Do I need to lighten up on the lights?

Driving by a house near my street earlier this week, it pleased me to see lights on in nearly every room of the good-size Colonial.
“At least I’m not alone,” I thought.
A few second later my happiness waned. I know the dad and he probably is doing his best to make sure every light in the house is not on at once.

Pulling on to my own street about a week earlier around 8 or 9 p.m., I noticed that there were lights on on all three floors of my split-level house. As always, we had the most lights on in the neighborhood by far. The unusual thing was there was no one home at the time.

My own father was and is a stickler about turning off lights and keeping the thermostat at 62. When I was first married and tried to enforce the same rule, my wife told that my father and I were both nuts and pushed the thermostat up to 70.
My dad’s mom, my grandmother, worried about her utility bills even when she was older and her sons paid the bill. They implored her to turn up the heat during the winter, but when I visited I always found her wrapped in a blanket with the thermostat set around 60 in the dead of winter. Like many children of the Depression, she worried about money even when she didn’t have to.

My wife’s theory on lights is that it costs you more to turn them on and off so our children have gotten used to turning a light on and leaving them on when they leave the room. They have apparently never noticed or don’t care that their father runs around behind them turning off the lights they leave on.

When they have to pay the bills themselves do you think they will follow my example or continue to waste money and harm the planet?

I’d also appreciate any advice on how to convince my family to change their ways.

Let me know what you think.

Master Motivator?

Carrying two white plastic garbage bags (one filled with plastic bottles, the other with aluminum cans) and a paper bag filled with bottles I walk into the redemption area of my supermarket and start loading plastic in a machine. The scratchy, grinding sound of plastic being pulverized reminds me of nails against a chalkboard so I squirm slightly as I send 40 or so bottles to meet their maker. Otherwise, this is the one weekly chore I enjoy most.
I do it willingly, with a smile and without being reminded.
Why?

After loading all the bottles and cans into the machine, I drive to the other end of the parking lot, enter the store and proceed to the customer service desk. Handing Marissa my redemption tickets, I wait with a smile. Marissa is probably the only supermarket employee I remember by name and the reason is connected to the question above. She adds up the tickets on a calculator, opens the register and hands me nearly $5. I promptly place the money in my wallet and drive to get a coffee, using a little less than half. The rest stays in my wallet for some treat later in the week.

As I raise two teen-agers and run a newsroom, finding ways to motivate my sons, the staff and myself has grown into a serious study. Reading and listening to the latest books helps. Trial and error has also yielded results as has updating the lessons my father taught me.
My euphoria when Marissa hands me the money is proof that instant reward is a pretty good motivator. I feel a little guilty about being so happy because I often preach to my sons and others that the key to success is to approach each day asking “What can I contribute?” not “What can I take?” According to that approach, cutting the lawn, vacuuming the pool and raking leaves should be as rewarding as returning bottles and cans.

Let me know what you think.

Am I nuts or what?

“They are too expensive. Eat something else,” Mary tells me as she starts putting away about a dozen bags from the two different stores she shops at each week. She used to shop at three, but changed her routine a month ago. I have to admit, I don’t know why.
Based on her remark about cost, you probably suspect I asked for an expensive steak or perhaps lobster tails. Not quite. Just some shelled Walnuts.

My dependence on Walnuts began about three months ago when she brought home a big bag without me asking for them. Since then, they have become a great way for me to get some quick protein. As soon as I was hooked , however, the issue of cost came up.
“Walnuts cost a lot,” she told me after I remarked how much I liked them.
“Too many nuts aren’t good for you,” she added.
She went on to explain that Walnuts would cost more come November because Walnuts are in high demand around the holidays.
I didn’t say anything, but did notice that on the shelf where the Walnuts once sat was a big package of red licorice (her favorite), about a dozen packs of gum, Devil Dogs and Chips Ahoy cookies. A little to the right was a bowl filled with three different kinds of candy bars. In the pantry where she keeps various crunchy snacks were three bags of potato chips and two bags of tortilla chips. In the fridge I found assorted ice cream, including some individual size sundaes made by Friendly’s that I suspect are pretty expensive.

My wife is a great shopper, but sometimes her priorities seem a little off.
Let me know what you think?

Half a brain ?

“Here you go honey,” the young woman in the drive-thru window says as she hands me my order.
After depriving myself of anything tasty for a week, my stomach steered me to Wendy’s and an order of French Fries on a recent Friday night.
But my good mood was interrupted by this smiling young face handing me fries my nose could detect long before they passed out the window and into my vehicle.
Her mistake ? Calling me “honey.”

I’m not sure what disturbs me more. The fact that she called me “honey” or that it bothers me when a woman half my age calls me "honey." As recently as a few years ago, it wouldn’t have affected me. Suddenly “honey” from someone so much younger seems too informal, fake and almost patronizing. Half my brain tells me to lighten up and roll with it. The other half feels disrespected. The half that is telling me to lighten up is right but I just can’t accept it.

Let me know what you think.

The Great Communicator (2009)

Knowing he was sick and might be sleeping, I turned the door knob to Danny’s room slowly and opened the door a crack to make sure he was OK. He was curled up with his back toward me. I could see his eyes slightly open.
“Dan, are you OK?” I asked.
He doesn’t have the flu but has been battling a sore throat, headache and fatigue on and off for about two weeks. This is the second time he’s missed school.
“My throat is still really sore,” he said, lifting the covers enough to reveal that his fingers were busy texting.
Someone my age or older might think it strange for a sick child to be texting in bed. I didn’t think anything of it. Danny texts constantly, even while he plays pick-up basketball.

He got a new phone recently because his other one broke. My theory is it just wore out from Danny’s thumbs pressing against it. At 14, he is the youngest member of the family. He is also the one who communicates constantly in what is called “real time.” Like many kids his age, Danny doesn’t have an e-mail address. Texting and instant messaging are his preferred forms of communication because they are instant.

I don’t send or receive many texts. Typing with one or two fingers feels too awkward. I’m also not very proficient in the various spelling shortcuts that allow Danny and his friends to use maybe 20 characters whereas I would need 40 or more.
“Dad you need to send shorter texts,” Danny told me about a year ago. He showed me some setting on my cell phone that helps you write shorter texts by anticipating what you are trying to write and inserting the characters it thinks you need.
“Danny, could you shut this thing off for me ?” I asked a day later.

My gut feeling is that soon I will be texting and instant messaging and making use of some other form of real time communication that I can’t even imagine. Danny will probably never have an email-address. When he is my age what kind of new form of communication will his children be using?

Let me know what you think.

Dog Days Ahead ?

On one of the few sunny Saturdays we’ve had recently, I looked out on the side deck and noticed a cat napping on the cushion of an outdoor love seat. It caught my attention because it was large and gray and because I don’t have a cat. The deck is close to the pool and part of a side yard that is fenced off. I couldn’t believe this semi-fat cat jumped the fence or slid underneath it.

“Did you see the cat?,” my wife said excitedly as I spoke to her on the phone a couple of hours later. I had left and she had returned and spotted the cat napping. I could tell by the girlish tone that she liked having a cat on the deck. She had cats for many years in college and before we had children. I think she would like another one. She also has been talking about getting a dog. I never had a dog growing up, but she did.

When she first started talking about getting a dog it bothered me because I don’t want one and I took as a sign that she was already anticipating how empty our nest will be in just a few years. My mom raised four children and never had a dog and then when her youngest moved out she immediately got one. I suspected that after caring for children for close to thirty years she needed something to care for.

I really don’t want a dog today or a few years from now unless someone is home during the day to look after it. I don’t like the idea of leaving a dog alone all day while we are at work. One time when Mary brought up getting a dog I suggested we adopt a child when our sons leave home because children play basketball and baseball and that would give me something to do. She didn’t like the idea.

By the way, I didn’t bother the cat that Saturday or on a couple of other afternoons when it returned. It belongs to one of the neighbors and is very good at catching mice and other critters in my yard. Two weeks ago I was cutting the lawn and it proudly pranced through my backyard holding one of those pesky moles in its mouth. A few minutes later I found a half eaten squirrel. I figure the least I can offer this prolific hunter is a comfortable place to curl up.

Let me know what you think.

Heaven or Hell Part 2

A follow-up on my previous blog. My son continues to be a little tense about my efforts to help him keep up with his school work. He said something to me this weekend that made me think. I was asking him about his progress on some assignments he needed to make up and he again became frustrated.
“Mike, I’m just trying to help,” I explained.
“Dad, do you realize we haven’t talked about anything else this week but my school work,” he responded.
I thought for a minute and realized he had a point.

Let me know what you think.