Don't Postpone Joy

Don’t Postpone Joy

It’s instinctively natural when you’re a kid for you to lay on your back, look up at the sky— grayish animals, ashen castles, and ephemeral people drift by urged by an imploring, inconsistent breeze.  When you get older you tend to only look up at the sky to see what the weather is like—do I need an umbrella? There’s even less of a need to look up towards the Southern California sky when every day is sunny and warm. 

When you’re a kid walking home you might kick a can for blocks, and if you’re with your friend it can turn out to be a competitive game.  As an adult if you’re seen kicking a can down the street you’re probably imagining someone’s head as being the can.  Most adults have to schedule joy, usually it’s birthdays, anniversaries, or vacations.

I’ve always found the phrase wake up and smell the roses ridiculous, but that’s probably because I had horrible hay fever growing up. My eyes had to be pried open with hot compresses in the summer; the gooeyness was so overwhelming.  Sometimes I’d have a nightmare, go to open my eyes but I’d be stuck there with whoever was chasing me. But smelling roses first thing in the morning is so languidly la-de-da.  You’d have to be a kid to wake up with that attitude; a kid, or in Barbara Streisand’s bedroom from On a Clear Day. The room was filled with flowers, the sheets, the comforter, the wall paper--Yuck. Wake-up and smell the coffee—now that makes sense. Get up, get going, and where’s my cigarettes?

Regrettably as adults, especially in the West, we find most of our joy from things—big square things; primarily TV’s, cell phones, cars, and houses.  I think we should look for joy in more round things—the sun, the face of someone you love, their eyes. 
     But more importantly it’s the things you don’t readily see that should bring you joy; the circle that love traverses to get back to you. You give it out and it travels around the country, around the world, through lifetimes because it had to come back to you where God originally planted it.  My friend Bobbi prattled on forever about this book You Can Heal Your Life, and 10 years later someone gave it to me as a present.  And, both she and the book have been an eternal stream of joy and inspiration ever since.  Joy isn’t postponed; you just need to be more aware—it’s usually right in front of you.

Politeness, A Bygone Era

 

 

 

Politeness, A Bygone Era

I live across the street from a karate school and an insurance company.  It’s a red brick building, ostensibly an ecological, green construction.  I’m not sure what makes it that other than the fact that it has a green leaf on the black awnings that hang from the structure.  There was, however, a sign when the 1 ½ story building went under construction that hailed its ecological virtues.  It was a fairly large sign with a lot of writing that also acknowledged the political forces behind the financing, whomever office’s purview the construction fell under.  I love how politicians like to be celebrated for merely doing their job.  When I worked for R. R. Donnelley I’d love to have put on every Time and Newsweek magazine that came off my 13 pocket stitcher: “Saddle Stitched by Howard Gardner.” At 10,000 an hour I’d get much more publicity than any state senator, assembly man, or county executive.

            I hadn’t moved back to Montclair that long before the property across the street was developed.  The construction couldn’t have been that disturbing because I don’t remember loud motors, hammering, or the shouting of workers barking back and forth.  I do remember them erecting the roof, but that’s all.  I could go off on a tangent about my views on immigration, but that’s not my point.  I want to discuss politeness or the lack thereof in our modern society. 

The insurance company is very polite.  Of course, our house is insured by them as well as one car.  The head guy, the one who has his name on the letter head, business cards, and refrigerator magnets waves to me from time to time.  And, there is a young man that works for the insurance company who’s been there since the beginning.  He’s also very friendly. 

The owner of the karate school is nice enough, but the parents of the kids that attend are more than just annoying.  They’re often downright rude.    They express their impoliteness by constantly blocking our driveway.   I don’t mean just having the tail of the car or its front bumper hanging over a bit.  I mean literally they park right in front of the driveway while they wait for their kids to come out of karate class, or when letting them out for class.  What’s amazing to me is that they’re rude to unknown person(s) instead of blocking in their fellow parents across the street.  And, despite the fact that there is usually another space or two available to the left or right of our driveway, which maybe technically illegal because it’s too close to the stop sign, it is certainly less rude. 

The last time somebody parked in front of the driveway I was walking the dog.  I saw the orange Jeep blocking the driveway and I knew my 86 year old mom was about to come home.  Yes, she still drives. Gawd help us all. I attempted to ask the person sitting behind the wheel if they would move their car.  As I approached the vehicle I realized no one was in the car.  It wasn’t idling the car was shut-off.  The couple were across the street looking at my neighbor’s flowers—hosta and daisies or something equally pedestrian.  Ironically, at the other end of the building is this exquisite garden that has something new blooming practically all year long. Now why a toddler needs karate school or anything so structured at such a young age is beyond me—but that’s why some elementary schools have begun hiring a staff member whose job is to teach kids how to play.  Gosh, when I was in elementary school I could amuse myself with a stick, or kicking the can for hours.  Meanwhile, back at the ranch or in this case the  horticultural admiring couple; when I mentioned something to them about their car blocking the driveway, their response, which I’ve heard 100’s of times was, “We were just picking up our son; we’ll just be a few minutes.” It’s often that or some variation.  I told them generally how many times I’ve heard that excuse—I didn’t have a specific number. 

The husband gruffly loaded his kid and the kid’s paraphernalia in his orange Jeep and snipped, “Very neighborly of you.’ 

You park, not idle your car, in front of my driveway then you have the nerve to chastise me about being neighborly?  I guess when it’s all about you—that’s the way one thinks.  If you don’t have manners because your parents never stressed how important it was to be polite—how could you not be myopic?

            Another incident was when my mom, still 86, was in her car about to back out the driveway and yes some karate school parent was parked in front, blocking it.  My mom waited, she tooted, finally got out and walked down the end of the driveway, spoke to the lady, mom got back in her car and the lady still didn’t move until she finished her text.  Really? But we’ve all had that experience with cell phone users.  Our electronics have caused us to live in our own self-contained little bubble.   Our private world has its own music and our own public, what should be private, conversations on our cell phones.  When I’m in line at the bank I don’t want to hear your personal spiteful gossip. But then again, I don’t watch reality TV which seems to reward those who can be the bitchiest to the most devious.  Impoliteness is celebrated in our society.  When did it become classy for a woman to proclaim she’s a brat? But, as usual I digress.

            I am, however, happy to report that people haven’t parked in front of our driveway in a while.   Originally, eight to nine months ago I went over and spoke to the owner—a nice enough guy.  He seemed genuinely embarrassed, and sympathetic to my issue.  I’m sure he spoke to the parents as he said he would, and no one parked in front of the driveway for at least 2.5 weeks, but then it started again.  Less than two months ago I went over and spoke to an instructor who happened to be the owner’s wife.  She was very sweet and has been ever since.  I didn’t know the owner was married or I’d have gone to the boss right away. No one has parked in front of our driveway since. But look what it took.