International weather pressures

I think people like to talk and make connections, generally speaking. And maybe we just have a hard time getting started ... or knowing when to quit.

I met Marco yesterday. He mentioned something about the weather. I might have said something like “What’s a mother to do?” He jumped right on that. Quickly our chat turned to how much complaining about the weather we are engaged in. He cuts hair for a living. He has lots of conversations.

“Yes, it’s cold. And yes, you’ve lived here all your life. You choose to stay here and it was worse than this not too long ago.” Shut up is implied.
That might have been an imagined conversation we’d both like to have.

Obviously a person might not want to talk politics, religion or even sports with a guy holding a pair of scissors, but ... how do we move from the superficial to anything more worthwhile? An ongoing question we both tinker with.

Five years ago Aditiya came from Mumbai to Madison for a degree in electrical engineering. Now he lives in Franklin and works in Franksville. While he now has friends he came to the US alone; no friends, no family.

Why Madison of all places on earth? It was the best school for the price in his chosen field. Sure the weather is a little bother but it comes with the package. He wants to be here.

Inram is a clean-cut, business casual IT guy from Pakistan. Pakistan? I mentally scanned my list and welcomed him aboard. By the time I was done being pleasant and allowing him to begin we’d arrived.  He lives very close to the dealership and sadly we spent too much time talking about the weather. He wants to be here too ... as long as it doesn’t snow too much. Check!

For those of you keeping track at home - Pakistan is the 41st country on my Customers and Countries Checklist.

I met a retirement-aged gal from Greendale a week ago. She’s headed to Florida till the end of April. She sells advertising part time for a religious journal. She sells ads, walks her dog and plays golf.   I think she’s on to something. Move around a bit. Do what you want.

I’m reading Crazy Wisdom by Wes Nisker right now - crazy wisdom from multiple faith outsiders; poets, priests, artists, shamans, musicians, monks, saints, etc.

The Easter Island heads have bodies buried underground and a recently discovered Indonesian pyramid is 20,000 years old. That’s older than is acceptable. Sorry. Humans were not building cool stuff that long ago. There’s something about glaciation and habitation locked up in that story, too. This is what I’d like to talk about.

The forecast for tomorrow is a mix of high and low pressures turning superficial by midday.

Romania, my Romania

I met a gal the other day; generally angry, not necessarily about her car service but life in general. She’s a little loud and a little foul-mouthed. She has teenagers. There was a phone call from one that another had dropped a phone and cracked it. There might have been a toilet involved.

She’s been a clerk at the county courthouse for the last 21 years. Witnessing and listening to sad life circumstances hour after hour, day after day, might have something to do with the anger.

My next rider, Pamela, was introduced to me as deaf, but “she can read lips very well.” And Pamela talked the whole way home. She can speak fairly well. I think she must have learned to speak and then went deaf rather than had been born deaf. But there was no need to read my lips. There was no conversation. It seemed like I heard her entire life story; except her deafness. Occasionally I would turn to her, nod and say “uh huh.”

When I dropped her off I wanted to talk about picking her up. She has no phone. No phone. None. She’d given us her email address so that we could contact her but ... she has no computer. She uses the computer at the library. When I had finally stopped the van so that I could face her and have a dialog she did not want to talk about how we would pick her up.  She did not want to help me figure out how we, the dealer, would be communicating with her.

I think she talks incessantly so that she would not have to have a dialog. I don’t know. It seemed very pushy; defensive.

On a bright note, I met a Lisa. She’s in accounting. Twenty-four years of public and private. As a group the accountants I have met are not very interested in talking about their work. It’s just numbers. How much fun is that? Nine numbers and zero.  Over and over. How could anybody be interested in that? Almost a hundred percent of them. Amazing.

And she broke the mold. Lilting, easy laugh. She’s part time. That might be the difference. After years and years of stressing out over tax season and ninety-hour work weeks, she found a way to work at a firm part time. I can see where that would make a difference.

And, it turns out we know people together. Sort of. We know of some people. But that gave us something to talk about; Wes and Bobbi, Karen and Dave and that lady across the street with the amazing flower-garden lawn.

The high point recently was meeting this young couple in the service drive. It was busy. We were understaffed. Stephan and Relucka simply wanted an oil change and tire rotation.

Relucka was quite cute and Stephan was wearing a black leather, fur-lined aviator cap. I told him I liked it and asked where he got it.

“Her father gave it to me.”
“Perhaps I could buy it from you. I have cash.”
"You probably couldn't afford it."
"Give me a number."
“Well, no. Besides it has lice.”
“Maybe you should pay me to take it then. Give me ten dollars and I’ll take the cap.”

He laughed. She laughed. We all laughed. We talked about juggling, customers and my ability to do little else at that point. She laughed again - which actually was the point. Finally an adviser became available and they got into the system.

They spotted the McDonald’s down on the corner and thought they would wait there. I offered them a ride.

"Oh no. We can walk."
“That’s what I do here.”
“It’s just right there. We can walk.”
“It’s awfully cold. You can walk back if you like.”
“Okay.”

We got in the van.

“You’re not from around here,” I said. “Where are you from?”
“Romania.”
“Welcome aboard. I am so pleased to meet you. You represent the 40th country on my list of customers and countries.”

“You keep count?”
“Absolutely. And it’s great to meet YOU!”

My shift was over at that point. I wanted to punch out, get in my own car and go sit with them. It was a powerful urge. We were having such fun.

Moving Day

UPDATE
My long-time friend George strongly advised me to stay here and not risk losing this voice.

So ... I will.

....

I think I'm moving back to the GoodWorkCards blog because* ... never mind.

It's Moving day and the current post is here.

http://goodworkcards.wordpress.com/2014/01/06/who-shows-up/

The category is ShuttleBug.
http://goodworkcards.wordpress.com/category/shuttlebug/


* ... because Wordpress connects to my LinkedIn, etc. a little easier than Blogger.

Thanks for reading along. See you on the other side.

P.S. A few fine folks told me to write a book. I'll get right on that.

Just showing up

New Year’s Eve Day

The first round trip from the dealer and back, including stops at 35th and National, Layton at Lake Drive, and 116th and Rawson, took 85 minutes on good roads in light year-end morning traffic.

The first gal out was the last back in - 10.5 hours later. And by that time I had logged 184.9 miles around town.

While Pat had packed me some goodies there was no actual lunch time, down time or sitting in any seat that did not include a steering wheel. Every time I walked in the service door at least one of our guys needed me. And given how short staffed we are I didn’t think I could leave. What a silly thought, eh? Perhaps I might have simply posted a sign over the ride board - Out to Lunch - back at 2p.

The driver knows what no other single person knows - the afternoon overview and who is where. Each of our five service advisers knows his own customers and that is about where his interest stops. The driver has to jiggle and juggle the routes to get the customers back in a time frame they’ve been expecting. We’ve got to show up.

I did fetch Mr. B, the sailor from yesterday. His truck stayed overnight. Some sort of tensioner had to come from Chicago. That particular part was not in stock at any other dealer in town.

This time we chatted about airplanes, as well as sailboat racing, and the idea that just showing up was a way to start a career or hobby. Being a part of an airfield or marina will sooner or later get you an invitation or two. It reminds me of the Woody Allen quote about success and showing up.

It was a little more like work to get people to open up today. So. Fine.  I let it be just that. A quieter day. No pushing.

The rumors of the coming snow totals varied widely; from one to nine inches. With the exception of Russell, who thought he’d head over to the movies, not one person was going out on New Year’s Eve. Everyone spoke of looking forward to a quiet time at home. Too many amateurs on the roads.

The high point of this day was meeting Kim Becker. She’s starting her own fitness and wellness coaching practice and she’s got the background for it.

This from the philosophy page of her website: http://kimbecker.vpweb.com

“I am a huge fan of what I like to call “Rocky Training”.  Do you remember some of the training methods Sylvester Stallone’s character used – chasing chickens, walking in knee-deep snow, splitting wood, and throwing around boulders?  Exceptional training does not require expensive equipment.  This is great news for the individual who does not have a lot of space or who travels a lot.  You do not need to own lots of fitness equipment or be a member of a fitness facility in order to achieve and maintain optimal physical wellness.”

So, I met another coach today. I’m making a note of it. While I wrote that the short meeting was the high point, she actually brought me homemade cookies when I dropped her at home. On this long day with no lunch break they were tasty, nutritious and much appreciated, too.

Thank you Kim Becker. And, thank goodness I showed up, eh? So, where are you showing up and is it getting you the success you say you want?

Happy New Year!
Let’s do happy better.


Finally - in the spirit of that exact thing - I came home, we had a lovely little dinner and I rang in the New Year at 8:37 p.m.

.....

“Eighty percent of success is just showing up.” ~ Woody Allen
http://quoteinvestigator.com/2013/06/10/showing-up/http://quoteinvestigator.com/2013/06/10/showing-up/

Three ring circus

Pat M. is a teacher at MATC. She’s off for Christmas break - or whatever they might call it. Downtime. She teaches basic skills to adults that might not have graduated high school or that have to brush up on something for their new job in the new economy. We’d call it remedial reading, writing and arithmetic.

We’re both a little older. We remember news when there was more news on it - and less jocularity. And the weather comes with so much drama attached. Hey, it’s cold. It’s winter in Wisconsin.

She likes to watch the BBC. Me, too. It’s news without the goofing around. 

Mr. B is retired. He spends most of his better weather time on his 36 foot sailboat. Sometimes he has a small crew and sometimes he can ‘single hand’ it. He likes going across Lake Michigan to the other shore. He’s got 15 to 16 hours of solitude like that.

I told him my first experience with a sailboat was not on Geneva Lake where I grew up but on Lake Travis outside Austin, Texas. My new friends, twin brothers Mike and Pat, rebuilt a sixteen foot (?) Mystic Seaport sailboat. They kept the wooden hull and the engine and rebuilt it as a pirate ship.

And I still love the wind chimes of the rigging blowing against the aluminum masts when the boats are asleep in their slips. It’s relaxing - meditative. He did not invite me down to South Shore Yacht Club.

And, Elesio. We talked about Mexico; especially Cuernavaca, the Land of Eternal Spring. He lived so close to the dealer that I don’t know what he does, has, or likes. His brother-in-law preceded him to Fond du Lac and that’s how he wound up in Wisconsin. He did spend some time in LA. Too crazy. Too expensive.

I told him our handyman Ernesto brought tamales the day before Christmas for his pals in the wash bay. Man, that was good eatin’. We talked a little about good eatin’. We talked about Mexico City, security and the fact that most cities have their dark side; like Milwaukee, for instance.

Yes, I guess.

Here was my day. I made a parts run to Wilde on Hwy 100 south of Oklahoma and a bank run.

111 W. Michigan.
62nd and Main St. West Allis
10th and Drexel
13th and Milwaukee in So. Mil.
62nd and Bottsford
15th and Howard
98th and Loomis

It was a nicely paced day and I drove about 85 miles. Some days are lighter days. This was one. It gave me some time to reflect on the three ring circus aspect of this job.

The first ring is the driving people part. That’s the part that shows up in the blog. The second ring is what I talk about when customers ask about me. It’s the addition of my experience to whatever topics is at hand. Some of that shows up.

The third ring is a three-ring circus all by itself. It’s the stories of the ADD nature of the service drive along with the toxic and barely functional treatment of employees by management. In 18 months half the staff has turned over. And the bloodletting before Christmas this year? Think of your last check as your bonus, fellows. We’ll mail it to you.

Finally today, it surprises me to an almost embarrassing degree to discover this and then tell you about it. I used to love to listen to public radio after I dropped my customers off. Whatever the set of reasons ... I am doing that less and I’m missing the wonderful authors and their books. I miss the fresh ideas. The length of time I can listen is shorter than it had been. But wait ... and here’s the embarrassing part ... I do have a smart phone and there is bluetooth in the van. While I cannot put the radio on pause I can pause the feed on a radio app. Heck I could be listening to TEDtalks.
Why has it taken this long to figure that out?

The phone may be smart. The operator requires some remedial training.

Lately I have been looking at my entire driving tenure with a new eyes. I am looking to package the stories into book form. That is news to me.

Thanks, dear readers, for stopping by.
Happy New Year, darlings.

...

“Change your thoughts and you change your world.”
~Norman Vincent Peale

An arranged marriage

Colectivo on KK - not a quiet coffee house.

Somewhere in the conversation the first time I met Thomas I told him I write up little stories that come from people in the shuttle.

“I’ve got a story for you,” he said. “It’s about an arranged marriage. Mine.”
But he wanted his wife to tell it. Fine. After a couple weeks we set a day and the three of us met.

He said it was a quiet coffee house. Such a place is hard to find. I was excited. This was not it.

Alcita was born, raised and married in Brazil. While she did all she could do to stay married her husband left her and her two small boys. She’d met an American missionary at her church and got a visa to the US.

She’d stayed here with some Mormon’s for awhile but was happier with some new Baptist friends including Pastor David. They built her family a small sleeping area in the basement of their church. It was crude and very cold. The shower was a garden hose and sprinkler.

Things were going well enough but time was running out on her visa and she could not change her status. Immigration came looking for her and rather than stay illegally she went back to Brazil.

She worked several part time jobs, raised the boys and found time to go to church twice a day. All the while Alcita wanted very much to come back to this land of opportunity. She prayed. She was angry with God and proposed a deal. If He was going to help her get back to America he would have to do it soon or he would have to give her some peace.

One of the missionaries she knew proposed that she make a list of the qualities she was looking for in a husband. She did. Age, health, wealth, loving her boys were on that list.

Meanwhile, God gave her some peace. She carried on.

Now, Thomas and Pastor David had known each other for years through the church. They were in a men’s group together. Thomas had had a couple marriages fail and by now had three teen daughters. Thomas was looking for a wife again but did not trust himself to make a decision.

“Why don’t you marry someone I tell you to marry?” David asked Thomas, one morning at their men’s group. (Fascinating question, right?)

Meanwhile, Alcita and the Baptist pastor, David, stayed in touch over the years. Alcita had been on Pastor David’s mind.

After six weeks of mulling that strange question over, Thomas asked for Alcita’s number in Brazil and called her. He proposed then and there.

Well ... what to do? We have to meet and deal. Thomas found an immigration attorney, filed papers, took out a loan and flew to Brazil. They met. She introduced him to the family. They liked him well enough but they all thought she was crazy. They shared their lists and made concessions. He did not want to get the silent treatment. She did want any yelling and no teasing about her age. He wanted someone that shared his love of music and could properly fold a map. Some things we have to let go of.

It was an arranged marriage. They arranged it together. That is what has made it different from what we normally think of when we hear the phrase.

It began with mindfulness and commitment rather than romance. Their blended families grew together and have now grown on as adults. It’s been 21 years last week.

Thomas was an English and Literacy teacher at MPS, has just finished seminary schooling. He is going into the coaching business; primarily for clergy and their parishioners.

Alcita taught English in Brazil and Portuguese here at UW-Milwaukee on campus and for the Continuing Education department.

She has just finished the Portuguese translation of her 2010 Biblical fiction novel Milcah. You can find it on Amazon by searching this: Milca (Portuguese Edition) by Alcita Ferreira Brown.

They are traveling to Brazil soon to visit family and do a book tour.

......

Nice to meet them both.

This is probably the first story that was proposed as a story and that occurred outside the shuttle. Given that we sat for over an hour there are lovely little details that do not add much to a story but that could add some depth to a book. Near the end of our meeting she told me that she's written this story down already. Right? She's a writer. What was I doing there?  Interesting. Different.

Word made flesh

Dean lives about twenty minutes southwest out Loomis Road between Wind Lake and Waubeesee Lake. Take a right and a left at the Old Penny Bar. You’re almost there.

He and I were not having a conversation on the way. He was giving me his entire litany, chapter and verse, of car service mishaps at our competitor. There wasn’t much I could do but nod and acknowledge him.

And that was fine enough for me. It was a foggy morning like I do not ever remember seeing. It was an entire museum of fog. Every facet of fog was on full display. It was an upper-level course in fog-ology. It was phenomenal. Fog.

There was fog on the road and fog in the trees. There was fog two feet off the ground with trees growing out of it. There was clear, bare snow on the ground with tree trunks supporting the fogged-in sky. There were clearings with wispy, ghost-like bodies of fog floating free. It went from big blue sky to nearly zero visibility in mere moments. And there were plenty of drivers auditioning for the next big crash on the six o’clock news. I slowed down so I could ... see ... it, witness it, be with it.

I was stunned; awestruck. It was so very beautiful. Once, when I noticed he’d fallen silent, I mentioned it to Dean.

“The fog.” I said.
“Uhhh ... yeah ... fog.” He rattled on about being screwed. Funny he keeps getting into those situations because he’s so smart. He knows better. Just ask him.

Two hours later I’m headed back out to pick him up. His car is ready early. The sun has burned off the fog. Now I can appreciate the snow white cornfields and the dark winter trees with the last snow still plastered to their south sides. I am amazed what the snow does to the dark tree limbs. There is a negative differentiation; the normally not-seen is available.

The oaks in particular have a lot of attitude. They remind me of tai chi masters practicing the long-form dance in a line of sad people returning Christmas gifts at a customer service counter.

I call Dean and tell him I am near. I arrive. He gets in. He’s in a different mood altogether. The sky is blue. His car is done. Early. We’re going to get it. Wheee!

It turns out Dean drives school bus out that way. It’s six hours a day with a five hour split in the middle. There’s enough time to have lunch and take a nap actually.

He told me about a set of twins recently -  five years old. The boy is a perfect angel on the bus. Sits up front. Talks like an adult. And the twin sister is the devil on wheels. He recalled her picking a fight with some fourth graders and winning, until ... She had a boy down on the bus floor and another girl trying to pull her off. Apparently one of her five-year old front teeth was loose and it managed to get snagged and torn out during the scuffle. And he’s trying to drive ... keep a schedule, etc. Blood everywhere.

And at some point there was another student that gave him a big hug - just like that. I congratulated him for his courage and patience. I said I’d thought about school bus driving once - briefly. I decided I don’t have the constitution for it. Hugs are good. Blood not so much.

Mind you, the stories on the trip back were not all about driving bus. There were plenty of hunting and fishing tales with his grand kids in Spokane. It was so unbelievable that I had to research STURGEON when I got home. Now there’s a fish story for some other time.

So, yesterday morning between 5 and 6 a.m., before I met Dean, I wrote a piece about the very day before, meeting Wayne; another driver. He and I talked shop and had a good, old time. I called ‘the Wayne meeting’ a busman’s holiday and then reflected that I had yet to meet a bus driver.

By 9:30, less than four hours after I wrote that, Dean, my first bus driver, climbs into the front seat.

Word made flesh.

----

"Love really is the answer to human problems: love of oneself, love of others, love of where one is, love of what one is doing, love of nature, love of life, love of the world, love of spirit in all its wonder and splendor. Love sets our energy free. It opens us and puts us in a flow with spirit and life on many levels.  Love is the true secret behind manifestation."

~ David Spangler