Civil Disagreement

/ Ann Coleman / 42 Comments

Years ago, my writer’s group was asked to host a local conference for the Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators and I agreed to be the liaison for the venue.  We held the event at a large hotel that could provide sleeping rooms for our attendees and meeting rooms for the various sessions.  According to the hotel’s Event Coordinator, the more sleeping rooms that were booked for the weekend-long conference, the bigger the discount we would get for the meeting rooms.  The meeting rooms were expensive and our budget was limited, so I hoped all our out-of-town attendees would stay at the hotel.

Unfortunately, a glitch in the system meant some people who registered for the conference were told there were no sleeping rooms available.  That meant instead of the 50% discount on the meeting rooms I’d been hoping for, we’d be lucky to qualify for the 25% discount.  Alarmed, I checked through the conference registrations and identified 31 people who were coming from out of town but not staying at the hotel.  I made copies of my paperwork and scheduled an appointment with the Event Coordinator (I’ll call him Mr. H) to discuss the situation.

Mr. H apologized for problem with the reservations, but made no promises regarding the 50% meeting room discount.  I showed him the figures proving that if just 20 of those 31 attendees had booked sleeping rooms, we would qualify for the 50% discount, and shared my conviction that the SCBWI shouldn’t have to pay for the hotel’s mistake.  He said he would look into it. 

I worked closely with Mr. H throughout the conference, making sure all was going well.  But he still didn’t give me an answer about the meeting room discount, no matter how many times I brought up the subject.  (And I brought it up a lot.)  It got to the point where the minute I alluded to it, he simply turned and walked away.  Undeterred, I would follow right behind, clutching my papers and saying, “As these figures plainly prove, Mr. H, we should have met the requirements…….”

When the conference ended, I met with Mr. H one final time to tally the bill.  I was nervous, but determined to keep pushing for the 50% discount I really believed we deserved.  So you can imagine my surprise when I asked what we owed for the meeting rooms and he replied, “Nothing. There will be no charge for any of them.”  I was stunned.  

The moral of this story could be that persistence pays off.  Or it could be that I’m really good at nagging.  But my point is actually that when we have a conflict with someone, how we treat that person matters. I may have been worried that Mr. H intended to charge us more than was fair, but I never once raised my voice to him, called him a name, accused him of cheating, etc.  I stood my ground because I truly believed I was in the right, but I didn’t use that belief as an excuse to treat him badly.  

The truth is, it’s not really that hard to be civil and respectful when we disagree with someone, and that when we treat others as we would like to be treated, everyone benefits.  And we got the free meeting rooms to prove it….

Time Well Spent

/ Ann Coleman / 66 Comments

I’ll be the first to admit that I messed up.  I’ve never had a good memory, so I usually write all my commitments down on the calendar on our refrigerator.  It’s old fashioned, but using a real calendar usually works best for me.  But from early May on, I somehow managed to get myself very over-scheduled.

You would think that someone who is in the habit of writing things down on the calendar would look at previous commitments before adding another one, but apparently I didn’t.  The end result was that the last few weeks have been a whirlwind of activity with no real downtime.  The things I had scheduled weren’t the problem:  a trip, a house-guest, a long-term babysitting stint, hosting a few family events, volunteering for a fund-raiser, meetings, dinners, lunches, etc.  They were all things I enjoy—just not all in the such a compact time period.

As an introvert who values having some quiet time on a regular basis, I was a little daunted when I realized just how crowded my schedule had become.  I considered backing out of a few things, but in the end I decided to simply soldier on.  I was the one who had created this situation, and it seemed unfair for me to cancel at the last minute.  Besides, there wasn’t really anything on the calendar I didn’t want to do.  I just wished I had managed to work a few breaks into the schedule.

In any event, my “busy time” seems to be winding down, and my husband and I are enjoying a three-day weekend with almost nothing on the schedule.  I say almost nothing, because I did promise to take my granddaughter to the zoo on Saturday morning.  (Actually, one morning I had told her I was taking her to school and she thought I said I was taking her to the zoo, and she very much wanted to go.  We couldn’t go to the zoo that morning, but I promised to take her as soon as possible.)

It would have been easy to cancel our visit to the zoo, but I’m not in the habit of disappointing a three-year old.  And besides, I knew it would be fun.  So we picked her up bright and early and spent a beautiful Saturday morning showing our granddaughter the local zoo.  She was thrilled by everything.  She loved seeing the animals, riding the carousel, watching the zoo train go by, and even took the time to literally smell the flowers along the path.  Honestly, it couldn’t have been a nicer experience.

Looking back on the past few weeks, I’m actually glad that I didn’t cancel any of the things I had scheduled.  I got to spend time with old and new friends, help support some worthwhile causes and spend quality time with my family.  Yes, I was busier than I’d prefer to be, and I’ll be more careful with my schedule in the future.  But sometimes in life, I think we just have to “go for it.”

A Matter of Importance

/ Ann Coleman / 91 Comments

Mom has been super busy lately, and apparently that means she’s not had any time to write blog posts.  So I decided to write a guest post on her blog, because: 1) I’m a super-helpful dog (as we all know) and 2) I’m getting a little tired of listening to Mom complain about being too busy to keep up with her blog.  I’m hoping if I take over for a few days that will both put her mind and ease and give my ears a break.  I believe that’s what they call a “win-win” situation.

Sometimes I wish that I could talk directly to Mom in a way that she would understand, but so far our communication is limited to words like “stay,” “sit,” “potty break,” “let’s go for a walk” and “get off the couch.”  But if I could sit her down for a heart-to-heart conversation, I would tell her that she really needs to stop fretting so much when her schedule gets so crowded that she can’t keep up with everything.  Why humans insist on believing that they can “do it all,” don’t ask me.  But I know it’s a myth that many of them, including my mom, believe in.

We dogs know better.  We know that life is all about priorities and the way to keep from getting all stressed out and overwhelmed is to know exactly what is most important in our lives and behave accordingly.  For example, one of my duties as the dog of the house is to greet guests, and I’m good at it.  When someone first comes through the door, I race toward them and then (if Mom isn’t quick enough to stop me), I jump up and lick their face to show them just how glad I am they’re here.

But even though greeting guests is great fun, it isn’t my top priority.  If someone comes over when I’m eating my dinner, I just go right on eating.  And if I happen to be in the middle of a good nap when someone walks in the door, even if it’s Mom and Dad, I don’t jump up to say hello.  I’ll open my eyes briefly and give a tiny tail wag by way of welcome, but that’s it.  Because in my opinion, eating and sleeping are top priorities, whereas being a one-dog welcoming committee is not.  Which is why I don’t feel guilty about neglecting my greeting duty when I’m eating or sleeping.

I’d love to tell Mom that it’s really okay to neglect things like blogging, attending meetings, volunteer obligations, cleaning house, etc. once in a while, especially if she’s neglecting them because she’s doing things that are more important.  You know, such as babysitting the grandchildren, going on a much-needed vacation or celebrating the holidays with family.  Or even just plain old taking a little time to herself for a change.  But since I can’t actually tell her, the best I can so is set a good example and hope she manages to learn from it….

Love,  Finn

Small World

/ Ann Coleman / 140 Comments

One of the nicest things about blogging is the connections you make with other bloggers from all over the world.  I may have started my blog simply because I love to write, but one of the main reasons I’ve kept it going all these years is that I really value the friendships I’ve made because of it.  The people who read my blog and take the time to comment on my posts have provided more encouragement, new perspectives, and advice than I ever would have imagined, and that’s a gift.  I may only know these people through our blogs, but they still touch my life in a real and positive way.

A few years ago, a blogging friend who lives in the Netherlands was in my area to visit her son, and she asked if she could stop by the animal shelter where I volunteer for a quick tour.  (I occasionally write about my experiences at the shelter.)  I agreed, and was happy to discover that she was just as nice in person as I had expected.  It was fun meeting someone from halfway around the world who I had only known through her excellent blog,  https://thecedarjournal.com/blog/ .

A few months ago, she emailed me to say that her son and daughter-in-law had bought a house here in St. Louis and asked if I could give her any information about the neighborhood.  As it turned out, I could give all kinds of detailed advice about the neighborhood, because her son’s new house was a mere two blocks from my own.

Last weekend, my friend came to visit her son and daughter-in-law and offered to meet me and my dog Finn for a quick walk.  Finn, of course, thought this was an excellent idea so I leashed him up and we met in her son’s yard.  I got to meet her husband, son, and daughter-in-law before we set out.  It was a beautiful Spring day, and I enjoyed our walk very much.  But I just couldn’t stop wondering:  what are the odds that someone  I met through my blog and lives in the Netherlands would have a son who moved into my immediate neighborhood?  Neither of them are originally from St. Louis, and she hasn’t lived in the States in years.  And yet there we were, walking and chatting like old friends.

Clearly, people who say, “it’s a small world” know what they’re talking about.   And you know what?  I think that’s a very good thing indeed…..

Recharged

/ Ann Coleman / 91 Comments

This morning I was driving home after a morning spent running errands when I got the bright idea to stop by our neighborhood bakery and deli.  It makes delicious bread that my grandchildren love, and I wanted to replenish my supply.  (I always keep a couple of loaves in my freezer.)  The parking lot wasn’t very full, so I figured it would be a quick stop and I’d be home in plenty of time to meet my husband for lunch and then tackle my afternoon chores.

Once inside the shop, I decided to also order a sandwich for my husband and I to share.  We both love their sandwiches and I’m always a fan of any food I don’t actually have to prepare.  Everything was going great until I got back in my car and tried to start it.  The key word in that sentence is “tried” because, despite repeated efforts, the car refused to start.

I muttered a few things I shouldn’t have, called my husband to let him know why I wouldn’t be home, and then called the number on my AAA roadside assistance card.  After a long and complicated process involving an automated answering machine, time on hold waiting for the next available operator, and repeatedly spelling the address of my location, I was informed that an assistant would be arriving in an hour or two.

If only I hadn’t stopped at the bakery,  I thought.  If I’d been home when my car battery died, I could get all sorts of things done while I was waiting for help to arrive.  Instead I was stuck in a now-crowded parking lot, hungry and thirsty, and far from confident that the operator had given the roadside assistant the right address.  This seemed like just one more thing that had gone wrong in a week where nothing seemed to go right, and a good time for a pity party.

I sat down at a recently-vacated outdoor table to wait.  My husband, who had arrived with his own key in the hope that it might start the car (it didn’t) joined me and we decided to go ahead and eat our sandwich while it was still good.  It was actually kind of nice sitting in the warm Spring sun, eating and watching the cars drive by.  Then the owner of the bakery, who had come out earlier to check that we were okay, brought us out some water and extra napkins, along with an offer for anything else we might need while we waited.  We ended up chatting with the people at the table next to us, and what had started out as a major inconvenience turned into a very pleasant lunch experience.

Which, of course, just goes to show how important it is to be willing to let go of our own agendas and expectations from time to time and be prepared to not only accept what happens instead, but to be willing to see the good in a situation we weren’t expecting and didn’t want.  The roadside assistant showed up shortly after we were done eating, my car has a new battery, and I (thankfully) have a much better attitude today…..

Clean Living

/ Ann Coleman / 81 Comments

I blame it on Agatha Christie.  Both of my parents were fans of Agatha Christie’s mysteries, so I had access to dozens of her books and read them while I was still young and impressionable.  Most of her works featured Hercule Poirot, a retired Belgian police officer who had a love for cleanliness and a passion for order and tidiness.  I read dozens of books in which Poirot solved his cases not just by “employing his little grey cells,” but by methodically gathering clues and putting them into the proper order.

I may not have Poirot’s detective skills or brain power, but I must have assimilated his love of cleanliness and order.  How else do you explain the fact that the spices on my spice rack are in alphabetical order?  Or that the books on my bookshelf are grouped both according to the author, with subcategories for hardback and paperback books?  I read a home-decorating article once that said end tables must be decorated in groups of threes, and now all my end tables have exactly three framed photos or knick-knacks on them.

My kitchen is small, so I have an extra pantry in the basement where the food is sorted according to size and expiration date.  The tops in my closet are hung according to style, with the sleeveless tops at the far right, followed by short-sleeved, three-quarter sleeved, and finally, long-sleeved.  Those are the casual tops.  The dressy ones are on the rack directly above, similarly sorted.  My shoes, on the other hand, are just haphazardly stuck in there, don’t ask me why.  Poirot would be horrified.

Luckily, or unluckily, depending on how you look at it, my husband is at the complete opposite end of the spectrum.  I have a photo of the contents of one of his drawers I keep just in case I’ll ever need it for blackmail.  If I tell you the photo contains both underwear and a screwdriver, you’ll get the idea.  One of the many reasons we have a happy marriage is that we never share closet space or dresser drawers, and I do all the cooking.

I have long since learned to stop apologizing for my compulsive desire to organize things, or to try to change my husband’s lack of organization.  (Clearly, he didn’t grow up on Hercule Poirot novels.)  Because I’ve learned that a happy home doesn’t have to be either clean or messy.  It just has to be the place where we get to be ourselves, and know that we’re loved and accepted for exactly who we are.

Through the Years

/ Ann Coleman / 81 Comments

I was raised in a family that didn’t have a lot of extra money.  We weren’t poor, but we did have to manage our money carefully.  Our version of going on vacation was piling into our car and driving across country to visit relatives.  We got one new pair of school shoes and tennis shoes each September, which were expected to last for the entire school year, and most of my clothes had first been worn by my older sister.

That’s probably why I have such fond memories of our annual shopping trips to buy our special Easter outfits.  I didn’t just get a fancy new dress–I got new shoes, special socks, a hat and sometimes even a little purse.  The shoes were always white patent-leather, which only looked good until the first scuff mark appeared, and that was usually about five minutes after I put them on.  But I didn’t care, because I thought I looked great.  As far as I was concerned, wearing my new Easter outfit to church was the second best part of Easter.  The best part, of course, was receiving my very own Easter basket full of candy and knowing I didn’t have to share any of it.

Now I’m all grown up, and honestly can’t remember the last time I looked in the mirror and truly thought I looked great.  I also haven’t bought a special Easter outfit in years, either for myself or for my own children.   I still have my old Easter basket, but it’s tucked away in a storage bin with my other memorabilia.  The purple wicker has faded to the palest of lilacs, and a really heavy chocolate Easter bunny would probably break it in two.

But that’s okay, because I enjoy Easter now just as much as I ever did.  It doesn’t matter that I won’t wear a brand-new outfit to church, or that I’m the one who has to clean the house and fix the food for our immediate family’s Easter lunch.  I’ll gladly hide the eggs for my grandchildren to find and spend a couple of hours making my mother’s home-made potato salad.  (It’s labor-intensive, but the results are worth it.)

One thing I’ve learned about the holidays I’ve celebrated all my life is that the way I celebrate may change, but the important thing is that I still celebrate.  Participating in meaningful rituals and traditions, gathering with the people I love, and in general, just being grateful for actually experiencing another new holiday is what really matters.  And why we never really outgrow the holidays we love.

Welcome Spring

/ Ann Coleman / 100 Comments

Some people know that Spring has arrived when the flowers bloom, or the trees begin to bud.  Others mark the change of season by their schedules:  the kids’ Spring break, baseball’s opening day, or when the lawn service shows up to cut the grass.  But personally, I know it’s Spring when my Spring allergies arrive.  And today was that day.

I was spending the morning in my usual way, walking down the street with a shelter dog, just doing my normal Monday morning volunteer routine.  All was well until I suddenly began sneezing, loudly and repeatedly.  Then my nose started running, and I realized that I’d left all my tissues in my purse, which was locked in the trunk of my car.  “Well,” I thought, “apparently Spring has sprung.”

Despite suffering from seasonal allergies, I really do love Spring.  I love watching the dormant plants coming back to life, and how the sunlight lingers a little bit longer with each passing day.  Soon it will be time to put our patio furniture back out and to have the option of cooking (and eating) our dinners outside again.  And as weird as it sounds, I even love Spring cleaning.  Not the actual work, or course, but the chance it offers to get rid of the extra clutter and make our house look fresh and new again.

I also like the way Spring evokes happy memories of my childhood, like going to bed on a warm evening with the windows open, feeling the cool breeze and being lulled to sleep by the sounds of crickets chirping.  When I was a kid, Spring meant getting to stay up a little bit later, playing outside a little bit longer, and in general just being able to have a bit more fun.  I also knew that Summer was just around the corner, which meant the school year would soon be over and the swimming pools would soon be open.  Not the mention the annual arrival of the beloved ice cream truck….. There’s a lot to love about Spring, from a child’s point of view.

So even though it’s time for me to head to the store and stock up on tissues and antihistamines, I’m a happy camper.  Yes, I know I’ll suffer from the occasional sore throat (gotta love post-nasal drip), and that if I’m standing near strangers when my allergy symptoms are overpowering my allergy meds, I’ll watch them  discreetly take a couple of steps away.  (Thank you, recent Covid pandemic.)  And I know that the warmer temperatures mean the eventual return of mosquitoes, flies, and weeds.

But I don’t care.  Spring is here, in all its glory, and I’m glad.   Happy Spring, Everyone!

A Grand Surprise

/ Ann Coleman / 110 Comments

I have to be honest:  I didn’t see this coming.  In the first place, I never gave much thought to what my life would be like when I became, shall we say, “a woman of a certain age.”  Like most young people, I secretly believed aging was something that happened only to other people, but that I would maintain my youthful vigor right up to the day I died.  (Even if I lived to be 100.)

Yet slowly but surely, my body began to succumb to the ravages of time.  I still remember the morning I woke up and found I couldn’t read the newspaper because the print was suddenly fuzzy.  I blinked repeatedly and even put in eye drops, but nothing helped.  It took the better part of the day before I realized the time had come for reading glasses.  And the first time I noticed that my neckline was both sagging and full of wrinkles, I almost threw away my make-up mirror.  The only thing that stopped me was the knowledge that I couldn’t safely apply my mascara without it.

But what really surprises me about reaching the ripe old age of 64 is the change in my behavior. And this change can’t be blamed solely on my age.  I know for a fact that there are precisely three reasons why I am now doing and saying things I never thought I’d say or do, and those reasons are my three grandchildren.

To be honest, I didn’t give becoming a grandparent any more thought than I gave any other aspect of aging.  When I first heard that my daughter was going to have a baby, I was thrilled, but I didn’t really believe that becoming a grandparent would change me very much.  And yet it did.

From the first time I laid eyes on my new grandson, I was smitten. That’s only natural.  But the problem was that overnight, I turned into the typical obnoxious new grandparent.  I had tons of photos of my grandson, and I shared them with everyone who crossed my path.  How could they not want to see the most adorable child in the history of the world?

So imagine my surprise when grandchild number two came along.  Not only was she equally adorable, but she was my first granddaughter!  That had to be shared as well.  And not just by photos.  By the time I became a grandparent to two adorable children, I was also sending friends, family, and old schoolmates videos of them.  Regularly and relentlessly.

By the time the third grandchild was born (another boy), I was a hopeless case.  I talk about my grandchildren, I write about my grandchildren, I share photos and videos of my grandchildren with all and sundry, etc.  In short, I’m a typical grandparent who is hopelessly in love with the three little people who gave her that title.  And yes, it’s a sign of my age. But unlike those others, it’s a sign I happily embrace…..

Service Dog

/ Ann Coleman / 84 Comments

I’ve always been a helpful dog.  It’s just my nature.  When I see someone in need of assistance, I step right up and offer a helping paw.

Take yesterday, for instance.  Mom and Dad have been complaining for weeks about their internet service.  So yesterday, a technician came to fix it and I was right there, helping.  Even when it meant squeezing in next to his tool box, getting up close and personal, and turning a deaf ear to Dad telling me to get out of the way.  It took us almost three hours, but you know what?  We fixed it! And I know it would have taken much longer without my assistance.

I don’t like to brag about myself, but the truth is, I can help with just about anything.  I help around the house all the time.  Mom likes to keep a clean house, so whenever anyone spills food on the floor, I snarf it right up.  I also rearrange the throw pillows on the sofa from time to time, because she never places them just right.  But most importantly, I make sure our house stays free of pests, especially flies.  If I see a fly in the house, I chase it down until I catch it, even if it means jumping up on a table or crashing into the window blinds.  I’m that dedicated.  Once I catch the fly (and I always catch it eventually), I dispatch it humanely and neatly by eating it.  Flies don’t taste very good, but dog’s gotta do what a dog’s gotta do.

I’m also very helpful in the yard.  I chase away any squirrels, rabbits or chipmunks that wander in before they can eat any of our flowers, and I bark (loudly and persistently) at any dog that goes by just to let them know I’m on duty here.  Constant vigilance is essential in these matters, despite what my parents seem to think.  (They may say they want me to be quiet, but I know that deep down, they’re grateful for my service.)  I also help Mom with her Spring planting by digging holes wherever I think the flowers should go.  She might not always use the holes I’ve dug, but I just know she appreciates the thought.

Still, I think the area where I really shine is childcare.  The grandchildren come over a lot, and when they do, I go to work.  First, I make sure they feel welcome when they walk in the door.  Lots of jumping, whining, excited barking, etc. lets them know just how glad I am they’re here.  But I’m good at other things too.  If they’re putting together a puzzle on the floor, I use my nose to push the pieces around to help them along.  If they’re served some food they don’t want to eat, all they have to do is slip it under the table to me and I dispose of it.  And if they’re throwing a ball around, I’ll chase it down and sometimes even bring it back to them.

Sure, it’s hard work to be so helpful all the time, but I don’t mind.  It’s what I’m good at, and besides….it’s the best way I know to show my family just how much they mean to me.

Love, Finn