The Journal

The Journal

I am sitting in my rocking chair on the porch and at peace for the moment. The grass is new and green, the flowers are waking up and stretching from their winter slumber. The sun is out and warming the world. Squirrels and birds animate my yard. It is a new yard in front of my new home.

Now and then, I feel the need to take stock and see where I am. I am newly married, establishing my own household, and in a job I like and look forward to attacking. I have my beautiful newborn daughter napping in the crook of my arm as I write. Life is so cool right now.

You know, through school and internships and adolescence, I always thought in the present. I was on my way, I thought. And yet, every new station brought a revelation. Everything up until that point had been nothing but preparation for the real journey. To get to the beginning of the road. I believe I am there now. I have achieved at least the minimum of what I expected out of myself. Wife, career, home and family. With that accomplished, I can start down this great road before me, providing for my daughter’s own trek and my wife’s and my eventual comfort in retirement.

I look at this little miracle in my arms and realize that this is what it is all for. To produce this life and care for it, provide security for it and set it out into the world. God, this little being is so delicate, so frail, and the task is so immense. It is intimidating sometimes but also completely invigorating. I have never had so much purpose. And love. I have never had so much unconditional, unselfish love for anyone or anything in my life. Not even for my wife whom I cherish. But this, this little creation, part me, part my wife and completely her own being.

There is no choice anymore as to whether to travel the road or not. I have struck out on the road already and there is no turning back. It’s like when I first learned how to drive. I thought for a while that it was too complicated, too many things to bear in mind, I was never going to make it and might even kill myself or someone else in the process. But still I went ahead prodding myself like the Wizard of Oz addressing the Scarecrow, Tin Man and the Lion, with assurances that hundreds, thousands of other with no more brains, heart or courage then myself had learned to drive a stick shift, and so would I. And so I did.

But this is so much bigger. What if I screw up? I would be eventually pushing a little bird out of the nest who had not learned to fly. I will not let that happen. I will give her every opportunity I had and more to know the world and be prepared for it. I will build a fortress around her and let no potential harm near her. She will grow up happy and never in want or need, this one.

When she looks up at me from the sandbox with those big blue eyes and smiles out of simple recognition of her Da-Da, I melt right away. I become one of those new fathers I used to laugh at, prattling in blubberese “Who’s dat I see? My wittle pwincess? Is she the most beautiful pwincess in all the world?” Yep, that’s me all right. I used to joke that the child is objectively monitoring that behavior like a concerned psychiatrist, “This one’s a gonner.”

But I look into her big blue eyes and see nothing but unconditional love for me, just as I have for her. Incredible that we can share this with each other simply with the innate understanding that I am “Dad” and she is “Daughter.”

She depends on me instinctively. How can she know I won’t let her down? I’ll tell you it puts your work in a whole new light. Ambition for ambition’s sake went right out the window. Now there is “the family” to feed and clothe. Now there is the “college fund” to consider.

That’s nuts, by the way. To have to start putting money away during the second trimester so that with compounding interest you can reasonably expect to afford to give her decent schooling – that’s nuts.

But you know what? I’ll do it. My wife would say I’ll complain all the way, but I’ll do it. And I know that because already my work has a new inspiration behind it. And it’s not all financial. I want my little one to be proud of her papa one day.

She’s definitely got a lot of me in her. Look at how quickly she’s learning. I mean already up on her toes while other kids her age at the day care are just beginning to discover they have toes. And all they want to do is suck on ‘em.

Nah, this one has my genes all over. She’ll be a killer attorney with the gift of gab; you can tell the way she’s so quickly picking up words and even phrases. Even if she can’t say ‘em, she understands ‘em. I mean, you see her mind working and figuring things out. Maybe she’ll be a great doctor, analyzing the symptoms, identifying the associations and producing the responses.
With a smile I swear she already knows how and when to use, she could sell anything if business becomes her bag.

Big things ahead for her, and I want to set the example. Just today I got the biggest account in the office. I tell you I am soaring, bursting with pride and feeling invincible. Of course, it’s gonna mean a lot of work and overtime, but that’s what it takes, right?

All these goals I’ve set for myself with regards to my baby and her future depend on me achieving other goals at work. To remain a success in business, you’ve got to continue to shoot for new and higher peaks to climb. Don’t, and you slide backwards, a course very difficult to correct.

So without her even knowing it she is helping me succeed, providing the necessary inspiration while I’m at work, and in many smaller ways. Through her eyes I am gaining a new perspective on life and values. The world is so much more simple. The way it ought to be. Whose idea was it to make life so complicated. Not a father, I can guarantee you.

I see life now in the crayon colors and heavy black outlines of the drawing books my daughter has left here at my side before her mother put her to bed. She wants desperately for me to see the wonderful universe in which she lives, drawn inside the boundaries of the hedgerow and fencing. What I have created for her, she has re-created for me on paper with a Disney imagination. And I see that I’m doing okay for now as a father, to raise such an artist.

Those drawings make me try all the harder to keep the house and yard in shape, improving it where I can. I want her world to stay as perfect as she has depicted it. I gave her a pet dog to love and protect her when I’m away. I erected a swing set on which she imagines herself to be a trapeze artist or a bird in flight. I built a little house of her own out back to match the big one, and inside she constructs her own family world with her dolls. She pedals around the driveway and sidewalk on her tricycle like a speed demon.

I bring those visions with me to work and apply it liberally. I do my best and have faith that my cause is just. I keep her world colorful and bright. I keep the money coming in in increasing amounts for now there are school clothes and supplies to acquire, and bigger and better toys she demands because Tommy or Suzy has one. I keep the picture of my wife, my daughter and I on my desk to help me through busy days that seem to get busier with each accomplished task.

I read her day in the letter I find on the floor when I get home. She colored some more, she played dolly, she had friends over who left their toys behind or so I assume. I never gave her half the things I find cluttering the rec room downstairs. I guess toys are still a communal thing at this stage; whatever is in sight is available for general use. Unless these are the result of some trading…; is it possible that she’s got possessiveness to her now? Why not, I guess, with all the material things my wife and I seem to place importance in. She’s sure to pick it up.

I learn from her world of toys. What happened to the simplistic G.I. Joes and Barbie Dolls that at least left something of the game to the imagination? Now they are all microprocessed and programmed to act out what the toy manufacturers believe is a child’s wishes. And my child is
taught to be delighted. Such is the power of suggestion and marketing: tell the world it wants what you have and soon you have the world knocking on your door. Has she already learned this and how to apply it to get what she wants, horse-trading the toys she’s done with for that which she covets in her friends’ toy box?

How can the world I gave to her be so alien to me? I don’t know were her tastes in clothes and food and games come from. I can’t keep up with her advance, much less lead her. Did I miss a year or two? I just got her to try a two-wheeler with the training wheels on and I’m already taking them off. They’ll join the trike and the stroller in the corner of the basement collecting cobwebs. I remember buying all these things; I just don’t remember enjoying seeing her wear them out.

I see glimpses of her life through others who are with her during my longer and longer work days, and frequent business trips. The teachers, on Parent-Teacher Night, tell me she is very good in English and science, though struggling a little in math. I can forgiver her that because I hate math. I never have understood what was wrong with the Old Math that required developing a New Math. Did 2+2 somehow stop equaling 4, until we did some recalibrating of the equation? And we want our kids to understand that? I make sure now to set aside the bills and papers I am working on to help her with homework.

That is, I would if those events happened at the same time. By the time I get home, she’s done and almost ready for bed. I have to remember on the weekends to sit with her and have her show me what she’s doing in school. Of course, teaching Dad about school is the last thing on her mind on the weekend. She wants to play with her friends.

My daughter is not outside kicking a ball or playing hide-and-seek, but in the family room fighting with her two best girlfriends about who gets to play the video game next and which game is more realistic. The three of them, I might add, are dressed entirely too grown up with tube tops and cut off jeans. Who taught them that?

My wife tells me she is popular with the other kids in the neighborhood though she can be a bit greedy with the spotlight. I think she may get that from my dinner table recounting of workday battles for recognition in the job. I find myself increasingly “playing the game” as a matter of survival, not out of enjoyment as I did in my single days. There are really two enemies out there. Your competition in business and your competition in the office. Promotions and raises are doled out meagerly. I give up more time at home in order to keep my place in line in the office. To stay in the spotlight.

So when I finally drag myself across the threshold of my castle, I want my queen and princess to know how hard I am fighting for them, for us. I want some confirmation that I am succeeding in keeping them happy and, yes, I want them to pour appreciative and congratulatory praises on me for becoming Senior Vice President. Some immediate reward for my sacrifice and effort. I know, beginning to sound a bit selfish. But I think it’s only human and excusable to want approval from those dearest to you.

Most times, I just have to take it for granted. My princess has been spirited away this evening by some would-be courtesan and my queen has engagements with the other queens of the realm. So I have this endeavor to busy me. And, of course, castle up-keep.

My rest days are so full of chores and household projects I scarce find time anymore for simply sitting and enjoying the day and my family. But I can find pride in a house that is solid and comfortable. This is my accepted role when at home. The Fixer-of-All-Things-Broke. The
Acquirer-of-All-Things-Needed. And my family is there to guide me in that role.

I do procrastinate terribly sometimes in these duties. However, I cannot imagine how I got to be so late with the desk set for my daughter. I spent an entire weekend when the girls were away visiting Gramma and Granddad, building it into her bedroom wall, complete with surrounding shelves and nooks. That was a year ago it seems and she’s packed up now and heading for dormitory life. It’d be tough to compete with a university library on that score.

How did that happen? Well, there’s still time to be Dad yet. I’ll make sure next time she’s back to set some time aside for just the two of us. Maybe take her somewhere for the weekend, like the
amusement park, or camping. My wife thinks those ideas would have been fine a few years ago. But I can’t reach back a few years ago to enjoy them with my daughter. That time is already gone. Already gone.

I have earned the right to adjust my schedule to include less career and more time at home with the family, but the “family” is already gone. Just me and my wife in the home I built to enjoy with more than two. Now the chores don’t even take up my free time and my daughter isn’t here for me to lavish it on her. I missed my opportunity somehow.

And it is with that thought in mind, as I sit on my front porch, with the grass new and green again, and the flowers and trees awakening from their winter slumber, with the squirrels and birds animating my front yard, and with this infant girl napping in the crook of my arm as I write, that I promise not to miss it again. There is still time to be Grandpa yet. And in doing that maybe I can show my daughter what kind of love I had for her all along had I had the time to give it to her.

Thoughts on judging the Silver Inkwell Awards

So this summer, I had the honor and privilege of organizing the judging for the Silver Inkwell Awards of the DC chapter of the International Association of Business Communicators. I'd judged them once previously and enjoyed the experience immensely. I volunteered again this year and found myself as lead judge.

I've had an inauspicious start in the role -- I have no doubt I'll do the job again next year -- as this is the first time, at least in recent memory, that the chapter has not given out a top prize. In the end, I and the Blue Ribbon panel, my colleague who was heading up the Silver Inkwell program itself and the president of the chapter, all made a tough but important decision. The award is intended to hold local IABC-member communicators, and by role model, the local communications industry, up to a high, albeit subjective, standard. To hand out what in effect would have been "The Best of What We Got" instead of the "Best of the Best" would have devalued all past and future winners of the honor. In the end we handed out a good number of awards of merit and awards of excellence for each of the categories, but no "Best of the Best."

But my feeling is that by way of compromise, it is incumbent upon me to pass along the common critiques and common praises of the judges to help those who might be working on next year's projects and potential submissions. And so, gleaned from the judging sheets, here is a quick run-down:

The key to winning is a great, thorough and detailed -- but concise -- workplan, with the work samples showing the successful execution of that workplan. Take the submission requirements and use it at the start of your project planning to help as a guide to the project itself. Nice benefit is that when the project is done, your submission's already basically done! Even if you never submit, that submission form will have helped you keep focus on some fundamentals of communications success.

Pay particular attention to the audiences (because there's always more than one, isn't there?). Tell the judges who the audiences are, giving demographics, but more to the point, tell the judges something about the needs and interests of those audiences that led you to the approach you ultimately used. Tell the pertinent points here. You can attach supporting documentation (survey/research results).

In objectives, make sure they are time-bound and measurable (there is always something to measure, quantifiable or anecdotal), and at least one should map back to the overall goals of your organization -- if your company sells widgets, one objective should have something to do with having a measurable impact on widget sales.

In approach, make sure to explain why you chose the approach you chose and it should have reference to some supporting research (remember your audiences' needs and interests?). Mention budget and deadlines, but don't forget to mention then where you came in against that budget and those deadlines! If it's a tight budget, explain why you think it's a tight budget. Telling the judges your budget was $30,000 doesn't mean much without some context.

And in results and evaluation, make sure you reference results against your stated objectives. If you didn't have the time or budget to measure results adequately, tell the judges what you will do next time or would have done with a bigger budget and/or more time. Show them you have the right mindset, even if you don't have the appropriate resources. I know I would give you a lot of credit for that. If you don't have quantifiable results -- and even if you do -- make sure you have anecdotal feedback from both audience and your supervisors/boss/president.

Some complain that they can't do all the above in the two pages you're limited to. I tell you that you can. Some of the best audience descriptions I read in the nearly 100 submissions I've judged were done in a few sentences and bullets. And they still had room for an additional paragraph or two of background (yep, you can do that too, even though it's not required!).

Make it easy for the judges to score you high. Don't make them work to find the answers.

Now good luck with the projects and get them submitted for next year's competition!

Someone So Alive

Someone So Alive

Jolie Barrows found herself staring. In the middle of delivering a eulogy in honor of her grandmother, she found herself staring at the subject of the eulogy, dressed in black, behind a black veil, at the back of the congregation at Faith United Methodist Church, and very much alive.

The heavy silence that had hung in the air awaiting the remainder of her memories instead began to host murmurs of the perplexed mourners. She could not bring herself to tell them her words were of a sudden premature, but she did not dare to open her mouth either for fear of blurting out the revelation of her grandmother’s apparent resurrection.

Jolie blinked and looked hard at the familiar figure. The shape was Grandma Josephine, the white coiffed hair under the veiled hat was her color and style. The palsy of the hand as it brought a handkerchief up to dab at tearful eyes was as familiar to Jolie as her own habit, borrowed from Grandma Josephine, of folding anything in hand that lent itself to folding. This woman was either mocking her or was her dead grandmother compulsively folding and unfolding the handkerchief between dabs.

No, you’re seeing things, Jolie admonished herself. You’re mourning her death and you want to see that she’s still alive, so you’re mistaking someone similar for her. That’s just one of her
friends. Now get on with the eulogy.

Jolie met the inquisitive minister’s look from the side of the pulpit with a nod as if to say everything was okay, that she’d pulled herself together. He calmly nodded back and stepped away again.

As she turned to face the congregation again, Jolie strained to concentrate on the words and to forget about the woman at the back of the congregation. “Grandma Josephine and I had a special kind of understanding between us that was born the day I was, she used to tell me. She’d
say that I would have lots of friends, best friends even, that would come and go through life, but that she would always be there.”

Jolie stopped again at these unexpectedly prophetic words. And the black hat at the back of the congregation was nodding in sure agreement, as if it were just the two of them in conversation without pews of people between them. And Jolie recognized this, too, as one of her own traits that went with her into college, where she would distract professors and speakers with her own emphatic approvals and disagreements with various presentations. She'd learned this unabashed expression of connection from Grandma Josephine. The gestures would come unabated from her grandmother at church, or in front of the television, or any public gathering being addressed, at any moment the message reflected her own thoughts or deviated acutely
from her beliefs. Grandma Josephine was a woman with opinions she was proud to broadcast.

"Grandma Josephine was right, she was always there, and as I grew out of adolescence and youth, and into adulthood I realized who the real best friend had always been and just what I owed her. She taught me what loyalty in friendship meant. She taught me pride and forgiveness. She taught me to believe in myself and to do for myself.” And the black hat nodded again with emphasis, as her hand went up under the veil, dabbed the folded handkerchief, and
dropped again.

Jolie snapped her eyes back to her own hands and the little cue cards she’d prepared with the eulogy, but they were no help in taking her mind off the ghost in the church. Grandma Josephine had taken time when Jolie’s parents were too busy to help her with her show-and-tell. “Organization,” she continued,” was her creed in dealing with life, and it is how I thought I could deal with her death. But I’m finding that a little difficult right now.” She’d written those words last night. They barked at her now from the palm of her shaking hand like someone else’s prophecy proved true. She felt reality shifting, now here in the church, now back in time at the mall Christmas shopping with Grandma Josephine.

“Nothing prepares you for the loss of someone you loved so much that your life is identified by your relationship with that person. A spouse, a mother, a father, a brother, a sister – for me, my grandmother. That is not a detraction to those other important people in my life. It is a testament to the woman she was.” Jolie cut the word short realizing as she spoke, that she was using the wrong tense. Or no, wait, the right tense. Just keep going, she urged herself. The
next card.

“What can help you to go forward from such a loss is to be mindful of what you have gained from your association with her, what you take of her with you. The good memories and experiences, the lessons learned from her, the comfort you received from her, and the privilege you had to have known her.”

The black hat at the back bobbed, the handkerchief slipped behind the veil once more. Jolie’s vision was wrenched from her cards to watch the apparition cajole her onward. But it was not an apparition. She was here brushing elbows with the man next to her, who seemed to excuse
himself to her and move lightly to give her more room to proclaim the righteousness of the speech. But the man, who looked to be the husband of one of Jolie’s mother’s friends, did not show any recognition of the lady.

Of course not, why would he? Jolie tried to reason. He probably had never met her and even if he did, that woman is not your grandmother. Grandma Josephine died. Next card, Jolie. Get a grip.

“Grandma Josephine lives.” Jolie’s world went to miniature and the sound of a thousand bees entered and overwhelmed her mind. But the figure of Grandma Josephine would not leave her sight. “Grandma Josephine is here, in this church,” she felt she was crying this, but it came out a whisper, “-- to the extent -- that we -- hold her spirit -- close to our hearts. She will go home -- with each of us -- to the extent that -- we remember what she gave uuusssssss….”

Jolie swayed at the podium, and the minister stepped up to take her elbow and lead her to the first pew. Her legs gave way as she reached the seat. Have to keep my wits, she chanted to herself, have to keep my wits. That was not Josephine, that was not Josephine.

At the end of the service, when Jolie felt she could stand again, she searched for the woman at the back of the congregation but could not see her. Later, at the cemetery, the woman in black did not appear. And a shaken, speechless Jolie was taken home in the limousine.

Jolie spent the night and the next day trying desperately to bring some logical conclusion to the apparition. She asked her mother and her aunts who the veiled woman in black in the back of the church had been. She tried to describe her without sounding craxy, leaving out until nothing else rang a bell her resemblance to the deceased Josephine. No one had seen her and they could not ease her mind, repeating her own rationalization that she was “seeing” Josepine in a
nother person because she missed her or because she subconsciously expected to see her at ll family gatherings.

In the following days, Jolie could not let the picture of her grandmother attending her own funeral fade. She had not imagined it, and she was not crazy. It was determined that Josephine had died in her sleep at her apartment of an apparent heart attack. This was not surprising for
Josephine was known to have had a long history of smoke and drink. Neither a chain smoker nor an alcoholic, she was however one to enjoy life, to hell with the consequences. Jolie decided for no discernible reason that she wanted to pay a visit to the last person to see Grandma Josephine alive.

She was found by a friend and neighbor of hers, a widow named Mary Martin. Mary also lived alone in the apartment next to Josephine’s. She and her late husband had never had children, so Josephine became the closest thing she had to family. She, like Jolie, eagerly awaited Josephine’s return from travel, and envied Josephine’s capacity for life. She seemed extremely distraught over the loss of her friend and had retreated to her apartment and did not attend the
funeral or wake and did not communicate with Josephine’s family.

On her way to Grandma Josephine’s apartment, Jolie remembered her grandmother’s stubborn resistance to settling down. Josephine had been an outrageous personality, and one who children and grandchildren alike found increasingly difficult to control. As she aged, while her peers were becoming more and more housebound, Josephine was determined to become more and more the independent traveler. She had told Jolie once that when Jolie’s grandfather, God rest his soul, had died twenty years before of his own heart attack, brought on doubtless by his often agitating and bullheaded wife, she felt that the time had come for her to live her life. Not the life her late husband had expected of her. Not the life her children expected of her. But her life. She was going to travel and try new things and new foods, as much as her body would
allow.

Josephine’s four daughters and their husbands fought with Josephine on her annual itineraries which involved safaris to Africa, climbing in the Low Alps, sailing in the Caribbean, and reveling at Carnival in Rio. They said she was doing too much, that she was putting herself in
danger,especially by traveling alone. The idea of a woman in her sixties, and then her seventies, tackling outdoor adventures like a twenty-year-old was preposterous.

They told her she was being selfish, not thinking of the family and the grandchildren who wanted to see their grandmother. Josephine always countered with the same argument. She’d given all her years up to then to the family; she had only what was left for herself and she was going to make the most of it. The money from her late husband’s estate was more than enough to afford this lifestyle and a leave an inheritance for the family when she passed on.

Jolie never argued with her. She admired her grandmother’s spunk and tenacity. She wished her well and made her promise to send postcards from faraway places. Josephine often invited Jolie to come along, but Jolie’s own life, her education, her career, always prevented her from tagging along on all but the smallest trips. She’d taken a long weekend to go shopping in New York with Josephine in December, skating in Rockefeller Square and watching the Rockettes.
She’d seen the fall foliage in Vermont and New Hampshire on another road trip. She would miss those slices of life.

Jolie always knew to send her letters to Josephine’s small apartment if she was expected home soon, to the postmaster general in international locations to which Josephine indicated she’s be traveling. And Josephine always knew to look for them and always responded promptly.

Jolie had learned her appreciation for the world around her and the myriad of cultures that Josephine described to her. Josephine chided those her age who vacationed on cruise ships and never left the ship, and who lived in assisted living complexes. “You’ve got to get off the boat and see life first-hand in order to stay alive. That other route leads steadily, boringly, to the grave.”

When Josephine was at home, never for more than a month or so at a time, she made the
rounds of the nursing homes and extended care facilities that housed “her people,” as she called them. It was funny to Jolie that Josephine seemed to have such disdain for what she saw as their acceptance of their fate and yet referred to them as “her people.”

On her way now to Josephine’s apartment complex, Jolie stopped by her mother’s house to retrieve the key to the apartment to let herself in. She figured she’s stop in after meeting Mrs. Martin to look around for some small token to keep of Josephine’s, perhaps a souvenir
trinket form her many travels. She hoped she might find a few photographs of her in Africa or Thailand. Or perhaps the one Josephine had kept on her mirror of Jolie and her when Jolie was
eight years old. Jolie had dressed up in some of the clothes Josephine was packing for one of the first of many trips, this one to Hawaii. Jolie wore an oversized silk flower dress, a garish matching hat with a big pink flower stuck in the hatband. The two faced the camera standing side by side, decked out in leis, next to a bulging suitcase, as if the odd-looking couple were about to board a steamer to the South Seas.

Jolie found herself crying remembering the image and the time it was captured. She wanted so to go with her Grandma, to live the rest of her life seeing the world and all its wonders in the company of someone so alive. The picture couldn’t capture the color Jolie remembered about her grandmother. Life was vibrant and gay, like a cartoon, with Josephine around, and the days when she was away as grey and dismal as a city in winter rain.

She locked her car, entered the building and found “M. Martin #336” on the board. She buzzed on the lobby phone and waited. There was no answer. She remembered Grandma Josephine telling her that her friend Mary was a quiet woman, who despite her admiration for Josephine’s
travels, kept to her room and did not venture out. She deemed herself too frail and even paid the local grocer to deliver her needs. Jolie thought it odd that she would not answer her phone, but perhaps she was napping, or was still so distraught that she was refusing visitors. Jolie thought that she might just knock on Mrs. Martin's door anyway, if only to check in on her and to thank her for her friendship to Josephine.

Jolie boarded the elevator and pushed the button to bring her to the third floor, Josephine's floor. She knew the way to Josephine's door without looking having spent so many hours visting there, and when the elevator door pened she walked still lost in reverie. She did not pay attention to the sound coming from around the corner ahead on one door closing and another being opened. As she rounded the turn she saw what would be Mrs. Martin's door closing shut. Jolie resisted the urge to call out to her.

Simultaneously, a scent so familiar to her filled her conciousness. Sweet roses wafted in the drafty hall as she stood facing her granmother's apartment. She felt again the eager anticipation of small gifts and exotic tales. It was not Josephines's only perfume but certainly her favorite and the one Jolie always remembered her wearing. She wore it more and more heavily each year, but Jolie never minded. It was always a welcome and pleasant fragranc e in Joli's experience. One that now brought her memories of Joeshine casacading around her. She steeled herself, pushed the key in the lock and turned the handle, prepared to be overwhlemed by the nostalgia.

But as the door swung wide and the room was revealed, a sudden shock took Jolie. She had opened the wrong door somehow, for this room was flooded with light from undressed windows, the floor lay bare of the Oriental carpets that had adorned Josephine's flat. Much of the antique wooden furniture was missing though not all. Recognition of a few of the remaining pieces brought her to the conculsion that this was Josephine's apartment, but that it had been pilfered of it's most prized ornaments.

Jolie stepped inside and let the door bang shut behind her, producing a hollow echo from the nearly empty room. Her mouth hung agape as she ticked off all the missing items, the camelback sofa with the shallow uncomfortable seat, the wingback chair opposite, the small rolltop desk that sat next to the door, the old mahogany coffee table. All that was left was a small table on which sat a telephone, two folding chairs by the sliding glass balcony door, and an empty cardboard box.

Jolie steeped to the kitchen and there found things midway to being packed, as if someone had stopped in the middle of the job and gone out for lunch. She realized then her mistake. Her aunts had been here and were removing all of Josephine's things. The apartment would have to be cleared for new tenants, of course. She stepped quickly around to the bedroom and found it similarly half packed. She had been lucky to get there when she did, before it was all carted up.

Jolie turned and faced where the mirror had hung, where it now sat on the floor leaning against the wall. The picture she had come to claim was no longer tucked into the frame where it had been for so many years. Instead she found it among many other photographs in a shoe box beside the bed. Jolie decided to take the entire shoe box with her and she replaced the lid and scooped it up.

As she looked at the bare walls, she couldn't help feeling as if she were robbing tomb. At the same time there was a pervading feeling of growing emptiness which justified her grabbing what she could. Even the air lacked the ambiance it had held when she previously visited. Only a hint of the rose aroma remained, what little the walls had left to release, she guessed. Something about this disturbed her and she suddenly had a desire to leave, before the mmeory of Josephine was tapped from her by this void.

She went quickly through the sitting room by the folding chairs and the empty cardboard vox, and as she opened the door to leave, she turned for one las look and shuddered. It was as if the room itself had died, and that was so contrary to tthe life she had experienced here in the past. She stepped into the hall and let the door close ehind her.

As Jolie took a step back towards the elevator, she became aware of the scent of roses again, stronger than a moment ago in her grandmother's apartment. This didn't make sense. It couldn't be stronger outside the apartment than inside. Then she remembered Mrs. Martin, and her intention to check on her. She had just gone inside her own apartment when Jolie had rounded the turn. If she had been in the hall newar Josephine's apartment, perhaps she was wearing the same scent and it had trailed off f her.

Jolie stepped up to her door, pondering whether to knowck or not. They had never actually met but she remembered Josephine pointing her out one day, an unremarkable old lady with straight white hair and simple clothes. She didnt' strike Jolie as someone who would choose such a garish scent. If she were not revieing visitors, she would have no needto apply perfume anyway, so Jolie decided to knock and simply explain she she was.

Jolie tucked the shor box under her arm and wnet to Mrs. Martin's door. She hesitated, then knocked, lightly at first, then with some authority to make sure Mrs. Martin could hear it. She could hear soem movement, footsteps across a flooor, a murmr, then a tentative voice "Yes, who is it?"

Jolie spoke loudly through the door, "Mrs. Martin, it's Jolie Barrows, Josephine Winstead's granddaughter." There was silence from behind the door.

"Mrs. Martin?" Jolie repeated.

"Yes, yes. Um, what can I do for you? I'm afraid I don't ahave a key to her apartment."

Jolie frowned. It was more than Mrs. Martin's failre to even open the door a crack. She supposed courtesy suffered when you were an old lady alone with a stranger outside your door. But there was soemthing contrived about ht ewavering and distracted voice. "No, I've just come from there. I borrowed my mother's key. I just wanted to pay you a visit. Thank you for all you've done for my grandmother."

Silence again. Then "Oh, well, you're welcome."

"Mrs. Martin, are you okay?" Jolie tried. She felt sure now that Mrs. Martin was determined not to let her in, nor even to show her face. But she felt likewise that there was something guilty about her behavior, and that revelation brought another image to her mind. That of Mrs. Martin's hasty retreat into the now locked. Papartment. Certianly she had heard Jolie's stride down the hall. The sound of the door closing had to have been her granmother's door as it was the only other apartmnt on thsi short stretch of hallway. Had Mrs. Martin just been in Josephine's apartment? Was that why Jolie smelled Josephine's perfume in the hall? Was Mrs. Martin helping herslf to Josephine's toiletries...or more? "Mrs. Martin, you were just there, weren't you?"

"No, no, dear. Uh, I'm afraid now isn't a good time, dear." Jolie could hear Mrs. Martin begin to sniffle and hear her voice falter even more, taking on a deeper quality. This convinced Jolie her suspicions were valid, that Mrs. Martin was ginding something with a false, timid voice.

"Mrs. Martin, what is going on? Why were you just in my grandmother's apartment. Please open up so we can discuss this."

Openly crying now, Mrs. Martin replied, "No. Please go away. I'm -- too upset."

"Mrs. Martin, you were just in my grandmother's apartment, things are missing and I smell her perfume on you. If you don't open up, I'll bring the building manager into this, and the police if I have to." Jolie was steaming now, ready to begin pounding on the door if she didn't relent. She knew in her bones something was wrong with this. At the same time, she felt it wasn't quite what she suspected either; she couldn't put her finger on it, she only knew Mrs. Martin had been in the apartment and was evading her now. She felt desperate to resolve this. She knocked hard again. "Mrs. Martin."

"Jolie, please go away."

She stood stunned, fist posed in the air ready to begin an assault on the door. That was another voice altoghert. Muffled still through the door, this voice was tstill one she had not really heard before, and yet it reached to her soul and spoke to the child in her. It was wracked with sorrow, and yet somehow touched a part of Jolie's memory of sweetness and innnocence. It affected her like the strongest of pleasant dreams being broken by morning and wakefulness into reality. It wrapped her in the warm scent of roses.

"Josephine," she whispered.

Then softly from the other side of the door, as if spoken while lying her face flush to it, Jolie hear her grandmother's declaration, "You will have lots of friends, best friends even, who will come and go through life, but i will always be there."

Jolie stared at the door, through the door to the source of her grandmother's voice. "But we buried --"

"Mary," the voice cut in. "Mary always told me she wished she could share mylife. She said it was too late for her though, and perhaps that was true. She was not hardy sould to begin with and you can't learn that at her age." There was a long, mournful sigh, almost a whimper. "I can't unlearn it. So I promised to share it as well as I could. She is the reason I kept returning. And you."

After another pause, Mrs. Martin's door spoke again. "I find it amazing how closely she resembled me. me in death anyway. Fix the hair up, dress her up in my thick flannel night clothes. Change her makeup and give her my rings. They were so ready to hear I'd died. They never noticed I hadn't."

"Josephine --" Jolie started, but she didn't know what to say. She couldn't believe she was there, that this was happening.

"Mary gets to go traveling now," the voice continued, weeping. "I left some money in Paris and in Stockholm. I couldn't leave here without some small piece of before. But first your aunts, and the I heard you coming." There was another long pause. "Jolie, I need you to leave. Perhaps you could write what you have to say -- to Mary -- and she could find it with the postmaster general in Paris. If you did -- I'm certain she would write back."

Jolie looked at the box. She opened the lid and took out the photograph of the odd traveling pair headed for the South Pacific. She kissed the image of her gandmother, and slid the photo under the door. "Goodbye, Josephine. I will always love you," she whispered. There was no response. She closed the box again and left.

Jolie Barrows realized that her grandmother had already said her goodby the day of the funeral. Jolie had told her that day that she had learned just what she owed her granmother. Josephine had suffered the loss of a good friend in May and had made a promise to Mary. Jolie would let her keep it.

Starting again...twice

Has it really been since July. Well, suffice to say a lot's gone on and there's a lot to catch up on, not the least of which has been leading the judging for this year's Silver Inkwell Awards for the DC Chapter of the International Association of Business Communicators (IABC).

I've realized that perhaps I need to split posts though. So I'll alternate, one personal and one communications. Perhaps at some point I'll split them into two separate blogs. For tonight, though let me start with a blog post on the personal side.

Customer service, done well and done badly, is a bit of a issue of interest for me. Never ceases to amaze me how a company will kill its own sales with lousy customer service, and sadly amazes me when you find one that does it right. Here is my experience this past week, recounted in a letter to Sears corporate, as their customer service drove a loyal customer away and how their store employees got me back. Bear with me...

To:
W. Bruce Johnson, Interim Chief Executive Officer and President
Kevin R. Holt, Executive Vice President, Store Operations
Stuart C. Reed, Senior Vice President and President, Home Services
Corwin M. Yulinsky, Executive Vice President, Strategy and Customer Insight

Sears Holdings Corporation
3333 Beverly Road
Hoffman Estates, IL 60179

Cc to:
Roger Smith, Store General Manager
Rob Held, District Manager
12000 Fair Oaks Mall
Fairfax, VA 22033

Dear Sirs:

I’m an odd creature, I realize, but I actually believe it’s important to communicate with a company when it does poorly and when it does well. I think now, given the state of our economy, it’s more important than ever. And so I write you to tell you why Sears customer relations lost you a loyal customer, and how your store manager and store employees won me back despite that. I’m going to explain in detail, so bear with me. I hope you’ll pay more attention to how you lost me than how you won me back, but reward the store employees nonetheless.

We scheduled through 1-800-4MY-HOME for a technician come to the house November 4 to repair a leak at the back of our Kenmore refrigerator. The man who came was not very communicative. I did learn that he is from Poland. Beyond that his English was not good enough, I suppose, for him to feel comfortable with conversation.

I showed him where the leak was. He went to work, though in a different place on the back of the fridge. Eventually he informed me he fixed it, saying he’d cleared some clog. He pointed to a place far from where I’d shown him. Knowing that water travels, I gave him the benefit of the doubt as a professional. I did have the chance to ask him about the icemaker that had not worked for some time (it would have to be replaced and that would be expensive) and a broken door bracket that also could not be repaired (just glue or tape it back on). He did inform me that the unit (which came with the house when we bought it) was 20 years old. I paid him $197 by check and he left.

Two hours later, I had a puddle under my refrigerator again. I called 1-800-4MY-HOME again. They said they’d schedule another technician in about another week. I told them that after talking to my wife, we’d decided that we would prefer to have the $197 refunded and that we would take that to Sears to buy a new Kenmore refrigerator. Can’t argue with a refrigerator that lasts 20 years, right?

They told me that they could only refund me $127, that $70 was a non-refundable trip charge. I argued that I paid $197 for a repair that did not get done and was not inclined eat that AND buy a new refrigerator. The man was adamant that it couldn’t be done. I suggested that even a gift card toward a new fridge for $70 would bring me back into Sears. No, that couldn’t be done. Additionally, in order to get that $127 refund, I was told I had to call the billing department the next day at 10 a.m. I asked why the billing department couldn’t be told to call me. Why was I being made to jump through hoops to get resolution on a repair that didn’t get done? Why wasn’t I being sold a refrigerator? Sorry, that’s just how it has to happen.

So the next day, around 10 a.m. I called Sears billing department. I had to explain the entire situation though they asked for my home phone number to pull up my record. If they had a record then I shouldn’t have had to go through it all. And this person said that in order to get authorization for the refund, she’d have to talk with her manager. I asked this person to take my cell phone number because I was no longer at home but at work. I was put on hold for 15 minutes. Then the line was dropped. I waited for the call back. 10 minutes later it still hadn’t come. I called back and had to go through the whole thing again with someone else. And that person told me she’d have to get authorization from her manager. I asked how much this would be for. She said it would be for $127, that the $70 was non-refundable. I suggested that if that was the case, why not send me a gift card for $70. I said I would be happy to buy another Sears refrigerator, but I was not happy to have to go through all this for a partial refund. She said they had no way to do that. I asked to speak to her manager and I asked her as well to take my cell phone number, that I was at work. I was put on hold again. Another 15 minutes of that obnoxious, aggravating hold music. I’m getting angrier and losing any interest in doing business with Sears.

Her manager, "Cynthia", ID#54161 (please feel free to cc this to her as well), came on the line and asked me to go through it all for her. I’m now explaining the situation for the fourth time. She tells me the same thing nine ways -- "We're refunding $127 of the total $197 charge for the failed repair, we're not refunding $70 because we did send a technician (whether he did the repair or not). I kept telling her I understand the “trip charge” is non-refundable, but what are you going to do to make this right and help me go back to Sears. She said they were refunding the full amount of the repair, $127. I told her that no, the full amount of the repair for me was $197. So I’m getting a partial refund and no incentive to go back to Sears. She made no effort to go beyond "policy" and keep me in a Sears store.

She refused to allow me to speak with her manager (her “superiors have granted her the authority to make all decisions”). Cynthia explained to me that there is no way to communicate my frustration beyond her or with her by e-mail so I don't lose more time from my own job. I suggested that I could go on Sears.com and find an e-mail address for customer service; her response was that she wouldn’t know, that she’d never been on Sears.com! She tells me the only option I have is to write a letter and mail it (welcome to 2008) to this Hoffman Estates address. You and I both know that letter would never be addressed internally, I’d never get a response, and you all would hope that with the passage of time, I'd have forgotten about it.

So I tell Cynthia to process that $127 refund (it’ll get to me in about 2 weeks, supposedly). I told her I was going to Best Buy. I’m telling her that Sears is losing an opportunity to sell me a 20 cubic foot or more refrigerator/freezer plus service plan because it wants to stand on charging me $70 for sending a technician who didn't do the repair he was sent to do and for the resultant 3 hours of "customer service" I've endured mostly on hold. I don't know what profit Sears makes on that $70 trip charge versus the profit on a brand new large refrigerator and service plan, but it makes no sense to me that I should be made to jump through hoops to get a partial refund on a repair that wasn't done. It also makes no sense to me that your customer service has no ability to connect with the sales end of your operation to direct dissatisfied customers back into Sears products.

Interestingly, I get a automated phone call that night from Sears customer service asking me to participate in a customer satisfaction survey following my recent service visit. I went through the survey scoring Sears consistently 1s and 2s on a scale of 1-5 (poor to excellent). It allows me to leave a recorded message. I do so explaining the situation in detail and including my phone number and e-mail address. To date, I’ve received no response.

That night, I also go online and find the customer service e-mail channel. I leave a detailed message including my contact information. Following is the automated response I got:

We appreciate you sharing your experience on Sears.com, look for a responce [sic] within 24 hours. Your feedback will help us make our site easier and more rewarding to use.

Thanks again!

That was Wednesday of last week. To date, I’ve had no response (check your spelling above).

Finally, Saturday arrives and my wife and I have the opportunity to go shopping for a refrigerator. We can’t wait much longer; we’ve been mopping up water on our wood floor 4 times a day, moving the fridge back and forth to do so. But before we go I decide to try one more time. This time I try calling customer service at 1-800-549-4505 from Sears.com. I go through the whole story again. This gentleman tells me all the same things over again. Corporate policy is that the trip charge is non-refundable and they have no way to give me anything good toward the purchase of a new unit in the store. Actually, he tells me “We are trying to give you something to get you back into Sears. We’re giving you $127.” I said no, that is a partial refund on a repair that did not get done. That is not an enticement to go shop at Sears. It’s an invitation to take my business elsewhere. That was my fifth and final attempt to let Sears sell me a refrigerator.

We go to Lowes. We go to Best Buy. We settle on the Whirlpool model at Lowes and are going to head back there to purchase but I suggest that I’d like to make sure that the manager of the local Sears store understands that he’s losing a sale because his own company screwed him out of it.

When we enter the store, there are ten sales associates standing around the appliance section waiting for business. Al Burrelle asks me how he can help. I tell him I want to speak to the manager. He asks me politely what it is I’m looking for, and I tell him politely I’m looking for the manager. He explains it would be helpful for him to be able to explain what the issue is, so I recount my story. He apologizes and immediately retrieves Roger Smith, general manager for the store.

Roger patiently listens to my explanation. I tell him that I’m not really there to buy, I have a model selected at a price I’m happy with at Lowe’s but I want him to understand that Sears customer service lost him the business. He is calm but understandably not happy, saying that “quite frankly, excuse my language, that’s bullsh*t.” He asks if I’ll let him try to make good on the situation. I tell him I’m not inclined. He says he understands but that he’d really like the opportunity to fix things. He says he’ll start by taking $70 off the top of any unit we purchase. I apologize but tell him that while I appreciate the gesture, I think I have more than decent enough price on a unit at Lowes. He asks to see the model and says he’ll match the price and give the $70 off on a comparable unit, then corrects himself and takes me to look at a Whirlpool unit that actually costs $200 more, but still offers me the same deal.

At that point, sales associate Paul Camden is helping out and helps us compare the Kenmore version. I won’t tell you the entire discussion, but suffice to say that Paul showed far more knowledge about the product than anyone at Lowes or Best Buy. We settled on the Kenmore. Using the Sears card, we got an additional 15% (I believe) off. We purchased the 5 year service plan. I promised Roger that as much as I had tried to communicate my dissatisfaction with Sears and bent over backward to let Sears sell me a refrigerator, that I would also communicate that only when I spoke to Al, Roger, and Paul did I find anyone interested in doing so and that they did so ably.

Sears made little, if anything, on the sale of that refrigerator, though you’ll make the full amount on the protection plan. Sears would have made the entire profit on the unit had the customer service department been able to service a customer. While I’m happy with the treatment Roger and his team gave me in the store, I’m sad to say, I’ll still hesitate to deal with Sears on anything that might require me to deal with customer service at any point. That is through no fault of the store or its knowledgeable employees. It is entirely because of the gap that exists between your customer service department and real customer service. They lack any connection with the sales that are the life blood of your company.

So there it is. Do with it as you will. If you won’t cherish your customer, cherish Al Burrelle, Paul Camden and Roger Smith who are working against your customer service department to keep you in business. I’ve done more than my part.

Sincerely,

Michael Clendenin

Back for more...

Been a while, but been busy and quite frankly, sometimes you just get tired thinking about doing a post. Wrote a bit but never posted. I tend to do that, wanting to write, edit and get comfortable with it, and then post.

Anyway, let's see...Where were we?

On the iPod...well, that was stolen on my last business trip, but on iTunes right now...The Mighty Mighty Bosstones "The Impression That I Get" and Trace Adkins "You're Gonna Miss This."

Recent movie..."3:10 to Yuma" was really good. Well done Western with Russell Crowe playing the villain with a way of weedling into people's minds, and Christian Bale as the protagonist passifist trying to do right and prove himself to his son. Watch for an intense performance by Ben Foster (Dave in "The Punisher" and Angel in last "X-Men" movie) as baddie sidekick Charlie Prince, and yet another appearance by Kevin Durand (military bad guy in latest season of "Lost" and way wacko Neo Nazi assasin in "Smokin' Aces").

Cooking...well, done the Coke Can BBQ Chicken two more times (I'll have to post that up sometime soon)...and did a great Key Lime Pie with real Key Limes and fresh squeezed Key Lime juice...yeah, I go for authenticism.

Something I learned...Christian Bale is from Wales. The dude does the accents really, really well and had me convinced he was American. Anyone who knows me, knows I respect the linguistic abilities.

Something that made me smile...I keep thinking back to a moment when my son had his sisters squashed between two cushions calling it a "Sister Sandwich", one escaped running away screaming "Runaway Cheeeeeeese!" I love those moments.

Something I'm proud of...wow, my son made a Saturday meet again for butterfly. He's doing grrrreat. And one of the twins made the Saturday meet in the 8 and under group....as a 6 year old. Wow. I could never swim a straight lap. I always found the side of the pool and could never figure out that breathing thing.

Okay, something about communications...

Well, not an issue, but news...I'm helping the local chapter of IABC (Int'l Association of Business Communicators) organize the judging for this year's Silver Inkwell Awards, the local version of the IABC Gold Quill. And as a consequence have been asked to serve on the Board this next year as co-Vice President with Susan Spoto for Awards. Very honored and happy to do so. Looking forward to it but a little awed.

So the judging starts this Saturday. And going back to my experience helping judge the Gold Quill in 2005, I'm looking forward to the networking, the peek into the good work of my comm colleagues in the D.C-Balto-Annapolis area, and getting inspired again. But one thing I'm prepping myself for is seeing again the number of entries submitted that take little or no account of measurement of success beyond "People really liked it." I remember being frustrated by that in '05. You know, I realize you don't always have the time and budget to incorporate the pre-campaign and post-campaign measurement that really justify the effort and definitively illustrate success. But if that's the case, lay out for me what you did do, and what you would have done if you had the time and budget. I'll give you credit for having gone through the thought process.

There you have it. More soon.....I promise.

What If There Were No Yellow?

“There are, my dear Gus, too many colors around us.

One in particular causes too much of a fuss.

So howdy and hello, let’s make the world mellow.

What would the world be like if there were no yellow?

“Ah, that’s better, you see, not quite so busy.

The world’s duller now, not all in a tizzy.

Clothes don’t holler, signs don’t bellow

Now that the world has no yellow.

“The sun does its job as it must do dutifully

Though I must confess it doesn’t do it as beautifully

Above the clouds and the kite, it shines with all its might

But all it produces is a flat white light.

“The birds have lost their tweet; butterfly wings have lost their beat.

Your lollipop doesn’t look so sweet.

The bee’s lost its bop; stop lights say only go and stop

And the hair on your head looks like a used mop.

“Oh my, I beg your pardon. Look here in my prized flower garden.

Now there is a sight to make a soft soul harden.

Sunflowers look like ice, and daffodils have lost their spice.

And my tulips and buttercups just don’t look quite as nice.

“The food in my hand has gone simply bland.

And I’ve lost my desire for the meals that I planned

The corn lost its pop, and the butter on top

And the mustard for my hot dog looks like plain gray slop.

“All my lemons lost their zeal, the eggs no yolks reveal,

and even my bananas have lost their appeal.

I'm missing one from the menu of Jello.

The world's as sad as the sound of a cello

Now that world has no yellow.

“There’s a problem to address, and here is my guess:

How did losing one color create such a mess?

Here from my front door, the world looks quite a bore.

It lacks something special; it needs something more.

“The world is much worse, since I conjured up this curse.

I shall put this condition into full reverse.

So howdy and hello, I see now, my good fellow

The world needs all its colors. Yes, even yellow!”

A Leaf That Died In Spring

For a leaf that fell in Spring, I cried.

Far before its time, it died.

I wonder, are other leaves appalled

or is that part of life, leaves fall?

Could it be that leaf believed

by its loss the tree’s relieved?

Less encumbered, the parent thrives

instead of mourning its leaves lives.

It makes no sense, green leaf on ground.

To branch and sky it should be bound

to herald the growth of family tree,

and losing this angers me.

Why if I was made to see

my worth in time, could it not be

this leaf, too, could be made to learn

that it had colors yet to turn?

stupid leaf, pitiless God,

to waste this life, turning to sod.

For a leaf that fell in Spring and died,

for its soul, and mine, I cried.

The Father

“Son, come over here a minute. I want to talk to you.”

“Uh, I’m kinda in a hurry. What’s up?”

“Sit down. I don’t think you’re going anywhere.”

“uh-oh.”

“Yeah, uh-oh. Get your feet off the table. A girl came by the house earlier today looking for you.”

“Who was it? Debbie?”

“No, I know Debbie. I didn’t know this one. She seemed upset and I –“

“Wh-what did she look like? Was she, um – did she have red hair?”

“Yes, and yes, she was. Son, I think we need to talk.”

“Dad, I know what you’re thinking, and we don’t need to talk. It wasn’t me. She’s just a good friend, and she didn’t know where to turn. She didn’t think she could talk to her mom. Not about this. She wants to go somewhere and get it taken care of, but she needs money.”

“So she came to you? Dan, what are you thinking? You’re gonna give ‘just a friend’ the money to buy her way out of her problems?”

“Dad, I know what I’m –“

“No, Dan, you do not. Do you really think she will get something like that by her parents? And what about her parents? If she’s afraid they’ll try to talk her out of it, well, she’s probably right. But don’t you think they have a right to know that their daughter wants to have her insides scooped out? Oh, yeah, Dan, that’s what it is. It’s not like going to the school first aid office for some aspirin and a band-aid. It’s serious. What if something goes wrong? Suppose she went under and didn’t come back up? Do you want to go back and tell them? Tell them you funded the death of their daughter and grandchild?”

“Nothing like that is going to happen. They do these things every day. Thousands of them. And I hear there’s even a pill…”

“Dan, you have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m not gonna get into the question of morals on this, but I do want you to think deeply on the ramifications of that kind of decision. Fine, this isn’t your baby, and I realize you think you’re being a good friend by helping her out this way. I admire your commitment to your friends. But Dan this is her life and her baby, and her parents child and grandchild. I don’t think you want to get in the middle of this. Do you know who the father is?”

“Dad, I can’t tell you anything else. Just I have to do this and I know it’s right. I’ve got enough to help her from the money I got mowing lawns this summer, and I’m gonna use it.”

“Dan, you do know the father, don’t you? If you want to help her, then do what you can to get him to take responsibility.”

“Dad, just trust me. I’m doing the right thing. Leave it alone!”

“Dan, I can’t just turn away, because your actions could implicate you and –“

“If that’s what you’re worried about, forget it.”

“It’s just that if her parents found out you financed her abortion they’d accuse you of fathering the child and –“

“And what? Force me to pay for the abortion? I’m already doing that!”

“They could bring charges. Dan, you’re under my roof and you’re still my responsibility.”

“So you’re afraid they’ll come after you?”

“No, Dan, I –“

“Dad, for the last time, I’m doing the best thing. Please trust me, and LET IT BE.”

“Dan, are you sure this isn’t you’re child?”

“Yes.”

“She has to go to her parents eventually.”

“She can’t.”

“I know it’s hard to do, to face them, but she has to.”

“She can’t!”

“Look you and I are talking about it. I don’t think –“

“She CAN’T!”

“Why?”

“HER DAD’S THE REASON! OKAY? Now, please let it go…”

“Of course, it’ll be tough to talk to him. All kids are afraid of their father’s anger, but…”

“The father, dad.”

“Her…father?”

“The father.”

“Dear God.”

“The father.”

Light King Ranch Chicken Casserole Makes 8 servings Prep: 15 minutes Cook: 5 minutes Bake: 35 minutes 1 large onion, chopped 1 large green bell pepper vegetable cooking spray 2 cups chopped, cooked chicken breast 1 (10 ounce) can fat-free cream of chicken soup, undiluted 1 (10 ounce) can fat-free cream of mushroom soup, undiluted 1 (10 ounce) can diced tomatoes (with green chiles, if desired) 1 tsp chili powder ½ tsp pepper ¼ tsp garlic powder 12 (6-inch) corn tortillas 1 (8 ounce) block of reduced fat Cheddar cheese, shredded SAUTE onion and bell pepper in a large skillet coated with cooking spray over medium-high heat 5 minutes or until tender. STIR in chicken and next 6 ingredients; remove from heat. TEAR tortillas into 1” pieces; layer one-third tortilla pieces in bottom of a 13- x 9-inch baking dish coated with cooking spray. Top with one-third chicken mixture and one-third cheese. Repeat layers twice. BAKE at 350 degrees for 30 to 35 minutes or until bubbly. NOTE: Freeze casserole up to 1 month, if desired. Thaw in refrigerator overnight, and bake as directed. *Have had but not “light” version and using regular diced tomatoes (no green chiles). Very good, even as a leftover.

Long Time Coming...

So I've been away. Tax time, start of soccer season, spring time chores starting up. But I don't want April to get away without posting something. And so, that's to the reader's benefit because it'll be briefer than normal.

Let's see...on the iPod recently, Iz "Somewhere Over the Rainbow/Wonderful World". You might remember the haunting version by the very large late Hawaiian singer/guitarist used in a toy commercial a few years back. Jason Castro did a pretty good version recently on American Idol (and now you know something else about me...I watch American Idol...and The Apprentice...and Survivor...and Hell's Kitchen).

Recent movie..."Sweeney Todd"...Depp does great musical. Lot's of blood, though. Put the kiddies to bed.

Cooking...gonna try giving you a recipe through Google docs. Let's see if it works. Light King Chicken Ranch Casserole

Also going to try to get to one of the other reasons for the blog...to post up some writing and get some feedback from any and all. So here goes. First a short that was really an exercise in a writing class to tell a story through only dialogue. The Father.

Something I learned -- Wilbur McLean has the dubious honor of being the only man who can say that the Civil War began in his back yard and ended on his front porch. He and his family decided to move from their homestead in the Bull Run area of Manassas, Virginia when the first major battle took place behind his home. He moved to a building in Appomattox that had been the courthouse. Robert E. Lee eventually surrendeded, you guessed it, at the Courthouse at Appomattox.

Something I'm proud of...being pressed into service as head coach of my son's soccer team and by gosh we won the first game and my son did real well at forward despite his tendency to hide back in defense. I'm proud of his stepping out of the comfort zone, even as I was.

And a happy moment...finishing an article that just would not get finished at work.

And something on communications...well, I keep seeing references to the "value of podcasts" or the "value of blogs" or the "value of social media" in business. But those topics are too broad to give any one answer on value. It all depends (there you go, Shel, one for you) on how the podcast, blog, or other social media is being used. In fact, I dare say that the most value in the business environment might come from these technologies or platforms when they're used behind the scenes and the user isn't even aware they're using a blog platform or participating in a traditional podcast. The idea here is the importance and value don't come from the technology but the fact that the communications effort reaches its audience effectively, engages them in an appropriate way and elicits the desired response or action. That could be said of press releases, brochures, ads, or any other communication medium.

Thoughts?

Communications Malpractice?

Sharing Time

Recent tunes on the iPod..."Woman in the Wall" by The Beautiful South. I remember when my kid sister introduced me to this light little ditty thinking how nice the tune was -- until I listened to the lyrics. Comes from a great album though titled "Welcome to the Beautiful South." Also, Elvis Costello's "Veronica."

Cooking tip...here's a quick and easy recipe we like:
Vegetable Shrimp and Pasta

Makes 4 servings

Prep: 10 minutes
Cook: 15 minutes

¼ cup corn oil
1 lbs medium fresh shrimp, peeled and deveined
2 large garlic cloves, minced
1 cup water
1 cup dry white wine
1 package Knorr Vegetable soup and recipe mix
1 tsp dried oregano
¼ tsp crushed red pepper
8 oz. linguine pasta, cooked and drained

PREPARE pasta according to package directions and set aside to drain.

HEAT corn oil in large skillet over medium-high heat. Add shrimp and garlic, stirring frequently until shrimp is pink (5 minutes). Remove shrimp and set aside.

ADD water, wine, soup mix, oregano, pepper. Set heat to low, and simmer 5 minutes.

RETURN shrimp, simmer 2 minutes. Spoon over pasta, toss to coat.

Three questions:

• I learned that my anger at the oil companies might best be directed at (surprise, surprise) the government...maybe. More on that later
• I'm proud of stepping up to volunteer for a couple efforts in the local IABC chapter, helping to run the Silver Inkwell judging and meeting with the Career Move folks to talk about how the local chapter can add more value to its membership.
• A happy moment came at work when we were discussing how we can provide all the best professional counsel we have to give based on our very good collective experience, but senior management and business areas won't accept it as valid unless it comes from outside. So we decided maybe we all ought to come in wearing blue blazers and name tags and act like an outside agency..."Where's the restroom?" Got us all laughing silly. Guess you had to be there.

Something about communications...

Lee Aase, manager of syndications and social media (formerly media relations manager) at Mayo Clinic, states an interview for the cover story in March 2008 Ragan Web Content Report "For communication professionals, being unfamiliar with social media tools borders on malpractice." I agree but with an additional thought. Too often, even we communications professionals will rush to social media because it's cool and we think we need to be in that space, if even just to learn the stuff. I think being unfamiliar with social media and rushing to it without bringing along the basic business communications fundamentals (what's our business goal? What's our communications objective? Who are our audiences? etc) is malpractice.

What do you think?

Now about that thing in my craw...

Spoke with someone I know who works at Exxon Mobil, who has been to Valdez, and who understands the profit structure. His explanation of the Valdez Supreme Court argument is that a) the folks in Valdez all became millionaires a long time ago with what Exxon paid out previously. All their boats paid off, all their lives significantly (financially, anyway) better, b) the area is now one of the most pristine, beautiful areas you can find, in part because of cleanup, but mostly because over 19 years Mother Nature has done what she does well, adjusting and cleaning up on her own, and c) because the people of Valdez have all been paid their millions, the punitive fine -- even reduced from $5B to $2.5B amounts to the government saying "Okay, now we want to teach you a lesson." Exxon is saying, "Look, believe us, we've learned the lesson. We've paid out billions already on settlement with the residents of Valdez and the affected businesses and on the clean up."

I'm still skeptical, but bringing it back to communications, if those things are true, why don't we see those arguments from Exxon. Go to their site and search "Valdez" and you get nothing. Were they ever out in the public with those arguments? Certainly not in the article I noted. Maybe their strategy is to save the arguments for the court and not worry about the court of public opinion. I know I have not typically used Exxon, partly because they're always more expensive but in part because of my desire not to reward companies I feel have done wrong. I'm sure there are others more passionate than I about embargoing Exxon based on that same reasoning. Perhaps that represents too small an amount of potential business.

This last could be the reason they may have opted not to communicate on the issue, particularly if what my friend explains about the profit structure is true. Exxon makes relatively little on the sale of gasoline, the majority of their profit coming from selling the oil they pull out of the ground to other countries and companies. He says the vast majority of highly priced stations are independently run and are ignoring the suggested retail price Exxon gives them. He says the biggest element to the high prices we're seeing are because of local, state and federal taxes.

I'm still skeptical on that explanation of pricing because the taxes don't fluctuate on a daily basis or rise over time like the gas prices have. But that's another issue. What do you think about the communications issues around the Valdez thing? Anyone from Exxon communications willing/able to talk? Anyone hear if there was a decision by the Supreme Court yet? Did I miss it? What was it?

Here I am again...

Happy St. Patrick's Day!

Sharing Time
Recent tunes on my iPod..."Ackee 123" by the English Beat (lines: "All of this taking things as they come/tends to make you forget to put anything in" and "Someone just smiled for no special reason/Looks like the smile just came back in season/It's eaaaasssy/Doesn't have to be a nice day/just the only one you got/and it's coming ready or not!) and "Being Drunk's a Lot Like Loving You" by Kenny Chesney (lines: "I loved til I stumbled, I loved til I fell/when the lovin' was over, it hurt me like hell/Well I know of the taste of the wrong love can do/Being drunk's a lot like lovin' you.")

Cooking tip...if it calls for two cloves or garlic...ah, what the hell, throw in four!

Recent movie..."Goonies". Early Spielberg film starring a very young Samwise Gamgee (Sean Astin) and young Josh Brolin. I'd never seen it and the guys on Scene/Unseen kept going on about it. So I got it for the kids...Okay, so our idea of acceptable (PG) language was different in the early 80s. Good Anne Ramsey role (pre-tongue cancer/"Throw Mama From the Train" role). Sorry, Chris and Jimmy, I say skip it.

Three questions:

• I learned that Patrick, patron saint of Ireland, was born in either Scotland, England, Wales or France, but definitely not Ireland. He was brought to the Emerald Isle in slavery. Given name was not Patrick but Maewyn or Succat. Generally believed to have been named a saint for having driven the snakes from Ireland with a hilltop sermon, though more likely the serpent was a symbol for his having driven paganism from Ireland. He had nothing to do with green food and beer, or leprechauns -- the latter might well fall under the classification of the pagans he's credited with driving out of Ireland. The shamrock can be associated with him as he used it to educate followers about the Holy Trinity. Here's an interesting page on St. Patrick as well as, of course, the Wikipedia reference to him.
• I'm proud of my wife for cooking corned beef and cabbage tonight for the first time and doing a hell of a job with it, and of my kids for eating something new.
• My happy moment today was when my daughter said "uh-oh" at the beginning of dinner tonight and held out her tooth, like she'd get in trouble for losing it. You can't buy moments like that.
  

Something about communications...
David Murray posted an interesting blog item on Shades of Gray today about a Wal-Mart discount prescription program. His point was about how $1B means nothing today, but I found it more interesting, in the light of recent Wal-Mart PR blunders ("Wal-Marting Across America" and the "Wal-Mart Price Dot Runs for Office"), that here's a positive PR story for the company, and David slammed "useless corporate press releases." I think it's likely that the story was generated from a Wal-Mart press release, touting a legitimately admirable program (though the $1B is probably questionable accounting). What I'd like to know is if the release and the pitching was done by Wal-Mart corporate, an Edelman agency rep on their behalf (Edelman having been responsible that was the "Wal-Marting Across America" blogging debacle), or another PR firm on their behalf.

I'd also like to know is if Wal-Mart PR contributed to the strategic decision to pursue the program to begin with? What was the business value to Wal-Mart in pursuing it? Are they still making money or are they knowingly losing money on the program doing the socially responsible thing (realist in me says they're still making money and I don't fault 'em for it).

Love to hear from you all...

I'm doubling my content tonight!

First, an apology...that first post was pretty meaty, and I made the newbie mistake of not ensuring that commenting was allowed! Nice, eh? After I'd just pompously noted on More With Les that I think the best blogs care more about the commenters than the position the author takes on an issue. Well, comment function is enabled and resolved, and I've learned.

Sharing Time
Recent tunes on my iPod..."Papa Dukie and the Mud People" and "I Got All The Time In The World" by the subdudes, the latter is particularly infectious.

Cooking tip...Beau Monde seasoning by Spice Islands rubbed liberally on a roast chicken or turkey and used in the gravy....mmmm, groovy.

Recent movie..."Fracture" with Sir Anthony Hopkins and Ryan Gosling. Great flick. Even though you know he did it - he said he did it - you're wondering how he's getting away with it. Just not sure what the point of the love interest was.

Three questions...

• I learned that baby carrots aren't really baby carrots but full-sized irregularly shaped carrots, cut into bite sized pieces in an industrial green bean cutter, then run through an industrial potato peeler to smooth out the rough edges. They're not as fresh and they're more expensive than just buying...carrots.
• I'm proud that I took that leap of faith (thanks Rev).
• And my happy moment today was seeing the scale drop another couple pounds...guess that eating right and exercise is working.

Something about communications...
Shel Holtz has a video post on his blog, "Blogging in a regulated environment" addressing concerns some have about starting a blog in a company operating in a regulated industry. Shel has a fine answer -- "Don't violate the regulations." Something about blogging and social media seems to make communicators and others think they have to be more cavalier than they would otherwise be, and I'm not sure why we lose our sense of professional responsibility in this arena.

I commented there that anyone considering a blog for the company should have a very specific initiative in mind, tied clearly to business goals, with at least some credible plan for measurement of success, have an editorial calendar and commitments for content in place, and show how you plan to enforce keeping the blog focused on the intended topic. It should be justified in the same way you would justify an ad campaign, direct mail campaign, newsletter, or any other communications vehicle. I'd love to hear what others think.

Something stuck in my craw (what the hell does that mean anyway?)
Okay, now to that gas thing I mentioned last time...
The price of a gallon of gas here has been back and forth over the $3.00/gallon line several times, but it's pretty well agreed we're headed for $4.00+ for good. I noted that $5.00+/gallon was seen at stations in California recently.

The first time we crossed that $3.00 threshhold was right after Katrina took out refineries in the Gulf Coast region of the U.S. Consumers and politicians rightly got up in arms about oil and gas companies gouging consumers. Oil companies claimed they weren't responsible for the price of the gas, but rather those refineries. Congress flirted with the idea of paying us all $100 each to help out.

I wrote an e-mail to my Congressional representatives and the White House stating that I didn't buy the oil companies' arguments that they weren't responsible for the price of their product -- their name on the drill, their name on the pipeline, their name on the refinery, their name on the truck that delivers the gas to the store, their name on the store, and their name on the card I used to purchase. I'm sorry I missed the part where they weren't involved. I told them if they really wanted the government to spend $15B on the problem, to put that toward making alternative fuels viable options to gas. You'd accomplish a few things with that...1) quit sending troops to die trying to build and defend democracies that won't work in the Middle East and defending oil interests we no longer have, 2) start paying farmers to grow instead of not grow, 3) penalize greedy oil companies, 4) create industries American companies (including the oil companies if they're smart) can lead and 5) employ American people.

I got one response three months later from Senator John Warner's office that, in my opinion, took a long, dry route to saying nothing and obscuring the obvious. No price gouging was found, prices controlled by all kinds of variables. I wasn't wowed.

And it's back on my mind because last week Exxon went to the Supreme Court battling a $2.5B punitive fine (cut in half already from an original $5B decision by federal court) that resulted from the Exxon Valdez accident that is supposed to go to the affected people of Alaska. This is an accident that occurred almost 19 years ago, and Exxon still hasn't paid the people of Alaska. . Roughly 20 percent of the original plaintiffs have died since the lawsuit began. Exxon is arguing that even halved, the fine is too large and it shouldn't have to pay a penny of it.

Exxon set a record for corporate annual profits in 2005 making $36.13B, then beat that record in 2006 with $39.5B, and again in 2007 with $40.6B. Exxon's former CEO Lee Raymond set a record with a retirement package of $400M in 2006.

But those poor folks at Exxon aren't reaping the benefits of the gas prices at all...they're not responsible for those prices...they're just trying to make a living...in fact, according to a recent radio ad, we should be very happy they're taking more money from us per gallon because if we have investments in any kind of funds, chances are we're stockholders.

Am I wrong to be angry about this and to call on Exxon to own up, pay up to the folks in Alaska and price down for America before we all revolt? Someone help me understand...or help me to get the government to get their heads out of the trees to see the forest. Who knows more about what drives the price of gas? Someone educate me.

Damn, ran long again! Well, love to hear from you, whoever you are.