Noticing the Niceties

"Being nice takes work. That's why I really like people who are nice."

---Casey Neistat

"Be nice!" It seems like I have been telling my children that since day one. I'm still yapping at them about it, and two of them are grown. There are more than a few adults that need to be told this, but sadly most of them don't listen to me. Be nice. It sounds simple, but lately, I have found that it isn't easy at all. For me, that makes it's even more vital.

Let's take a look around at the world we live in. The stock market, the last time I was brave enough to look, was in some kind of downward "correction" which I think is financial lingo for "Boy, are you screwed." Bombs were sent to half a dozen or so politicians and other well-known politically active people. There's an election coming up that half of my friends think will "set things straight" while the other half thinks it will result in civil war. For once I'm not the only person who is one breaking news update away from hiding under the bed with a bottle of Jameson; a lot of my friends are on edge, and it does make it harder to remember to be nice.

Inside the confines of my own car, I have the vocabulary of a well-educated sailor. I try to curb it when there are children with me, but thankfully that isn't often. Traffic is the place where it's hardest for me to be nice, or even remotely civil, lately. I don't drive aggressively; I don't go too fast, I stop for lights and crosswalks and turkeys, not because it's about being nice, but because my insurance is high enough, already. I do, however, talk to myself in an expletive-laced commentary on the…tomfoolery…I see on the roads. Full disclosure, I've never used the word tomfoolery, but let's go with it here. I do find myself creeping up at intersections and not letting people in though. Or zipping through a yellow light a nanosecond before it goes red, to get ahead of the cars that are waiting on the other side. Just the other day I squealed tires in a backward move to snag a parking space just as another vehicle gave a signal. In my defense, it was Salem, and it's October, but still, the whole "be nice" mojo was just not happening and it made me stop and think.

Look, there's a lot going on, in the world, but in our own lives too. Being nice is getting harder every day. That's why I think a fair number of people have given up on it. There's nowhere near enough mental bandwidth to handle the task for some. I wish I knew how to fix that. What I do know though, is that being nice has to be noticed a little more. While it's true that virtue is its own reward, I know that I'm going to need a little something more and so do a lot of people. Supposedly, when we do something out of kindness, there should be no expectation of any reward or benefit. People who ring up your groceries, cut your lawn or deliver your mail get "thanked" with a paycheck, right? Sure, most of us mumble a few words in reply to the automatic "Thank you for shopping with us," but maybe there could be more. Toss in some eye contact. Every store I go in, the employees have name tags. How about saying, "Thanks, Cheryl, you have a good day too." It's the littlest thing, but I think it goes a long way.

Would it kill any of us to notice more of what's going on around us? We should see the effort it takes to do a challenging job, every day, and still be pleasant. Don't wait until it's Letter Carrier Appreciation Day to tell your mail carrier "Thank you."  Yes, it's their job, whether anyone notices it or not, but save the date: Thank a Mail Carrier Day is February 4th. There is also National Postal Worker Day, on July 1st. 





There are a ton of other days too, that honor other professions, and of course days like Mother's Day and Father's Day, etc. Maybe being nice is hard because it's not noticed, or even expected, so people just give up? I don't know a single person who isn't pretty close to capacity just managing their life, job, family, and home, and most of them are still nice. It's hard work. We should start acknowledging that with more than a paycheck, or a 15% tip. Payment covers a task; when someone does their job and is nice about it too? Say something about the effort that takes. We are all working pretty hard at keeping it together, a sincere "well done!" would go a long way. Oh, and thanks for reading, hardly anyone has time for that anymore, and it means a lot to me.

Make A List But CHECK IT TWICE!

"Man plans, and God laughs."

---Yiddish Proverb

"Make time for planning. Wars are won in the General's tent."

---Steven Covey

AUTHOR NOTE: This column was supposed to published last week. Except I forgot to actually submit it to Chris and Mary, your fearless editors. That is what we call "Irony" in the English major world. Everyone else just calls it stupidity. See updates in parenthesis Enjoy.

 I am confident that I don't have multiple personalities (there was a Facebook quiz, I aced it) but regarding the organization, planning, and staying on task I do bounce between the two extremes. It's healthy to realize that not every plan you make is going to work out, but you can't just stumble through life with no direction, no road map of where you want to go and what you want to do. At least that's what people tell me.

Lists tend to work for me, neatly written on a calendar (not always, clearly.) Each day has a few items on it and in a perfect world, the end of the day comes, and everything is checked off. That literally has never happened, but hope springs eternal. Some of it might have more to do with the items on the list than my poor planning skills. It's good to set the bar high, but seriously at times, the list looks about as realistic as a fantasy baseball roster. Last week one of the tasks was "Clean the basement." The basement has never been cleaned; by me or anyone else. Now and then I go down there, make sure no woodland creatures are living under the laundry hamper, grab the toilet paper to stock the hall closet and come back upstairs. Sure, the TP would be a lot easier to access if there weren't twelve boxes of macaroni and cheese and a bag of "giveaway clothes" in the way, but no one who knows me thinks that will ever change.

 

So, whatever, it's the basement, it's not like the Queen is coming for tea and will want to see it, so not getting it done doesn't bother me. The daily lists are mostly suggestions for me. The science articles have to get done, and always do because being employed is a necessity, but after that, it's a crapshoot (or an epic fail, either way.) One of my favorite movies is "Gone With the Wind" because Katy Scarlett O'Hara is one sharp-tongued Irish girl. She said, "After all, tomorrow is another day." In my house, it means there's another list, but that's how it goes.

Once the daily stuff is out the way, what about long range plans? Careers, finances, and all the rest are much bigger issues than chores (Is USA Today hiring was one issue I considered last week.) Should I have a 20-year plan? What about a ten-year plan? In twenty years I will be in my 70s, and while I plan to stay healthy and active, it's a safe bet that my 70s won't be nearly as much fun as the 1970s were. In those days gone by, my to-do list didn't exist. The goals were to ride my bike to the store and spend as much time as possible on the beach with my friends. Looking two decades down the road means strategizing about mutual funds and long-term care insurance. Honestly, I think I'd rather clean the basement.

Plan or don't, that's the question (Pro tip: Plan, trust me on this.) Perhaps a middle ground needs to be found, where sometimes you let go, and sometimes you stick to the list? There was one time in my life that involved almost no plans and worked out perfectly. I wanted to take my oldest to Ireland; it was something that was important to me, to show him part of his heritage. We got plane tickets, reserved a rental car and booked the first night's lodging. I didn't do another thing except for ordering the Tourist Board's book of B&Bs.

It was three solid weeks of getting in the car (on the wrong side) and driving around to wherever looked good on the map. Once we stayed in a town for two days because a local pub had the most delicious Shepard's Pie ever. We wandered aimlessly and got lost more times than I can count. At one point we were driving down a country road and had to stop because a mule wouldn't get out of the way. Another time a group of boys ran up to the car asking, "Stop! Oi! Are you lost then?" I smiled and said, "No, this is the way I want to go, thanks!"  I'm not one to be shouted at by hooligans. 

500 yards down the road the ocean appeared, almost out of thin air. In Ireland, they farm right up to the water's edge. Reversing a car that's built backward, up a boggy unpaved road is quite the experience. The boys were still there, chuckling, and I said, "Well, that was grand then, wasn't it?" I think another trip is in order because lately, I've come to believe that plans are overrated. Ireland Escape 2018? Sure, it'll be brilliant (if I don't forget to buy tickets.)

Food, Glorious Food....

“Laughter is brightest where food is best”

-----Irish proverb

When someone says, “home cooking” or “homemade” the image that comes to mind is something delicious, made fresh, with tradition and love. That’s a nice thought; it just has never been my experience. Recently one of those pictures with the sayings on the bottom (they’re called memes I am told) came across my social media feed and it said “Name something your mother or grandmother made” and it was this retro scene of an older lady in the kitchen, wearing an apron and concentrating on something being cooked. In my head, I tried to remember what dish or treat my mother or grandmother had made that was a favorite of mine, or anyone’s for that matter.

Like my friend Winnie The Pooh, I sat and had a good think on it and… nothing. There was absolutely no memory of any amazing family recipe or special holiday treat that my mother or grandmother always made. Meanwhile, dozens of my friends were going on about Granny’s walnut bread, or Mama’s gravy. Gravy in this case being spaghetti sauce, since that’s what Italian grandmothers call it. It seemed that in everyone’s family but my own, there were heirloom recipes that had been handed down from one generation to the next. Holidays were not complete without these special dishes.

It’s likely because just as we get hair color and eye color from our parents and grandparents, we get a kind of history as well. Family stories for one. In my family what we might lack in recipes we make up for in pure, unadulterated legends. Like the time my father took a police cruiser for a joy ride. Or the time my mother wore a pair of shoes to a party that she didn’t realize still had the bright orange price tag stuck on the bottom sole. The entire evening she wondered why everyone walking by the couch she was sitting on (with her legs crossed like any proper lady would do) was craning their necks to get a look at the bottom of her feet. We have stories, enough for ten more generations to come and more are being created every year, but cherished homemade dishes? Not so much.

Growing up I can recall no occasion where my grandmother, mother or any other family member said, “Come to the kitchen Brenda, it’s time you learned the secret recipe.” We never starved of course, there was always plenty of food. It just wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. Gourmet night usually consisted of a hamburger patty, a box of mac and cheese and whatever frozen brick of vegetables was available. The veg was my job because I am hazardous in the kitchen. My mother figured nothing much could go wrong if she handed me a sauce pan and a brick of green beans and said, “Smash those up in the pan, but do NOT turn on the stove, just leave them there.” Culinary traditions in the Kelley family were less about homemade goodness and more about making sure nothing caught on fire and with me in the kitchen, that’s a challenge.

As for the previous generation, my grandmother was a pioneer of sorts. She was the first woman in the State of Massachusetts to be granted a chauffeur’s license. She always had a job of some kind. She was out working when many women were perfecting their pie dough. She married a man who owned a restaurant, which honestly was mostly a bar, but whatever. Cooking was not her thing. Over a pack of Pall Malls and two fingers of Jameson she would say, “There’s some ham salad in the fridge if you’re hungry, I just picked it up at the deli and if you won’t eat that, have some Oreos.”  She was nothing short of amazing though. In the course of the discussion on home cooking, one of my cousins did tell me she used to make a really good oyster stew of some kind, but that was before my time.

Food is food is food is food, right? Some people have a gift for making amazing dishes and handing down those recipes and traditions. In my family, we don’t, but while a friend was telling me about how her grandmother churned ice cream on the porch on hot summer nights, I remember my father herding us all in the car and going on a late night run for cones. As long as there is a tradition of some kind, and lots of laughter, the food will always be the best.