A Birthday Epiphany

I have walked this planet for 50 years now, give or take a week or so. And for roughly 25 years of those, I've been a just a little bit late.
The problem is not just the chronic rudeness of keeping other people waiting for me, as bad as that is, or having to crawl in front of six sets of knees five minutes into the main feature. The real cost is that I fret the whole way to whatever it is I'm late for (living in the future) and then feel badly about it once I actually arrive (living in the past). In all that flurry, where is the present?
It makes me a tad melancholy to reflect on how much of the beauty, education, rest and/or joy I've missed in the journey "in between" the events that mark my life.
At the half-way place--now there's some optimism for you!--I'm very clear that the journey IS the event. If I'm not present in the spaces in between, I'm missing a huge chunk of my own life. And life right now, in full health, well employed with an interesting job and great people, with more friends than I know what to do with… Life is good!
Here's how I've explained the math to myself: from now on, if I can be five minutes early for the "events," then I figure I'll not only really be here for all the years left, but I may even win back a few I've dropped along the way. Or at least, it will feel that way.
What have you talked to yourself about lately? I'd love to know.

A Great Question

On Monday, I watched footage of President Obama working a crowd at an elementary school. He must have connected with at least 10 people in the one minute video. Each time, he would grasp their hand, make eye contact and say the same thing: "Hi! What's your name?"
I've thought about this a lot in the intervening couple of days. The question "What's your name?" was so obviously intentional and incredibly effective in moving him through as many hands as he could get to. From a communications strategy perspective, I'm fascinated: why that question?
I have come up with a two-part hypothesis. First, I think he and his advisors are well aware that shaking hands with a man who will become the President of the United States within 24 hours is a staggering experience for most ordinary people. It's a sure-fire line drive into "deer-in-the-headlights 'I can't think of a thing to say!'" territory. What better way to give an intimidated person an immediate piece of firm conversational ground than to ask them the one question they are sure to remember in the glare of the moment: their name.
I think the second reason it was such an effective approach is that it permitted the swiftest, most profound interaction possible between a Great Man and an ordinary citizen. He gave them his hand, eye contact, full attention, and miracle of miracles, something short and intelligent to say. At his prompting, they gave him the most valuable thing they possess: their identity. He gets in, connects with huge impact, and with a quick "Joan, thanks for being here" or similar reuse of their name, moves on. Having said a single word and engaged for five full seconds, they stand in the glow that the President of the United States knows their name.
Brilliant economy of conversation. Wish I'd thought of it.

On Green Oyster Crackers

I love to eat carrots right out of the warm dirt, rinsed lightly under the garden hose. I've eaten apples plucked straight off the tree in the orchard behind my Granny's, and enjoyed 15-minute freshly-deceased trout, fried in butter, eaten with my face in the direct sunlight. And don't even get me started on the joys of tiny wild raspberries straight off the bushes on the way back to the cottage from Teeples Campground on an afternoon in late July. I'll say it clearly: I'm a gustatory fan of immediate food, which conveniently plants me (for once!) in the politically-correct green camp of "eat local."

So you can image what a delightful afternoon I had earlier this week. I found myself at the elbow of a dear friend, perched at a makeshift picnic table outside an un-cutesified roadside oyster bar in Tamales Bay on Hwy 1, chowing down on a plate of Hog Island beauties. The picnic table faced the bay and the very oyster beds from which my lunch in the quiet late afternoon sunshine had been hauled mere hours earlier. It was all "eat local" bliss and mindless digestion until I zeroed in on the empty cellophane oyster cracker package I was rolling between my fingers. "Made in Vermont," the printing on the packet declared.

Excuse me?

The exquisite but inexpensive menu items we paid for came from within eye-shot, but the freebie simple carbohydrates had to be flown in from the opposite coast? The crackers aren't even on the menu! You're simply welcome to take as many packets as you can stuff into your face with lunch and your purse for the ride home (not that I would do that... I'm just saying....).

All of a sudden, the carbon footprint of our lunch took an exponential leap forward. Not to mention: where did the cellophane come from? Did they ship it in from Minnesota, get the printing done in Taiwan, fly the packets to Vermont so they could pack them with half an ounce worth of little balls of lightly baked flour, water, and salt, and then ship them back in large boxes to California?

I have since checked both the Kraft Premium Saltines that, with ginger ale, saw us through a nasty stomach bug last week, and then again at Whole Foods today with a whole box of oyster crackers. Wanna guess the seat of their creation? What, you're giving up already? All right, then: East Hanover, NY, and "Olde Cape Cod," respectively.

I don't care what the papers say. There IS an East Coast oyster cracker cartel, and I'm going to write letters to every editor I can think of until I get to the bottom of this outrage. Let's give the bakers of Tamales Bay, and 50 miles in all directions, the freedom they deserve to schlep their confections of flour and water in safety and with impunity. Plus, let's spare the earth the indignity of airplane pollutants pooped out across the globe. We, The People, want to enjoy local oyster crackers with our local oysters!

I feel a movement coming on.

Wait... maybe it's just the oysters.