Archive for 'What Really Matters'
I NEVER want to feel nostalgic about Learning.
March 25, 2012 by Ronn Ives, under What Really Matters.
Written during one year’s favorite season:
“Driving this morning with the top down on the Miata, the weather had just a hint of Fall mixed into the late Summer air and I was playing Devo’s greatest hits.
After a certain age, it began to feel like all my nostalgia was locked into a bordered period of time. Nostalgia couldn’t possibly arrive after a certain date. The calendar was moving too quickly. Memories didn’t have the time to age. The cream hadn’t risen.
This morning was different. Fallish weather always sets my stage. The majority of my nostalgia lies within this season. I suppose a lot of it is in my childhood’s yearly goodbye to a Summer of Play, and the start to another Fall of Learning.
Anymore, my Learning doesn’t have Seasonal Cycles. Twenty five and a half years of schooling plus thirteen years of teaching established that feeling of cycles, but I’ve not been involved in academic environments since 1990. Now, my learning occurs only when I read a new book, go to a lecture, choose to watch an intelligent film, consider someone’s thoughts, and think about that which I’m encountering. Now, it’s ALL on me. I am my own engine and fuel.
Was it in school I learned most of what I know? Of course not. That knowledge, important as it remains, wasn’t the majority anymore than the tools in a carryall are the home in which you live. Was your learning cyclic, seasonal? No, but when you’re young it feels that way. Somehow the books your parents put in your hands were recreational, whereas the books of your schools were the ones from which you Learned. It’s a silly idea, but most of us saw this division as real.
No bell signals the end of my learning day, no book is ever “done”. I have no artificial tests examining my comprehension of a moment or idea. It all flows in and it all flows out… no different than breathing. Some moments are of more value, some of less, some needed now, some later, some maybe never… but I choose to keep it flowing. It’s not merely the data that counts – it’s the movement.
After a quarter of a century, listening to Devo gives me another nostalgic feeling for a period of time in my life… But, I NEVER want to feel nostalgic about Learning.
Ever.
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The Quiet Girl
March 18, 2012 by Ronn Ives, under What Really Matters.
I thought you might enjoy this.
Yesterday, the weather was lovely – an unusually fine day on the mid-Atlantic coast – which is deadly for my business since good weather usually causes people to go on picnics, fly kites, lay around at the ocean, or work in their yard. I find myself hoping for good and bad weather at the same time… which means I’m never entirely satisfied.
I’m ambivalent.
The antiques business has been slow, but I always have new old items to clean, ledger, tag, and display, so I keep busy. And, I always keep coffee nearby.
One of “The Dreadeds” came marching toward my front doors while I was busying myself: One adult woman and six kids composed of five girls and one boy ranging from ages 9 to 12. “It could be worse,” I muttered to myself, “they could be two year olds…” (And in case you’re thinking “Well, at least they were mainly girls because boys MUST be more of a problem in stores!” – you are WRONG!)
I began to relax after I gave the kids a couple simple reminders (in an adult tone of voice) they “needn’t touch or hold everything in order to enjoy it”… and I could see them LISTENING to me! I also noted that the adult was “Mom” to at least one of them, and quite good at herding and double-checking on everyone. The quiet kids wandered solo. The social ones moved in small clusters encouraging each others’ enthusiasm for this or that “REALLY COOL!” item. “I WANT THAAAT!” “YEH, YOU SHOULD GET IT!!” “OOH, THAAAT IS SOOO COOL!” “YEH, I LOOOOVE IT!”
For some reason, the quiet kids interest me most… maybe because we’re automatically made aware what the others are thinking but the Quiet Ones move silently and thoughtfully… with long pauses at… well, you’re not sure at what sometimes… but they’re busy thinking about something…
A young, very thin, pale Quiet Girl came up to my desk. “Could you tell me more about that “cat picture” up on your wall?”
“Sure,” I said. “It’s a little rug, all cotton, from about 1930. I have it set up so it can hang on the wall like a tapestry.”
“Thank you” she said and mused off… Meanwhile, the Mom is getting all excited about HER childhood being brought back to her by the things in my store, and the Social Kids are “TOTALLY INTO” the Sixties now… at least until they see something great from the Forties, or… or… or… So on it goes, and I know I needn’t worry about them. Everything’s under control. (This is a rare event – one to be relished!.)
“Excuse me” said Quiet Girl, having returned to my desk, “How much does the cat rug cost?”
“What’s your name?” I asked.
“Courtney”.
“Courtney, I THINK it’s $75.00, so that’s probably way out of your budget, huh?”
“Yes, I suppose so.” She whispered away again, and I went back to polishing silver. Courtney had been so polite and thoughtful, I decided I should “check to see” if I was correct about the price.
“Courtney, I’ll go check on the price, in case I’m wrong…”
“Thank you,” she said, “My Mom likes cats, and this could be a surprise present for her birthday.”
Walking up to the area, working my way around furniture on my front display-window stage, and reaching up to look at the price tag hanging from the rug, I’d already decided to drop the price as much as I could. But, it wasn’t going to be enough for this little girl. The tag said $75.00.
“I was wrong about the price Courtney, it’s $55.00, not $75.00.”
“Thank you,” she said, as I walked back to my desk. She began huddling with her other friends and the Mom. I went back to work.
She returned to my desk with her entire entourage behind. “Could I make payments on it, and, if so, how much would I have to give you NOW?” All eyes were on me. I’d never had a child ask for LAYAWAY!
“Courtney, I have two questions for you: One, are you an HONEST person?” She nodded yes, and the Mom at the back of the group nodded a silent, enthusiastic “absolutely!” “Okay then, the second question: are you a RELIABLE person?” She again nodded yes, followed by the same invisible confirmation from the back row.
“Then I tell you what – you discuss this with everyone else here, decide what YOU can afford to do – and I will agree to it.”
“Okay”, said Courtney, and off they went off to determine The Plan.
Through this entire episode, a lone man was shopping on his own and observing these exchanges. Often, the kids were blocking an aisle to such a degree, he had to stand back and wait until things cleared some… but, I could see he was enjoying this experience, so I saw no reason to intervene. I recognized his face. He’d been in before. I’m awful with names, but faces stick with me. I said “Welcome back.” He came up to my desk and reminded me it had been a year since his last visit. He and his wife returned to check out the shop. They were on their way south to Key West to snorkel for his birthday. They live in Canada. She was out in the car with their dog.
“Great kids, huh?” I said.
“Yeh (in that Canadian accent), they really are.” And we chatted about the design of a 1936 outboard motor I have on display. I mounted it to a display stand, and it sits as sculpture. He was considering it. We also talked about owning our own businesses, and doing in Life what seems healthy, interesting, fun, and, hopefully, makes enough money to keep the bills paid.
Courtney came back up. “Could I give you my four dollars as a payment?”
“Sure. Let’s write up your Layaway Agreement.”
Of course, she had no idea I was skipping the barrage of formalities I need with adults. I didn’t even take her phone number. No way was SHE going to dishonor our agreement. No way.
“Okay, here’s your copy, Courtney. I’ll put a “Layaway” sticker on the rug, so no one else can buy it.”
“Thank you,” she said, smiling. She was very pleased.
The Canadian man stepped up and announced to all the kids that he had a dog outside he was willing to bet they’d love meeting, and since “she” needed a drink of water and a walk anyhow, why don’t they come meet “Katie” and his wife? Naturally, all the kids jumped at the chance. Once they were outside with his wife and the truly amazing Katie – a HUGE 250 pound Bouvier des Flandres – the Herding Mom came up to the two of us men still in the store.
“Thanks for your help. Courtney is a wonderful girl. She’s seen very hard times her entire life. She was born with a serious lung disease, and wasn’t supposed to live longer than eight years. She’s proven the doctors wrong. Her Mother surrounds her with love and optimism and prayer, and they do what they have to do to keep her health as good as is possible. Courtney has feeding tubes put into her every night, but she and her Mom take it in stride.”
“She’s a smart, polite, sweet girl, and I just want to help her out,” I said.
There’s not much to say after that… so we all went outside to meet Katie. When I make as large a circle as I can with my two arms, Katie’s rib cage was still larger. We’re talking HUGE. Charles and I talked about dogs. I talked about my dog Shaman and HIS trials throughout his entire life – no immune system, cancers, diets, pills, injections, radiations, surgeries… Katie too has problems, and it’s a daily battle for her. By now it has become clear to me we’ve all together for a Reason.
Katie drank from one of those “travel” jugs of water – you know, that have the pull-up tip on them? Yes, this hairy, 250 pound dog travels with her humans so much, that they can pull into a “convenience” store, buy bottled water, and she’ll take it right from the bottle. Very cool. Very convenient!
Eventually the group’s van filled with the adult woman, five girls and one boy, and they drove up the street, waving goodbye to all of us. Charles told me he’d consider buying the outboard motor and get back to me. I said “Fine, I’ll be at the store again tomorrow, 12 to 5.” Katie and her Canadian humans loaded up into their vehicle, and departed south. I went back inside the store. Time to finish up some silver polishing…
TWO MINUTES later, Charles’ vehicle pulled back up outside. “I wonder if he forgot something?” I looked around for a wallet or cell phone. He came in.
“What did you forget Charles?”
“Nothing. How much does the little girl owe on the cat rug?”
“Why?”
“I want to take care of it.”
“I knew I liked you for some reason,” I smiled. I pulled the receipt, told him it was $51.00, he found $50 in his wallet, and I sluffed off the other dollar along with the discounts I’d already secretly given her.
“How do you want me to handle this?”, I asked.
“Tell her it’s from Katie.”
I beamed. “I will. You’re a good man.” I paused, and added, “I think I’d better close the store for today. I don’t want anything ruining this experience.” We laughed. They headed on.
I decided to “risk” keeping the store open. So went the afternoon.
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The Second Story of our Home was Close to Heaven
March 17, 2012 by Ronn Ives, under What Really Matters.
Last night, as my wife and I strolled our neighborhood, I listened to the Robins. Their song is a familiar and soft voice.
As children in Indiana, my brother and I had a bedroom on the second floor – a quite high second floor. During the summer (of course with no air conditioning in the 1950′s) our screened windows would be open to catch any cross-breezes available. My window ledge was at the exact height of the end of my bed, so…
I would switch my pillow to the end of the bed…
… and lay there watching dusk turn to night. I could hear the last outdoor voices as all the kids and adults faded inside, and the calls gentled to nothing but Crickets and Robins. They soothed me – I was bathed clean, relaxed, and tired from a day of play. I’d gaze through the thick leaves of our Maple tree – which rose higher than our 3-story home – and see changing patterns of green-black leaves against a lavender-cobalt sky. I saw animals and faces appear and disappear in the swaying arrangement of lights and darks within the leaves. With these images, and the Robins and Crickets singing our songs, my brother and I would drift off to sleep – high up in that Maple tree.
It was close to Heaven.
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Let the Fragile Illusion Continue
February 5, 2012 by Ronn Ives, under Larger Forces at Work, What Really Matters.
George Harrison died in 2001. Twenty years earlier, John Lennon was murdered. Each of their deaths had a very different effect on me.
We’ve come to almost expect people in the music business (and the other arts) to be self-destructive – dying “too young”. This is NOT the exclusive history of Baby Boomers and their Rock & Roll heroes. Just two words to make my point: Billie Holiday. But when a NOBODY simply walks up in the dark out of nowhere with no warning and guns down a famous person (especially one you admire), and offers no explanation (not even a crazy one), it’s a shock. THAT musician was supposed to go on – creating more of their Art.
Harrison died of throat cancer. I don’t know its cause, but many of his career photos show a cigarette nearby. It’s a choice. My Great Uncle Willis collapsed dead in the hallway of the hospital sneaking a smoke while being treated for lung cancer. As did his sister, my grandma. As did her son, my father. None the less, Harrison was 58 – only 7 years older than me – and his Time was up. All Things Must Pass. Paul lost his wife Linda to breast cancer, but he, along with Ringo – as “Beatles”, true markers in the lives of so many – still live.
Let the fragile illusion continue as it can. We want our heroes with us. I heard Elvis was spotted at a truck stop near Omaha, Nebraska just last week. The King lives!!
“My sweet Lord, I really want to be with you.”
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“NORM!!”
January 31, 2012 by Ronn Ives, under What Really Matters.
One of my favorite TV shows of the 1980′s was “Cheers”. I prefer shows (including comedies) that are based on personalities (“Cheers”, “M.A.S.H.”, “All in the Family”, “Andy Griffith”, “Everybody Loves Raymond”, “The Honeymooners”, “The Wonder Years”, etc.), NOT situations (“Sit-Coms” like “Three’s Company”, “Gilligan’s Island”, “Green Acres”… ad nauseum).
Back to “Cheers”. Tuesdays I go to the video store to pick films for the week. I like to arrive when Greg or Michelle first opens their doors. When I walk in (sometimes they see me out in my car and wave me in early) it’s sort of like walking into “Cheers”….. We like each other. We’re all here at the same time. Let’s enjoy it. Now.
So, while I browse and read reviews in my film books, we chat. We talk about business, films (naturally), and current events. On September 11th, I first learned of the attack BEFORE the second WTC building or the Pentagon was hit, or the third plane was downed by those brave passengers. Michelle hadn’t heard a word. When I got home, more had happened, of course. I called Michelle to fill her in.
People fully involved in our life – woven into the daily fabric of shared experiences for decades – are the exceptions. Most of our days are “NORM!” moments. The majority of our time is spent in “circumstantial relationships”. If it wasn’t for the JOB, APPOINTMENT, CLASSROOM, BUS, WAITING ROOM, HANG OUT, or CHANCE ENCOUNTER, we’d have very few exchanges at all. It would be one seriously solo day for most of us.
I’m here to enjoy myself while I work. If “Norm” didn’t always return to “Cheers” as his watering hole, no one would yell “NORM!!!” as he walked in. No one would learn to tolerate – even savor – “Coach’s” odd, mystical, confused comments. No one would take “Cliff” aside and advise him his obsession with finding famous “faces” in common vegetables was getting pretty weird.
Let’s enjoy our time while we work or play. We’re all here at the same time anyhow.
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“Let’s go fishin’!”
January 16, 2012 by Ronn Ives, under What Really Matters.
My Grandparents, Russ and Zora, were married on this day in 1924. They remained married for 72 years. Seventy two years…
I was sitting around with them one day down in Florida and asked how they’d managed to pull that off.
They paused, looked at each other, silently…
( … I’m sitting there waiting for the Key Truth to Marriage… advice from my Elders… the Wise… )
Grandpa turned back to me and said:
“We have no idea.”
I laughed, everyone shrugged their shoulders and laughed, and on went the day…
Facts: they loved each other, could not (or would not) imagine life without the other, and they worked and played hard. They CHOSE to be (and stay) partners.
End of discussion.
Now let’s get on with Life… or, as they would’ve put it: “Let’s go fishin’!”
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Here. Eat this. Drive that.
December 22, 2011 by Ronn Ives, under What Really Matters.
I’m at home. It’s Day Two of people installing a new dishwasher ordered by my wife. I’m just the facilitator, otherwise I stay out of it. She’s the kitchen designer and the chef. I don’t know and see no reason to know anything about any of this. When it comes to nice food, she takes care of me. I admit it. My only job is to choose reasonable portions and eat them, thank you very much. The running joke is when she’s out of town, I go see my girlfriend “Conda”, the manager at the closest Taco Bell.
My wife’s choices in home machines are probably well-suited for her uses. Like I said, I really don’t know. She chose our hi-tek clothes washing machine. It’s full of computers and comes with a book. Really? You need books to use these things? How about something somewhere BETWEEN pounding clothes on a rock at the stream AND a gizmo that could probably land on the Moon? She eventually showed me two settings I could use for my laundry, and I leave it at that.
God I sound old.
I advise her on automobiles, which are equally important in our lives. It’s a complex and potentially expensive – not to mention dangerous – subject that requires being informed every day. It’s a hobby-study of mine. She does food. I do transportation. Together, we keep each other closer to being safe and healthy.
That’s a big part of being married, I’d say.
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Microscopic Reunion
December 17, 2011 by Ronn Ives, under What Really Matters.
December 17, 2011:
Holiday Stories. Why not?
I don’t remember when I began believing in Santa, nor do I remember when I faltered or stopped. I remember the times between. Times of sweet anticipation – that time of exploding, gift-wrapped childhood.
Each year around this time, my wife and I watch a number of “Holiday” movies, and a few nights ago we again watched “A Christmas Story”. I get an especially large entertainment buzz off of that one because it is SO like my childhood… you have NO idea… right down to the kid freezing his tongue to the metal pole in the school yard. I saw it happen myself. I swear.
One of my best gifts – of all time – was the peddle car I was given at about the age of three. I literally froze in delighted awe when seeing it parked by the glowing green tree in the living room as I came downstairs that glorious early Christmas morning. It began my love of “real” cars.
I’ve spent the last few years casually searching the minds of my family, trying to locate that car no matter what its condition. I’m ready to give it a complete, loving restoration. Unfortunately, I believe I’ve “hit the wall”. End of the Road. My cousin and I decided that once it left me (then my brother) it DID come to her family, and after her younger brother drove it (into the ground?), the car vanished. Translation: Trash. It’s probable the car was unceremoniously taken to the curb, then taken from the curb by a city garbage truck to a dump there in Northern Indiana, where it slowly dissolved back into steel dust.
Decades later, a woman moving West unloaded HER junk at that same dump. Stuck to the soles of her shoes was local dump dirt. In that dirt were molecules of my Peddle Car. Years later, I moved to Southern Arizona. As I walked through a flea market, the wind blew up a dust. The dust had once been on the soles of that woman’s shoes – but it now traveled without her. I inhaled a few specks of that dust. The dust entered my body and slowly traveled about… until meeting up with other Peddle Car molecules from the days of my driving it up and down the sidewalk and the driveways of our Northern Indiana neighborhood.
The reunion happened on a microscopic level, yet I suddenly felt a sense of satisfaction I could explain in no other way…
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I’m grateful for the mundane
October 15, 2011 by Ronn Ives, under What Really Matters.
When people get together who own small businesses (or just work in retail) they always swap horror stories about nasty, rude, self-centered customers (and their children) from Hell. It’s therapeutic to let off a little steam. But, if you stick around, the comparisons begin to lighten.
You hear the stories about people who walked in and blew the old stereotypes right out of the water… you know, the old bum who pulled out thousand dollar bills and paid for everything in cash… THAT sort of thing. Then… the stories begin to soften.
Yesterday, I had a visitor who could’ve passed as the definition of Middle Class Whitebread Suburban Womanhood. Paint your own picture. Considering that my shop focuses on the avant garde, edgy, acquired-taste, odd, urbane stuff of the 20th century, initially I gave her little credit. Well, you know where I’m going with this… turns out she was a very knowledgeable representative for one of the most important Modernist design manufacturers of the 20th century, and could talk the talk and walk the walk, baby.
Our chat lasted an hour, was extremely enjoyable, and, as happens to me more than I’d like to admit (but am happy to report), she was a wonderful Stereotype Buster. I got my kick in the butt just when I needed it… again.
We ALL need it. The human brain “clusters” ideas into concepts we can manage. In itself, that is not a bad thing – in fact, it’s good and necessary for initial learning AND surviving. But when it’s merely a method of recreational pre-judgment, you can screw up. The recipient of YOUR problem is dealt with unfairly, and YOU may be missing THE person you REALLY NEED to meet. Why,”SOME OF MY BEST FRIENDS” were people that at first glance did NOT appear to meet my definition of smart, witty, funny, interesting, warm, fair, honest, sexy, decent, or… whatever it was I was looking for but failed to see at the time. And conversely, others were given credit when it wasn’t due or didn’t exist at all.
Try this: Think back to your best friends. How did you meet? Was it an amazing and spectacular moment, or did they arrive into your life as part of a common, mundane, random situation that held no noticeable significance? What did you decide about them in that first minute, and did they “fit” your expectations? I doubt it.
I wouldn’t have nearly the number of wide experiences I do without my store. I’m grateful for this bonus.
…….Well, most of the time.
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Home
September 17, 2011 by Ronn Ives, under What Really Matters.
“Home” is easy to define, and, most of us are usually homeless.
“Home” was in a coffee shop with a best friend debating, sipping, and smoking all night while joking with a favorite waitress.
“Home” was in a particularly good summer Climbing Tree with a spot high in the branches where a comfortable, hidden sit was possible. Birds paid you no mind when you were alone up in our tree.
“Home” was when you had spare time and used it for absolutely nothing but walking fields with your dog, and, when it felt right, both of you laid down in tall grass under the Fall sun for a short, shallow nap. Your head, laying on his chest, moved up and down with his slow drowsy breath while he felt your familiar extra weight on him.
“Home” was with your loved one doing anything you both enjoyed, and you might – or might not – speak. Words weren’t used for filler, distraction, countermoves, or reassurance. You did not need them.
“Home” isn’t architecture or philosophy, it is a condition of faith. It grows from years of changing love, fine tuning, flexibility, patience, and seeing your bigger pictures. It can’t be willed, and it can’t remain a lucky accident. Homes take years to build, and they can be stolen in seconds.
Defend your Homes.