The Golden Rule

Thought For The Day

The Golden Rule is, I believe, one of the more common applications of good manners. Or is it?

If I give you a new set of metric wrenches for your birthday because I want them, is that an example of practicing the Golden Rule? No, I don't think so, and yet, is that not exactly what we do quite often to those around us. We measure happiness by what we want and rarely consider the feelings, needs and interests of others.

If you think I'm wrong about this, let me ask you a question. Are you more interested in what other people think about you, how you look, what you've done or in them and their accomplishments?

If you are going to the grocery store to get something for a dinner do you select something that you are sure others would enjoy with no regard for your own preferences? Seems to me that if I like it everyone will, right?

This is a participatory blog today. Do you do unto others as you would have them do unto you?

©Herb Ratliff, June 28, 2012, All Rights Reserved

Expectations

Thought For The Day

Much is said about the value of being considerate of others and I have no reason to argue that.

Being considerate is a behavior that sends good feelings in both directions. What is a bit confusing is what "being considerate" means to the parties involved. This is where some unhappy moment seedlings germinate.

I remember an event that happened many years ago that involved an inaccurate perception. There was an invitation to have dinner with the in laws. That was something I always enjoyed because I liked my in laws and the food was always good. When the table was set and the food placed on the table we all sat down. A prayer was offered with thanks for the food and then, as was his custom, my father in law sliced and served the meat to each person.

The choices of vegetables, rolls and so on were decided individually. What caught my eye was a bowl of creamed potatoes. (Why is it the starches always taste the best?) I took a hearty portion befitting a lumberjack, put down my plate and began with a large spoonful of potatoes.

To say that I was shocked is an understatement. Shocked, perplexed, disappointed and unhappy would better describe my condition. It was not creamed potatoes, it was creamed onions. Now there is nothing inherently wrong with creamed onions. They are quite good if you know what you are eating. But, if you expect potatoes and you get onions there is a serious let down.

My dear mother in law had been watching me, as cooks do, to see my pleasure exposed. I must not have looked pleasure filled because she fairly gasped at my reaction which was more surprise than anything else. Then, there was a forced silence while we gathered ourselves and then, uproarious laughter at the double mistake, hers in making creamed onions and mine in thinking it was creamed potatoes.

Hardly a life changing event but a text book example of putting too much stock in one's own expectations. What you expect and what you get are rarely the same. And yet, there we are, far too often, with drawn faces and flared tempers over something we imagined rather than what actually occurred.

The people around us do what they do with little or no regard for our feelings or needs, just like we do. To be filled with disappointment because things did not go as expected is a human condition that few of us will ever manage well. Here's to giving it a try just for today. O K?

©Herb Ratliff, June 25, 2012, All Rights Reserved

Cliches

Thought For The Day

Cliches. I could explain them to you, but then I'd have to kill you.

How we complain and denigrate the lowly, overused expression. How we love to elevate our lofty intellect above the crowded market place of commoners who languish in drab, familiar, citations of mediocrity. Why can't we come up with some new, interesting, intelligent expressions that lift the spirit and heighten our awareness.

"How can I soar like an eagle when I'm surrounded by a bunch of turkeys."

Theses overused expressions have a life of their own, primarily because the are pretty well conceived to begin with, but quite often we use them without having the foggiest idea what they mean or where they came from.

"Colder than the balls on a brass monkey." Many a crass lad has used this expression believing that he is being risque while completely misunderstanding the meaning of the phrase. They are picturing a brass statue of a monkey but a monkey in this particular case is a base upon which cannon ball are placed so they will not roll about on the deck of a ship. The "monkey" held the pyramid of cannon balls by the cannons. Not what you thought, eh?

"One day at a time."

That's a good one for me, every day. I can worry about things before it's their turn and end up lost in a maze of "what ifs".

I'm a pretty lucky guy, all things considered, as a matter of fact, I'm a very lucky guy and you are too.

©Herb Ratliff, June 22, 2012, All Rights Reserved

Do you ride?

Thought For The Day

It was an early Fall day in Michigan. I was going to a Rotary lunch meeting. It was a speaker meeting.

When I arrived I made the rounds then sat down next to Chris, a friend I had gotten to know through Rotary. The meeting started quickly and the speaker was introduced. I kept looking out at the bright Fall colors, the brilliant sunshine and was thinking about horseback riding in a quiet country setting. The speaker was not holding my attention.

I leaned over toward Chris and said, "Great day for horseback riding."

He looked back almost too quickly and said, "Do you ride?"

I didn't think about it before I answered him but that question can mean a lot of different things.

I answered in the affirmative and he said, "Let's go."

I looked at him quizzically and he said, "Now!"

When we got outside he told me to follow him to his farm. I had no idea he had a farm but followed him to a beautiful country setting with white fences and manicured lawns, barns and even a silo.

We parked near the barns and went inside. Without a moments hesitation he went to the tack room and got the saddles, English, should have been a clue. I was accustomed to western but didn't say anything. The horses were beautiful, black Arabians. Should have been another clue. He saddled my horse and told me to take him outside. I did as instructed and adjusted the stirrups and mounted the horse.

My riding was made up of rented horses, a PE course I took in college, and utility farm animals I had used. The only thing I knew about horses was told me by a farmer friend who said that to successfully manage a horse you had to make it easy for them to do what you wanted and very difficult for them to do what they wanted. He also said the horse knew your skill level the minute your butt hit the saddle.

With that in mind I did what I always did when I got on a horse. I neck reined it left, then right, and backed it up. The horse was not terribly responsive and a bit disagreeable. So I pushed on with my superior attitude toward the horse. That's when the trouble began.

The horse reared and set off at a gallop into the woods. I was completely off guard and nearly lost my seat. Once I upright, I began seeking control of the situation. It seemed the more I directed, the less progress. I should mention here that Chris had not missed the theater occurring in his back yard. He was following me and screaming at the top of his lungs for me to stop, which I would have happily done if my mount had been more cooperative.

After a brisk romp through the woods and over the countryside on a recalcitrant horse and a screaming owner following, the horse tired, my reining prevailed and the horse stopped.

Chris pulled up beside me and with a look of terror in his eyes said, "I thought you could ride."

"After all that and I'm still on the horse, what kind of question is that?", I barked.

"That's a $150,000 worth of horse, an Arabian, dressage, Herb, dressage." He pleaded.

Well, what can I say? I knew the meaning of the word, dressage in a limited way. I did not know how to accomplish it or apply it.

When we got the horses back to the barn there was no more interest in riding. We put the horses away and Chris and I never went riding again. We did remain friends and that's a mark of Chris' character and largesse. We both learned that day that "Can you ride?" needs a bit more qualification to be useful.

©Herb Ratliff, June 20, 2012, All Rights Reserved

Summer Morning

Thought For The Day

Near Yellowtail Dam, Fort Smith, Montana



Summer mornings break more softly.

If Spring is Champagne,

summer is a rich, earthy Bordeaux,

not lavishing one with quick bursts of excitement,

but slowly enriching the palate

with hints of oak, mushroom and peat,

then finishing in an orchestral

denouement of sensuality,

like a sigh.


Even the bright sounds of birds,

rise more roundly like

a mother brushes her child's hair

from out of their eyes and cups

her hand to hold his cheek and

lingers there with her eyes.


The low sun quickly warms

all creatures with

gratitude

for

a summer day.



©Herb Ratliff, June 19, 2012, All Rights Reserved

Feeling Good

Thought For The Day

Zoe and Charley

I'm not sure you ever really understand how much giving is about satisfying your own need for acceptance and appreciation until you have a dog. Where I have written dog you may substitute, cat or horse. Children also may be used there, but only if you have figured out how to have a predictable relationship with them. I'm about to lose control of this and I've only just started.

Charley is my part this and part that "rescue" dog. He enjoys being brushed. For him, that is like a day at the spa, I suppose. I have never been to a spa. Anyway, he sheds, big time. I am constantly aware of his unwanted contribution to my untidy house. It just goes with the territory. It occurred to me once while I was bathing him  and using a brush to make sure the shampoo got down to the skin, that if I had done that before the bath I might avoid dealing with all of that wet dog hair. And so, I began brushing him regularly. At first he was not interested. Gradually he became more and more appreciative of the activity and now when I offer to "brush" him, he is at the ready the moment I offer.

For my part, I began the process because it helped reduce the amount of ambient fur in the house. OK, not much but it gave me illusion of being helpful. Then, I noticed how much he had gotten into the process. His whole demeanor would change when I offered to brush him. He would run for the door and wait for the fun to begin. 

As I brushed him I could almost hear him making grateful groans and saying "a little to the left" as we proceeded. After I decided that enough of this had happened he would start running in circles and jumping about. That is his method of saying thank you or I'm very happy. But what really surprised me was how good I felt. And all I had done was brush him. 

I've learned a lot from Charley. He has been responsible for teaching me a number of things. And, a reminder that being attentive and thoughtful to those around you is a very good thing, even if you get some pleasure from it too.

©Herb Ratliff, June 18, 2012, All Rights Reserved

Thanks Dad

Thought For The Day

I was more inclined to complain about the limitations of my father than to praise him. He knew that he was not the object of adulation, but went right on working anyway.

I grew up with five sisters, a stay at home mom and an absentee father. Not really absent, but he was gone most of the time. Gone because he worked an eight hour shift, unless he could get overtime, at Saginaw Steering Gear, a division of GM. He also was the proprietor of a small shoe repair shop, Economy Shoe Rebuilders where he spent another eight hours or more. He was not given to sports or other activities with friends, save an occasional get together with some musical pals with whom he could exercise his musical talent. And, his talent was considerable. Whatever else occupied his time, spending it with his family was not where he shined.

He and my mother had a tenuous relationship at best. This is not the place for that discussion, but suffice it to say, they needed each other, and that seemed to be the driving force in their relationship. What that need was is between them and that's where it belongs.

Dad began each week day by going into the Shoe Shop. He stayed there until about 3:00PM, then came home to a hamburger and canned peaches. There was no variety here, that was the daily fare. After eating he would either drive or have mom drive him to the Steering Gear where he worked until midnight. Quite often mom would go over and have "lunch" with him at work, then go and pick him up after work was completed.

On Saturdays he worked full time in the Shoe Shop unless overtime work was available which he would very often take. Sunday was a church day and dad would participate most of the time but not always. Church was not his preferred venue.

Sunday dinner was the weekly reward for going to church. We normally had quite a nice dinner and we all ate together. Sometimes we would go on picnics. When that happened it usually involved cousins and lots of good food that was punctuated with musical renderings by talented aunts, uncles and cousins along with my parents and sisters.

Dad was never offered the Pulitzer Prize or a position on the president's cabinet. He never ran for office. He wasn't a great hunter or fisherman. He didn't graduate from high school or college. What he did along with mother was provide a home, food and an education for six children. He taught us that not all that you do is reflected in what you personally have, but has a way of showing up like a vein of gold through hard rock and scrabble in the people you touch.

I do not believe I ever said so much as thank you to him for all the years he gave to make my life better than his. I even had the audacity to think he should have done more.

I was sitting in the funeral home alone one afternoon before his interment and a friend from high school came by to visit. It was a surprise to see him. He told me some stories about dad and visits he had with him. It was good to hear a friend talk about the man I barely knew in a warm and friendly way.

Happy Fathers Day, Dad. I wish I had gotten to know you better. And, thank you dad, thank you ever so much for all you did for me.

©Herb Ratliff, June 15, 2012, All Rights Reserved

Communication

Thought For The Day

Communication in a nutshell:

I can explain it to you, but I cannot understand it for you.

Herb Ratliff, June 13, 2012, All Rights Reserved

Justine's Part 2

Her smile was relaxed and easy like she was greeting an old friend. She waited for an answer.
I was having a little trouble finding my voice.

She was very attractive and still in that ethereal place between the picture and reality. I'd been going since 5:30 AM and it was now past 9:00PM. I managed to utter something.

Then, she said, "I'm Justine."
And, capturing the situation perfectly she quickly took control and began a commentary about the food, what was fresh, a little about home grown vegetables and then how splendid the weather was and wasn't it a pity the Gazebo was full? It's such a fine place to have dinner.

She was so elegant, so charming and so welcome after the long day I had spent criss-crossing the country. I asked her if she would like a glass of wine.

Her reaction was measured but swift. "Yes", she said, so I stood and held her chair.

She asked if I would mind if she had a bottle of her favorite wine brought out and then began a conversation filled with interest and coincidence of remarkable proportions.

Things like that don't happen very often. As a matter of fact, I can say with considerable certainty that nothing like that will ever happen to me again. You never know when you lift your head from the pillow what the day holds for you, so no matter how it goes for the the first few hours, do not despair. What is waiting for you at the next bend in the road may make it all worth while.

I know that you would like to know a bit more about that evening and frankly, I would enjoy spending a bit more time remembering it, but I've shared all I am willing to. She was as much a lady as she appeared and I was as much a gentleman as I ever hoped to be.

The restaurant was closed a few years ago, 1995, I believe. The name and facility was auctioned off but the ambiance was not for sale. So, while you may be able to find a restaurant named Justine's in Memphis and a few other places, you will not find the one mentioned in this remembrance.

©Herb Ratliff, June 12, 2012, All Rights Reserved

Justine's

Thought For The Day

Justine Smith 

owner of Justine's, Memphis, TN

Travel sets the stage for a lot of unusual adventures and encounters. This is one of the more unusual ones.

I had been working with some people in Charlotte, North Carolina when I got a call from a group in Memphis who needed to see me as soon as possible. As soon as I wrapped up for the day in Charlotte I caught a flight to Memphis so that I could prepare for the morning meeting there. Going to Memphis from Charlotte meant going through Atlanta, changing planes and then going to Memphis. It took a lot out of me on days like that but it was part of the job.

As I sat in Hartsfield Airport Atlanta I began to realize that I had not eaten for hours unless you count peanuts and little cookies on the plane. It was then that I remembered a restaurant I had heard about which had been highly recommended by a friend who lived in Tennessee. The prospect of having a good meal in a new restaurant with a good pedigree seemed a nice diversion from a frenetic day. I went back to planning for the next days meeting while I waited for the flight to depart.

It was late when I arrived in Memphis. I got a rental car, found a hotel dropped off my luggage, washed my face and got directions to the restaurant. It was a short trip from the hotel to a place I'd never forget.

Justine's was a french restaurant housed in a plantation house built in 1843. It was light pink stucco with white marble steps. It had wrought iron gates and round iron vents across it's front. It dripped with old south charm and enjoyed a fine reputation for fabulous New Orleans Style French food. My stomach was growling loudly.

There were several old magnolia trees, myriad rhododendrons and in the back was a charming, over-sized gazebo where one could dine al fresco with a well planned reservation. The waiters wore white gloves and waistcoats and dripped with good manners and lots of southern charm. I could not have been happier and I hadn't even had my first cracker.

I was alone, a condition of traveling that was common and many times preferred after a day with business contacts. It was a chance to breath deeply and exhale slowly and deliberately until a modicum of relaxation entered my body. The main dining room was full as well as the gazebo and in my haste I had not called for a reservation. There was another room where I was taken just off the main part of the entry where there seemed to be ample seating with a few empty tables and one setting for two against the wall on the left side of the room where I was seated. Finally, I thought, I can eat.

The waiter gave me a menu and offered the specials of the day, took a drink order and wandered off to get the drink. I looked around at my surroundings and noted a life sized portrait of a woman in a creme chiffon floor length dress walking as if directly toward me out of the portrait. I paused to look at it briefly and thought how elegant it was and how very southern. I looked back down at my menu and began the difficult job of deciding what from this array of mouth watering offerings would be placed in front of me this evening.

Crab Justine seemed the obvious choice. If it bore the name of the owner, it must be the best. Having made the choice I lifted my head to consider my selection and as if I were in some surreal magical world the woman in the portrait was walking toward me. At first it startled me, then I was mesmerized as she fairly glided toward me and came to a stop at my table.

"Welcome to Justine's." she said.

To be continued....

©Herb Ratliff, June 11, 2012, All Rights Reserved

Little Things

Thought For The Day

Little Things

Like a stone in my shoe

I prefer the discomfort of knowing it's there

to stopping long enough to remove it.

Like a too stiff label on the back of my shirt

that pricks and irritates  me every time I turn

I believe that hoping will make it go away.

Like the cinder, so small, in the corner of my eye

that scratches, tears and blurs my perspective

the blinking should subside it, soon.

Little things I wait on while they goad me,

small irritations and diversions

that bring me to my knees, later.

Tragedy demands attention,

perhaps it is more kind.

©Herb Ratliff, June 6, 2012, All Rights Reserved

I'm going to......

Thought For The Day

One of the more difficult concepts to integrate into daily life is how important it is to manage your thoughts.

What you believe is not nearly as powerful as what you think. I know, you don't agree with that on the surface but let's take a look at the bottom line. Let's look at what you do and what precedes what you do. Yep, what you think.

Let's take a walk together. As we walk down the street or path or sidewalk lot's of things start rolling past the monitor between our ears. Maybe what happened last night, that could be a good thing or a bad thing and that will influence how you feel and if it's good you may start skipping. OK, you'd have to feel exceptionally good to skip but you get the idea. If you did something bad or hurtful then your steps might be heavy or slow and you might plod along the way.

Whatever mood prevails gets to pick the things you think about. So, if you're happy and skipping you might fancy yourself a ballet dancer, or a decathlete in competition for the Olympic gold metal. You will be focused, alert, positive and you will believe that your actions will be beautiful, winning and inspirational. And, guess what? They will be, in a relative sense.

If you watch Tiger Woods play golf and frankly, this is why so many people do, you can almost see his belief in his skill and his intent. So when he makes the sixty foot put to win the Masters, you find yourself captured in the moment because you believed it too.

This is a dangerous skill. It works no matter what you think.

I know you can't help what you think every moment of every day, we are human. But here is what you can do. You can believe that you own your thoughts and that they answer to you. So if they get out of line, you have a short meeting with them and explain that you prefer looking at the bright side and pulling for the good in life. It doesn't always work, but it does a lot of the time and as I practice I have noted that I don't have to stay in a bad place. I can think my way out of it the same way I thought myself into it.

Finally, look at it this way. You are going to think yourself into the next thing you do. Why not make it a force for good. It is for you

©Herb Ratliff, June 4, 2012, All Rights Reserved

Paying Attention, Really

Thought For The Day

Sometimes what is really amazing is how little attention we pay to things that are truly amazing.

When I worked in the financial field of computer technology and development there were many things that were done by both hardware and software engineers which were literally changing the world. It was sometimes hard to comprehend how these ideas could be conceived, let alone produced and made available for use in the home and office.

Consider how it would have sounded to Thomas Edison if you had suggested that you had created a language which if used properly would allow you to talk to a machine. Further, you would be able to tell the machine to follow a variety of different instructions if and only if you could create a machine which could read instructions which were essentially a series of electrical impulses which did nothing more than say open or close.

That would be amazing, right?  OK, it's a little difficult to compare yesterday's world with today's. But that is, in a nutshell what the early computers did. They read one's and zero's as yes and no, or open and close. What made it all work was the exceptional speed at which the processor was able to read these instructions. By the way, those speeds today are snail like.

I am fairly certain that people who don't even care about computers would be willing to agree that they are exceptional tools. So let me get to the point of this thought, paying attention to amazing things which came to me as I was thinking about all the flying I did when I was working in that field.

One day I was sitting on a plane bound for California from from Michigan. The early instruction sets had been offered by the flight attendants, preparations were being made for beverage service and I was settling in with a book when the captain in a smooth, confident voice began to give us a bit of a trip tic for our journey. He began by saying that we would be cruising at an altitude of     35,000 feet. (That's a little over six and a half miles above the ground, I thought.)

Hmm, I murmured, that's about how far it was from my childhood home to the High School I graduated from. He then said, "We'll be traveling at about 550 miles per hour." That's when I pulled out my calculator. After a bit of figuring, eye brow raising and reconfirmation I discovered that in understandable terms that meant that we were moving in a straight line at the rate of  807 feet or a little over two and a half football fields a second.

That, is amazing, wouldn't you agree?

©Herb Ratliff, June 1, 2012, All Rights Reserved