hope, confidence, and optimism to our future, reminding ourselves that good things can, and hopefully will, make our future even better than the life we’ve lived to this point.

It’s true. There are no guarantees. All the more reason to hope for and expect the best. Visualize what you wish to see, be, and experience in your future. I am confident that when we visualize positive things happening to us, in us, and around us, they are more likely to happen.  

It's Nice to Win

Professional sports has changed significantly since my childhood. What began as a game, whether it be football, basketball, baseball, or any other professional sport, has been transformed into a billion dollar industry. It’s sad. Still, professional athletics catches the attention of Americans across the country, most notably when their local team is winning. That’s certainly how it’s been in the San Francisco Bay Area.

In my childhood, San Francisco teams were also-rans. Sure, the Giants made it to the World Series in 1962, but they lost to the New York Yankees. The 49ers and Warriors had some good players and successful seasons, too, but championships were not a part of the San Francisco experience. Then, in 1975, the Warriors shocked the Washington Bullets by sweeping the National Basketball Association finals. The Bay Area finally had a championship team.

In the early 1980s, the San Francisco 49ers became a team to be reckoned with. Coach Bill Walsh’s introduction of the West Coast Offense, combined with the talents of athletes such as Joe Montana, Ronnie Lott, Dwight Clark, and Roger Craig brought the first of five Super Bowl trophies to the City by the Bay. The Niners would win the league championship in 1985, 1989, 1990, and 1995 as well. For the first time ever, the word “dynasty” was being used to refer to a San Francisco professional sports franchise.

Fifteen years later, the Giants began an unlikely dynasty of their own, winning the World Series in 2010, 2012, and again in 2014. Buster Posey and Madison Bumgarner led the way with tremendous leadership on and off the field of play. Three Major League Baseball titles in five years. Impressive!

A year later, in 2015, the Golden State Warriors replicated the success of the 1975 Warriors team by winning the NBA title. Steph Curry emerged as one of the top players in the league and put up some astronomical numbers through the season. His success, and the Warriors’, continued as they reached the NBA finals again in 2016, only to lose in Game 7. Coach Steve Kerr’s team wasn’t deterred. They came back to win NBA titles again in 2017 and 2018. 

I will admit that I am one of those fair-weather fans. When one of our local teams is doing well, I follow them more closely. I’m not a die-hard fan of any particular team. Still, it’s been nice to have this type of athletic success — in all three sports — during my lifetime. Many Americans, including some who maintain allegiance to a particular team for generations, have never had the opportunity to enjoy this experience. 

Will the Giants, who currently own the best record in baseball, go on to win the 2021 World Series? Will the 49ers, with more on-field talent than they’ve had in several years, be able to win another Super Bowl in 2022? And will the Warriors be able to remain healthy enough to make another NBA title run in 2022? All this remains to be seen. Whatever the outcome, I am grateful to have enjoyed five Super Bowl championships, four NBA titles, and three World Series championships in my lifetime.

The Healing Power of Gratitude

 

Deb had a stroke. She’s our neighbor — a chiropractor by trade. Her husband, Jim, broke the bad news last week. The medical team at Good Samaritan Hospital in Los Gatos told him that on a scale of one to ten, Deb’s stroke was a nine. Emergency surgery was required to remove part of her skull to accommodate the swelling. Things didn’t look so good at the time.

In the past week, Deb’s condition has improved somewhat. While she has not yet opened her eyes, she is responsive with a squeeze of the hand or a thumbs-up. The prognosis has improved significantly, but a return to “normal” seems highly unlikely. 

Jim spends most of his days in Deb’s hospital room. Though her responses have been minimal, he talks to her, confident that she can hear and understand him. He also reads to her. A book he’s been reading to her is A Moment’s Pause for Gratitude. Despite Deb’s physical setback, both she and Jim realize that things could have been worse, so they are grateful for the opportunity Deb has to improve day by day, and, ultimately, to heal and recover, to some degree, from the stroke. 

Research on the topic of gratitude confirms that there is a healing component to being grateful. The positivity nurtured by gratitude has the potential to make a measurable difference in the healing process.

Simply Amazing!

 

The date was August 11, 1971 — fifty years ago today. It was our last night in Jamaica, the conclusion of a memorable experience for my friend and high school classmate Dan Pasini and me. We had spent several weeks traveling around Jamaica teaching liturgical music and introducing the concept of a “youth Mass” in various parishes. Our teacher and mentor, Fr. Russ Roide, a Jesuit from St. Ignatius College Prep in San Francisco, had arranged the journey.

In addition to the ministry we undertook there, Dan and I had ample opportunities to spend time at some of the local beaches in Montego Bay. We visited Kingston, Mandeville, Seaford Town, and stopped at the famous Dunn’s River Falls in Ocho Rios. We met a variety of people during our visit. Not surprisingly, many were Jamaican. Others, however, were visitors to the island from Boston, New York, Milwaukee, and Great Britain. By our last night, we were tired and ready to return home for the start of our senior year of high school.

During our time in Montego Bay, we ate most of our meals in the dining room of the cathedral rectory, often with Bishop Edgarton Clarke and others staying at the rectory. Every now and then, we would be invited up the hill to the convent of the sisters who taught at Mount Alvernia High School. Their dining room offered a stunning view of the entrance to Montego Bay. As it faced west, it was a great venue from which to see some spectacular sunsets.

The sisters invited us for dinner for our final night in Jamaica. We would depart for home the next day, with a brief, four-day stopover in New Orleans to visit Fr. Roide’s cousins who lived in the suburb of Metairie. I don’t recall what we had for dinner that evening, but I do remember that I was sitting at the table with my back to the opening of the veranda. At some point during the meal, one of the sisters sitting across from me said excitedly, “Look at the sunset!” 

Many of us got up and walked outside to enjoy what I can only describe as the most amazing sunset I’ve ever seen. The photo above is not a photo of that particular sunset, but it’s the closest I could find to what that one looked like. Billowy clouds rested on the horizon, and as the sun set behind them, the sun’s rays shot up into the evening sky in majestic fashion. It seemed that I was looking at a painting, rather than an actual sunset. I grabbed my trusty instamatic camera and snapped a few photos, all of which have long since faded. The image of the actual sunset, however, is indelibly etched in my memory.

There was so much for us to be grateful for that evening — the kindness of the sisters, the hospitality of the bishop and members of the cathedral parish, our hosts in Seaford Town, Mandeville, and Kingston, the experience of spending a summer in a developing country, our time at the beaches, and, of course, the dark tans we brought back to San Francisco with us. (I remember that in March of our senior year, I was in the gym locker room changing when someone asked where I’d been to get so tan at that time of year. I told them it was from the previous summer in Jamaica. I don’t think he believed me, but it was true.) Then, to top it all off, there was this sunset. Yes, I was grateful.

I’ve enjoyed reading through my notes from the summer of 1971, and those shared by my friend Dan, during this fiftieth anniversary of our visit to Jamaica. It was, without a doubt, a once-in-a-lifetime experience for which I will be forever grateful.    

The Challenge of Gratitude

 

Since publishing A Moment’s Pause for Gratitude in 2017, I’ve had the opportunity to give more than thirty “book talks” on the topic of gratitude. Most of these events ended with a question and answer session. No small number of participants, rather than asking a question, took the opportunity to share their own experiences of gratitude. One of the most common statements was worded something like this: “Oh, I’m grateful, for sure, but I don’t do a very good job of directly thanking the people for whom I am grateful.” A sad reality, for sure.

Gratitude is a virtue instilled in most of us during our early childhood. Our parents taught us to say “Thank you” in response to receiving a gift or whenever someone did something nice for us. It’s a life skill we all should have learned. Despite this, many adults readily admit to their failure to express the gratitude they truly feel. This is unfortunate.

American motivational writer William Arthur Ward offered words of wisdom for all to consider:

“Feeling gratitude
and not expressing it
is like wrapping a present
and not giving it.”

Think about it. Would you go shopping for a gift for someone special, take it home, wrap it up, and then just put it on a shelf in your closet? Of course not! (At least, not intentionally.) We make such a purchase with the intent of giving it to the intended recipient. This sends a clear message to the other person that we care about them. Gratitude works the same way.

No one has a perfect life. All of us deal with unpleasantries in our lives to some degree. Despite these challenges, we all have so much for which to be grateful. Unfortunately, it seems to be human nature that we often take many of these gifts for granted: our eyesight, our ability to hear, talk, walk, and read, and even our ability to breathe. Most of us rarely take time to appreciate such everyday gifts. 

The same can be said for the people in our lives. Whether they are family members, friends, neighbors, coworkers, or individuals we encounter randomly as we go through our days, it is so easy to take people for granted — people who love us, care for us, support us, and make our lives better. Rarely do we take the time to actively and consciously express our gratitude to them for all they do for us.

This is the challenge of gratitude — to express it! Whether verbally or in writing, formally or informally, directly or anonymously, it is our expression of gratitude that gives meaning to the feeling. And those who express their appreciation for others know that there is as much joy in expressing our gratitude to others as there is in being the recipient of another’s expression of gratitude. Gratitude does make a difference!

A Moment in Time

 

Exactly 13,514 days ago, my life changed unexpectedly. It was August 9, 1984. After earning my Master’s Degree from the University of San Francisco in June, I had just started a new job at St. Lawrence Parish in Santa Clara on August 1st. Two of the many responsibilities I’d undertaken were to create a youth ministry program for high school students and to facilitate an already-existing young adult ministry program. It was a festive time in the St. Lawrence community, as they were celebrating the twenty-fifth anniversary of the founding of the parish.

One of the many activities scheduled for the parish anniversary was a dance for the high school youth of the parish, to be held on the evening of Thursday, August 9th. Since I would be starting a youth ministry program in the weeks to come, I thought it would be appropriate for me to attend the dance to get to know some of the high school youth. I had been informed that members of the young adult group had been asked to chaperone the event. After a day of work in my office, I grabbed a quick bite to eat for dinner, then headed over to the gym for the dance.

It took a long time for me to get inside the gymnasium doors. As I approached the main entrance, I saw Fr. Bob Passalacqua, a parochial vicar at the parish. I had known him for several years, as he had been a parishioner at St. Christopher Parish in San José prior to entering the priesthood after the death of his wife. His son, Dan, and my cousin, Dan, had been high school classmates and friends at Bellarmine College Prep in the 1960s. Fr. Bob and I had a lengthy conversation about the parish and my new pastoral responsibilities. As we spoke, I couldn’t help but notice a young woman inside the foyer of the gym. She was engaged in conversation with some of the older women of the parish.

After awhile, the young woman walked outside to the front of the gym. I politely excused myself from Fr. Bob, walked over to the woman, and introduced myself. Her name was Kathy. She was one of the members of the young adult group. I had actually heard about her prior to our meeting, as the pastor had informed me that she might be someone I could contact to find out what was going on with the young adults. And Kathy had heard about me, also from the pastor, who had told the young adult group members that he had hired someone to facilitate the group. Our conversation was easy and comfortable.

Throughout the evening, Kathy introduced me to about a dozen other members of the young adult group. They were mostly college graduates with full-time jobs in Silicon Valley. Kathy also introduced me to her childhood friend, Cheryl. The two had been classmates at St. Lawrence Elementary School, and swam together on the St. Lawrence Swim Team. Kathy and I enjoyed a nice lunch with Cheryl, and her husband Bob, in Los Gatos this afternoon to celebrate our special day.

While I have always enjoyed meeting new people, something happened on that August night that changed my life — and I recognized this as I was driving home after the dance. There was something about Kathy that made me feel special, excited, whole. Over the next several months, we spent time together every day, without exception. The more time we spent together, and the more we talked about life, values, family, and love, it was clear to me that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her.

So here it is… August 9, 2021. Thirty-seven years have passed since Kathy and I met outside that gymnasium. We’ve been blessed with three sons, all now adults, and three grandchildren, with another due in late November. Life is good. God is good. And I am grateful.

Lisa V's - Concord, CA

 

I was hungry yesterday. I had just arrived in Concord, California, a place with which I am unfamiliar. So I pulled into a shopping center and started looking around for a place to have lunch. Just as I thought I was out of luck, I turned the corner and noticed Lisa V’s, a small, family-owned restaurant which features hot dogs and Mexican food. I gave it a shot. My order was simple -- a hot dog special, which includes a side order and a drink. I ordered potato salad and a root beer. To say that I was satisfied with my meal would be an understatement. Lisa V.'s absolutely exceeded my expectations! The staff was friendly and welcoming, the environment was clean and pleasant, and the quality of the food was better than anything I could have expected. 

Life can be this way at times. With no expectations of anything special, we can be pleasantly surprised by something as simple as a hot dog lunch. 

Before coming across Lisa V’s, I had noticed that there were numerous other options — McDonalds, Taco Bell, Mountain Mike’s Pizza, Five Guys Burgers, Round Table Pizza, and Nations Burgers. Typically, I do my best to avoid fast food establishments, especially the chain stores. There’s only one Lisa V’s, and I was fortunate enough to find it.

Not surprisingly, I returned to Lisa V’s for lunch again today. I got there around 2:00 and ordered the same thing. I could hear Lisa, the owner, offering free potato salad to several customers, explaining that she had made too much for the day and that they would close at 3:00 and be closed on Sunday. I was on my way to a family barbecue at my cousin’s home. So when I finished eating, I asked to purchase two pints of their delicious potato salad to take to the barbecue with me. When I tried to pay, Lisa wouldn’t take my money. She gave me the two pints and told me to enjoy the barbecue.

Again, a little thing, but time and time again, it’s the little things in life for which I am incredibly grateful. 

Right Place, Right Time

I’m sitting inside a Starbucks on North Capitol Avenue near Berryessa waiting to meet up with a couple of friends from St. Victor School. I’ve got my computer, the book I’m currently reading, and a large iced tea. Oh, yes,… and my new phone. 

A short time ago, two San José Police officers walked into the store. They ordered their drinks and were standing near the pick-up counter when a young brother and sister approached them. I couldn’t hear exactly what the kids said, but I’m guessing they probably asked if they could have a badge sticker. Without hesitation, Officer Hernandez sat down at a table and emptied his pocket, which was filled with stickers and coupons for free Slurpees at 7-11. Needless to say, the kids were thrilled. I snapped the photo above.

When the kids and their mother left, I showed the photo to Officer Hernandez and asked him if he’d like a copy. I was thinking that if I should not have taken the photo, he would tell me and I would delete it. It wasn’t a problem. He said he’d love to have a copy, so he gave me his email address and I sent the photo to him.

In recent years, law enforcement officers across the country have been blackballed for the actions of only a handful of bad cops. I think it’s helpful to recognize that the majority of law enforcement officers do their job with integrity, compassion, and courage. Especially here in San José, where I have (fortunately) had little direct interaction with the police, I am consistently impressed with the work I see them do.

I am grateful for Officer Hernandez and his colleagues in the San José Police Department for all they do to keep our community as safe as possible. 

LO 6-3743

I’m not at all surprised that I have no recollection of the first time I used a telephone. It was a long time ago, and I was quite young at the time. Growing up in San Francisco in the late ‘50s and early ‘60s, my family, like most families, had just one phone. Its home base was a small table in the entry hall, between the front door and the kitchen door, just below the hanging chimes for the doorbell. A long cord enabled us to carry the phone into the living room or kitchen, where we could sit comfortably while we talked. I could even take the phone into my bedroom, but that’s about as far as it could go. Except for my bedroom, which I shared with my brother, there was really no privacy for those using the phone. And since there was only one phone for the entire family, long conversations were highly discouraged, though they did happen from time to time. 

As the years passed, phone jacks were installed in the dining room, which my Dad used as an office during tax season each year, as well as in my parents’ bedroom and in the new family room my parents added in the garage in the mid-‘60s. There were more phones, but still just one shared line. I recall this being a point of contention in my junior year of high school when I would occasionally engage in prolonged conversations with my first girlfriend. Not surprisingly, many of those conversations took place in the privacy of my room.

In 1986, Kathy and I moved into our present home. There were two hookups for telephones — one on the wall in the kitchen and one in the master bedroom. Still, we had only one line, but competition for phone time was rare, if not altogether nonexistent. Several years later, we added portable phone sets, so that we were no longer tied to a phone cord. Conversations could take place in any room, in the front yard, or in the garage. 

By the time our boys had an interest in telephone conversations with friends, they had cell phones. As each one began high school, he got his own phone with his own phone number. Privacy was no longer an issue. Initially, the length of phone calls was an issue because cell phone charges were determined by the number of minutes used. In time, unlimited minutes became the norm.

Now that we are empty-nesters, Kathy and I each have a cell phone, yet we still have our land-line, with the same phone number I’ve had for more than forty years. Unfortunately, in recent years, our phones have been under attack by robocalls. These unsolicited and unwanted calls have changed the way we use our land-line. Basically, we don’t use it. We simply check messages from time to time. But robocalls have been problematic with our cell phones, as well. This is why I am so grateful for one of the features of my new iPhone.

It was just a couple of weeks ago when I made the move from my old, trusty flip-phone to a state-of-the-art iPhone. The feature I appreciate most is that the phone does not ring for calls from any phone number not in my contact list. I’ll be silently notified that I missed the call, but my day is not interrupted by it. I can then check to see if a message has been left. More often than not, the caller does not leave a message. This is one of life’s simple pleasures for which I am immensely grateful.  

A Look Back

 

I loved teaching. It wasn’t what I expected to do with my life when I was in high school, but opportunities which presented themselves through the years made it pretty clear to me that I was, without a doubt, called to teach. I cannot think of any other career to which I would rather have devoted my life. 

Now that I’ve reclaimed my “retired” status in life, following an unexpected two-year return to the classroom, I am grateful that the month of August 2021 does not require me to gear-up for another academic year. I’m finished. I enjoyed teaching at six different schools during my forty-two year career. I enjoyed most of my students. I enjoyed most of the parents. I enjoyed many of my colleagues. I have no regrets. 

While there are many things I will miss about teaching, here’s a list of ten things I will NOT miss. These are not presented in any particular order.

#1 - I will not miss active shooter drills. I guess they are an unfortunate reality of our day, but the fear instilled by these drills, in students and teachers alike, seems to outweigh the probability of these schools experiencing an active shooter incident. Having students barricade classroom doors several times each year, using desks which were never intended to be stacked, creates a higher probability of student injury than the risk of an active shooter on campus.

#2 - I will not miss submitting lesson plans to administrators. In the schools where this was required of teachers, rarely, if ever, did we receive feedback, positive or negative, regarding those plans. This led me to wonder if they were ever reviewed.

#3 - I will not miss unnecessary faculty meetings. Some faculty meetings are absolutely essential for information sharing and for community building. To have a faculty meeting simply because it’s on the school schedule, when the information to be shared could be adequately communicated in an email, is not the best use of a teacher’s time.   

#4 - I will not miss the challenge, which got increasingly more difficult as the years went on, of trying to decipher handwritten student papers. In the early 1990s, poor penmanship was overlooked by too many teachers. I know, as a parent, that on several occasions I told my kids to rewrite an illegible homework paper. I was told that the teacher didn’t care. So I let them turn in the paper, certain that it would be returned as unacceptable. That never happened. By 2020, the task of understanding a student’s writing was overwhelming.

#5 - To address the legibility issue, I required that my students type their work. This was an improvement, but I will not miss reading student papers which have not been proofread. Type, print, submit. “Why should I reread what I just wrote? I know what it says.” Actually, students may think they know what it was supposed to say, but with auto-correct features changing a misspelled word to an unintended word (for example, “I definitely love my parents” becomes “I defiantly love my parents"), the only way for students to guarantee that what is on their paper is what they intended to be on their paper is for them to read their paper (preferably aloud) to check for accuracy.

#6 - I will not miss the school accreditation process. When done correctly, this process can be a tremendous source of ongoing reflection and growth for an educational institution. Unfortunately, it seems that many schools approach accreditation as a task to be endured every six years, and the goal of the process is simply to get it done.  

#7 - I will not miss encountering jammed photocopy machines in the faculty room. Enough about that.

#8 - I will not miss those few parents who are convinced that their child does no wrong, and that their child’s deficient grade is the teacher’s fault. I especially will not miss those parents who verbally attack teachers for doing their job — not accepting plagiarized work, calling a student to accountability for not completing reading assignments, telling a student that he is underachieving and capable of much better work. 

#9 - I will not miss the cat-and-mouse game of students misusing technology (laptop computers, cell phones, etc.) during class time. There’s a time for texting, playing video games, and watching YouTube videos, but class time is not one of those times. 

#10 - Finally, I will not miss being required to go back to school in early- to mid-August. I would like to see schools return to beginning classes in September, on the day after Labor Day, and having minimum days on the other four days of that week. Those shorter days provide a period of adjustment for students and teachers to get back into the academic routine.

It Can Take Awhile

 

It happened so quickly. One minute I was talking with my Dad on the phone, enjoying perhaps the best, most meaningful telephone conversation we’d ever had. Just a few hours later, he was gone. No warning. I guess it was just his time.

To say that I was stunned would be an understatement. It took quite awhile for grief to set in. For the first week or two, I was numb, not knowing what to think nor how to feel. I’d never experienced the loss of anyone so close to me. He was my father. Of course he was close to me. And like all fathers, his death, at some point, was inevitable. Despite knowing this, I just wasn’t ready for it. 

After a couple of weeks, the reality of the situation ushered me into a valley of grief I had never experienced. It was dark. It was difficult. And it persisted longer than I would have expected — longer than some of those near to me thought appropriate. The subtle message of “You should be over it by now” was loud and clear, but I wasn’t over it, and I didn’t want to be. Yes, I didn’t want to be. At that point in time, I felt that holding onto my grief was the only way I could hold onto my Dad. I felt that if I let go of my grief and moved on, as some seemed to think I should, I would be letting go of Dad. I wasn’t ready to do that.

I don’t recall exactly how long it took. It wasn’t as though I woke up one morning and said to myself, “Okay, kid, it’s time. Let it go. Just get over it and move on.” No, such a day ever came. Over time, however, I realized that a day, an entire day, had passed by without the weight of my grief interrupting my thoughts. Some time later, I realized that several days had passed without me thinking about losing my Dad. And little by little, it got easier. There were certainly setbacks. Many of them. There were days, or portions of days, when grief tapped me on the shoulder and said, “Not so fast, buddy.” I learned to deal with those experiences, and little by little, they became less frequent.

It’s been exactly thirteen years since Dad died. For some time now, I have been able to think about him with a sense of genuine gratitude, rather than overwhelming grief. He was my Dad. I was his son. Not surprisingly, therefore, our relationship was one of ups and downs. It took awhile for me to realize that he was simply doing his job as a father. It took awhile for him to realize that I was just doing my developmentally-appropriate job, as an adolescent in transition, of seeking autonomy. It was a perfectly imperfect relationship. By the grace of God, we survived those years and, in the end, he is still my hero.    

 

Jamaica ~ July 16, 1971

Russ, Dan, and I got up early to provide the music for a 6:30 a.m. funeral Mass. I’d never heard of a funeral Mass at such an early hour, but… 

Dan and I spent the rest of the morning at Sunset Lodge beach again. I spent very little time in the water, as I wanted to give my ankle injury a little extra time to dry out. It wasn’t causing any problems, but I thought it would be prudent to take a break from the water. In a letter to my parents on this day, I mentioned that I was getting a seriously good tan for an Irish kid from The City.

As a break from the beach, Dan and I engaged in several games of shuffleboard, which was available there at the hotel. I don’t recall either of us being all that good, but I do recall that we enjoyed the friendly competition.

Around 1:00 p.m., we left Sunset Lodge and walked down to the famous Doctor’s Cave beach, where we met up with Russ. 

We returned to the Mt. Alvernia convent for dinner. Sister Cecile’s brother, who enjoys cooking as a hobby, prepared a fabulous meal of curried chicken, fried rice, chop suey, and mango nectar. After dinner, we went out to play miniature golf near Sunset Lodge. The cost for nine holes of golf was a whopping .80J (about $1.00). I have no clear memories of this outing, but according to my letter to my parents, I came in last out of the three of us. 

I previously mentioned The Pelican Grill, a clean, air conditioned coffee shop with good food and excellent service. The prices were reasonable, too. We had been there several times before. At the rectory, dinner was served at 5:30 p.m. By 9:00, Russ, Dan and I would be hungry again, so we’d head down to The Pelican Grill for a burger and milkshake. On this night, however, after the huge dinner at the convent, we skipped the burgers and ordered only the milkshakes. 

Prior to my arrival in Montego Bay, Russ and Dan had walked to The Pelican Grill from the rectory one evening. As the story was told to me, a woman approached them along the way and propositioned Fr. Russ. He immediately informed her that he was a Catholic priest, to which she responded, “Well, I’m Mary Magdalene.” Ah, Jamaica! 

Jamaica ~ July 13, 1971

 

We spent the morning doing a little shopping in the City Centre, down the hill from the cathedral. One of the local shop owners, Catherine Marzouca, was a cathedral parishioner and friend of the bishop. Her father owned most of the shops in the City Centre. She operated a small shop which sells Jamaican items popular for tourists. I purchased a two-sided bottle opener with the word “Jamaica” on a center disk. I continue to use this bottle opener today — fifty years later. It was 1.50J well-spent. For some reason, a bottle of Red Stripe Beer just tastes better when I open it with this bottle opener! 

After lunch, we returned for another afternoon of swimming and relaxing at Sunset Lodge beach. In the evening, we went to the home of Mr. and Mrs. Reppe, who are also cathedral parishioners. It was through their kindness that we had access to the private Sunset Lodge beach. They provided a delicious meal for us. I guess the highlight of the evening was that Dan and I were allowed to drink a few glasses of wine with dinner and to enjoy a glass of banana liqueur with a dish of peach brandy for dessert. I felt so grown up!