Visit me at WordPress!
Visit me at WordPress!
Ecclesium singing Philip Stopford's setting of The Beatitudes, courtesy of Unapologetically Episcopalian.
I don't use eBay a lot, but I do some. I buy the plastic rolls for my Foodsaver there. I don't sell a lot, but every one in a while I do. With the purchase of my iPad and the accompanying Kindle app, I knew I wouldn't be using my second generation Kindle anymore. Likewise, with the purchase of my Nikon P500 I didn't need my pocket Canon any longer. I decided to sell both on eBay, thinking it would be a nice idea to generate some cash to help feed my combined iPad and Kindle addiction.
The Kindle sold to a fellow in New York who paid immediately and left feedback suggesting that he was going to really enjoy it.
The camera seems to have gone to someone in East or South Asia (even though they gave an Orange County shipping address) who took a while to pay. I expect that it will end up in the Far East somewhere.
One can't select one's buyers on eBay and one probably shouldn't care. But there's a part of me that wants those things I'm letting go of to find a "good home." Just won't happen every time.
If you haven't seen the Seinfeld soup nazi episode you've probably heard about it. The patrons put up with the abuses of the owner because they liked his soup so much. I suspect that the episode must be based on a real restaurant in New York City. But most of us have experienced places like that.
There is a fast food Middle Eastern place near my office where I will go sometimes which sells falafel wraps. The fellow who takes your order is humorless almost (or maybe not even almost) to the point of being rude. He hates it when you order something to go and then actually insist on getting the paper cup for your drink. And, of course, you'd better pay quickly. I will go there when I actually happen to be in the office and am not up for the cafeteria. But if I have time I prefer the shop a couple of miles further away which is much more friendly and sells a proper falafel on pita bread.
There is an Indian restaurant in Morgan Hill Terry and I enjoy. They have a buffet and it works out nicely to meet her there after church for lunch. There used to be a young guy there who was very friendly. Recently it's been staffed by a middle-aged (I should talk) fellow who is not the most friendly. One Sunday we were the first to arrive and he had to turn on the lights and bring out the food so we could eat. His body language and demeanor were such that Terry whispered to me, "Well excuse us for wanting to have lunch!" At least on our last visit the cook, a very nice Sikh gentleman who has been there for a very long time, gave us a smile and thanked us as we left.
Bur really, a little friendliness couldn't hurt, could it?
I subscribed to the New Yorker for a number of years, but then discontinued it a few years ago as part of an overall program of scaling back when our then CEO cut everyone's pay. Likewise, I'd been getting The Nation since the start of the Bush II administration, but discontinued it when they undercharged my credit card auto renewal and then sent me a bill for the difference.
But when there is an iPad app, it is easy to forgive all. Both The Nation and the New Yorker have iPad apps and both provide a facsimile of the print edition. The New Yorker app is especially slick and easy to navigate.
Everything's all on one device, you don't have to worry about second class mail taking its time getting to you and receiving two issues within two days of each other, and there's no paper to recycle when you're done with the issue.
Tasha has always been a demonstrative dog. She will greet us enthusiastically when we return home, even if we've only been out to lunch. Though that's not always the case. One weekday late morning I got back from four days away at a conference in Texas. Terry was out somewhere and Tasha was asleep in my recliner. She didn't move, but just looked up at me as if to say, "Tasha's nap cannot be disturbed," then put her head down and went back to sleep. But that's the exception.
This past week Terry was at a sales conference outside Boston. Her return flight got into San Francisco at about 10:40 p.m. Friday night, and it was after midnight when she walked in the kitchen door. Tasha greeted her enthusiastically. I woke up when Terry turned on the upstairs hall light. A moment later Tasha leaped up onto the bed with a thud, and then dashed over to me and gave me a big, wet lick of her tongue on my face to tell me, "Mommy's home!"
That's our Tasha.
Taize Catholic Hymns - Taizé - Laudate Dominum. Courtesy of Jane Redmont.
Cartoonist Keith Knight certinly reflects my feelings with this one. I think he's really got it nailed here.
I used to see ads for an organization that promoted the motto, "teach tolerance." At first thought you would think that would be a good thing, and I suppose it is. But when you step back and think about it, that's really setting the bar pretty low.
But I think we can move up a level further. How about "inclusive"? When I wrote about my experience with Bishop Shimpfky after his passing, Fr. Phil responded that in his experience "Richard was wonderfully inclusive."
Ah, to be wonderfully inclusive. To me that is an admirable goal. And given the prejudices and biases that I find popping up in my head all too often, something of a challenge.
Well worth striving for, nonetheless.
You know I'm not exactly delighted with my job these days, grateful as I am to be employed.
I was talking to my manager about getting a project manager certification called PMP, just as a sort of insurance. I told her that would be great to have on my resume in case this job ever sent me over the edge. Her response, "Let me tell you about over the edge..." and she then proceeded to tell me about an experience with respect to what she was doing.
Last week, in the middle of a day of particularly aggravating conference calls, I told Terry, "I want a different job." Terry's response: "I want a job that pays more."