The New Normal

We leisurely occupied a table for eight at a nice local lunch place. We laughed and the conversation flowed naturally. The atmosphere was infectious with good cheer and our waiter doted on us. Even though the restaurant carried Pepsi product she showed up with Coke for the 2 ladies who have discerning palates when it comes to their carbonated beverages. Ordering was a bit mundane, repetitious with all of our cups of butternut squash soup and house salads. One of the ladies had requested separate bills and I just rolled my eyes thinking what a female move that had been.

I recognized the waiter as a guy who’s been there a while and is good at his job. Looking around, I noted that the restaurant had a typical number of patrons for a Wednesday afternoon. Everything just seemed so normal.This is one of my favorite local restaurants. I have been holding a grudge against them since they took my favorite dessert off the menu: chocolate Khulua bread pudding with a carmel sauce. It’s been over a year and I have refused to have another dessert and let them know why. I tend to only eat things I really like.

One of my friends was on a really tight schedule for the afternoon so she spoke to the waiter and he brought her bill out promptly when he saw she was finishing up. She hurriedly opened the check holder to insert her credit card and just at that moment before she closed it she caught sight of the total. Her eyes got big and she took a deep breath and looked up with a look I recognized right away.

You know, that “holy mother I am in a hurry and the waiter gave me the check for the whole table and now what am I going do”. After all the rest of us lollygaggers had not really finished eating yet and trying to get a table of woman to settle up a bill quickly...well there is nothing quick about that plan. So when she looked up and gulped, the other end of the table burst out in laughter. Then James, our waiter, handed her the separate bill and we all laughed. Then she said something very profound, “ A year ago I would have just put my card in and paid it without a second thought, just as a nice gesture.”

That was then, this is now.

Our old normal was just building a life responsibly.Here is the Detroit area, in an affluent suburb with nice homes, good schools and safe streets. We are basically a hard working, family oriented community. A very large portion of our local economy is automotive related and has been since the baby boomer age began. Many paychecks come to our zip code from the Big 3, and also from the several Japanese auto companies that have placed headquarters here. People have faithfully put in years at companies, built their careers, were careful to have financial planning, college funds for their kids and 401K accounts in order.

Things have changed, mostly beyond any of our control. Our home values have fallen roughly 50% in the past 3 years. Many of the breadwinners here have already faced layoff. Many more are in a state of perpetual anxiety, knowing the secure job they had is now just hanging by a thread. Many more who are still sure their jobs are secure are secretly doubting it. Because as people lose their health and dental insurance, as local communities have their revenues diminishing because homes are not being bought and sold, tax liens are piling up, foreclosures are on the rise.... not only does that then affect local businesses, but also our health care industry and there will be far less money to pay for the excellent city services we are used to. A decreasing population and the tax revenues also means there will eventually have to be cut backs in education.

So we are all adjusting to the new normal. Depending on how drastically your family has been hit dictates the level of change in lifestyle that needs to be made. Even the most securely employed are being cautious because everyone knows what is now happening across our nation is not a good thing. People are definitely scrutinizing budgets and cutting back their spending. We are all examining priorities, plans and making adjustments.

Back at our lunch table sat a group of people who share a common faith and despite their circumstances chose to celebrate time together. Our group consisted of people who had plenty of things to be in despair about. Joblessness, depression, marital woes,kid problems, serious illness and a big dose of uncertainty. No one sat there looking miserable. We were all there to shore each other up. It’s going to take a lot of that to navigate our way through all the changes that have occured in our community and the ones yet to come.

Wet Leonard

True story. Walstrom Marina in Harbor Springs, MI. Summer 1997.

Several air bubbles rose to the top before the dome of this bald head broke the dark water’s surface. It reminded me of a wet stepping stone in a garden after a rain.

An old little diddy came to mind, “ plop plop fizz fizz, oh what a relief it is”. My sister in law was frantic beside me (she only had 2 children, so she’s a little more sensitive than I). I was calm, even giggling just a little. She looked at me like I had lost my mind.

I fantasized about just taking my dainty sandal clad foot and placing it ever so gently on the top of that dome. He tended to be a know it all. Control freak maximus. He could suck the fun out of the room in about ten seconds flat. Insecure and distrustful he was always compelled to boss everyone in the room around and didn’t even realize he was doing it (kind of Kate, from Jon & Kate plus 8, only crankier).

Are you horrified by my confession yet?

Get a grip, this particular fantasy/ thought process took about 5 seconds, one of those life flashing in front of your face at warp speed kind of moments. The furious splashing and gnarly tanned fingers gripping the rope that was mooring the boat to the dock snapped me out of it.. The responsible human in me sprung into action. My experience as a nurse and mother of 6 had turned me into a seasoned professional when it came to reacting to crisis.

With my sister in law holding on to a post with one hand (thank God she has always been a solid athletic kind of woman)and to me with the other, I reached down and pulled the victim closer to the dock and got his head above the water. Together we hefted him up and out he came coughing. sputtering and ashen from his panic. It was no small feat to retrieve a 71 year old man, fully dressed in water laden blue jeans, tennis shoes and a golf shirt out of the murky waters. Sadly, his ball cap gently floated beyond our reach.

It had began as a typical Leonard moment. We were enjoying a family reunion of my husband’s siblings up in Northern Michigan. All the ladies broke up in pairs to explore the quaint town and the fellows were resting themselves at the waterside bar, enjoying the marina activity. When my sister in law and I returned from our shopping, Leonard excitedly said, “come here, come with me I want to show you something real quick”. A knowing look passed between us as it only could because we were the two daughters in law of this man and we were used to his peculiar ways.

We followed him over to the marina adjacent to Dudley’s Dock where he was chattering away about the small yachts the men had toured earlier while we were shopping. He was determined to play yacht salesman, quickly reciting the particulars of each vessel we passed. We approached the 34 foot Tiara he was so excited about showing to us mere women.
It was docked in about 15 feet of very chilly water on a bay of Lake Michigan. We dutifully followed him as he confidently marched up the sturdy 3 foot wide plank connecting the boat to the dock. But, instead of turning to board the boat, good old Leonard marched straight off of the plank and sunk like a stone in the cold lake waters.

It might not have been so dramatic except the proud man who was my father in law could not swim a lick. Despite serving in the Navy during WWII, and himself living on a small lake outside of the Detroit area, he truly never learned to swim! Once we hauled him out of that water I could not stop laughing.

Sheepishly, he shuffled back to the table they had claimed at Dudley’s Dock, squishing all the way with every step he took. Of course, it was all a big hoopla when we arrived at the table and were barely able to recount the event due to our now hysterical braying over the whole thing. He didn’t think it was funny. What to do now? All of his children showed appropriate concern and insisted we go into one of the many shops in the town and purchase dry clothes for him. He insisted he would be fine, drying out on his own, no use to needlessly spend good money when he had a whole suitcase full of clothes 30 minutes away at the cottage.

They all pleaded with him as we had dinner reservations in an hour for the 12 of us. It was supposed to be our big “adult” evening out, having left about 12 children back at the cottage. If there was one thing my husband’s siblings never learned to do was to negotiate with their father. If he said no, there was no “let’s change the approach and ask him again”. Even if it was for his own good.

I snuck off to a nearby store and bought a dry t-shirt for the man, but I really needed him to cooperate if I were to buy him a dry pair of pants. Cooperate he did not! My sister in law and I manhandled him into changing into the dry shirt, and putting on his windbreaker he had thankfully left on his chair during our little excursion. From the waist down he was still wet Leonard. An hour in the sun had not done much in the way of drying out his stiff blue jeans and his tennis shoes still squeaked and squished with every step he took.

As you all know trying to order and get served with that big of a party can get a bit complicated. We did our best to place or orders and get the show on the road. At one end of the table my one of my husband’s brothers asked the waiter to please crank the AC up as he felt it was getting stuffy. Down at the other end wet Leonard (whose lips now had a slightly violet cast to them) asked the other waiter if he could perhaps turn down the AC. And so it went.

Leonard was a complicated piece of work. He could be as cantankerous as all get out but had a generous streak. He loved babies and toddlers but did not seem to know how to relate to children over the age of 5. He was always the first one to volunteer to help with a project, but the consequences were then he was in charge of said project. We had a pretty contentious relationship over the years but I think we eventually developed a healthy respect for each other.

He taught me most of the home improvement skills I know and being that I’m married to a man who travels, and is not very handy, this was a valuable part of my upbringing. I believe seeing the work I had to take responsibility for since his son traveled raised his esteem for me. He came to appreciate that I was a hard worker. He never directly told me that, but one day while working on a small project together he gave me a small red ball peen hammer which to this day is one of my favorite tools. He said it had been in his family a long time and he wanted me to have it.

It is funny how age matures your outlook on things. I now have 3 grown children and 3 still requiring an extreme amount of direction. I found out that I’m not the perfect parent after all. It would be nice if Leonard was still around so I could extend him a lot more grace than I did in the past. Of course , he would still drive me crazy but I think I could appreciate him even while he was.

Banking "Fun"damentals

The decision has been made that it is high time I change my perspective on some of the everyday annoyances that come my way. I’ve convinced myself that I need to find the fun in my day so when faced with frustration my head won’t pop off.I spend an awful lot of time waiting in my day to day routines and it’s not that I don’t have a fair amount of patience, but I really am a bit obsessive about efficient use of time.

I’m not a very good waiter when it comes to standing in line. Now waiting in a room with a chair to sit in doesn’t bother me at all because I can bring a book to read, play a sudoku, text a few people or clean my purse out as a way of occupying myself. Sometimes I’m disappointed if I’m called in before I’m done with my chosen task.

The standing in line kind of waiting is a whole different animal. I’m not a good chit chatter, that seems like a waste of time. Don’t ask me "how are you?" if you don’t really want to hear how I am doing. I like the new self check outs at the grocery stores, now that they seem to have worked a lot of the bugs out. I’ve long been a pack my own groceries type while the cashier is checking me out, I’m all about moving the process along so I can move on to the next thing. Sometimes, especially when you’re trying to get through the self check line with some wine or beer, it can become a bit of a time suck waiting for the cashier to notice you and punch in the code. I’ve become proactive and start waving them down before I run the bottle through the beeper, because we all know once you do the red light will come on and you can’t check out the rest of your stuff before they come clear you.

My most recent perplexing incident occurred on a trip to the bank. I don’t make too many of these since we do most of our banking online, but sometimes it can’t be helped. In light of my scathing commentary from last fall entitled, The Only Action In Town where I explored the mystery of the only building construction going on in metro Detroit seemed to be associated with the hyper-proliferation of new banks on every corner, only to be repeated again every few miles. I knew back then there was something rotten in Denmark and now it’s evident that these big bank corporations are big stinkers

Keeping that in mind, I made my way into a local bank and there was a casual friday theme going on with every employee wearing Red Wing (NHL Detroit Hockey team) t-shirts. I manage to get myself in line, although there was no tidy line with the velvet ropes as there should have been. I’m there attempting to do a favor for one child who wants me to deposit money she owes her brother into his account and I’m getting annoyed since there is not a clear line formed and each time a few new customers wander in my “next in line” status is threatened.

I am then approached by a tall lanky guy in blue jeans and a red t-shirt. (Oh no, now he’s expecting some chit chat). Then I notice his employee name tag as he starts in on me:

Bank Concierge Guy : How can I help you?

The Mayor:  I’m just here to make a deposit. (by moving this blasted line along)

Bank Concierge Guy:   Do you have an account with us?

The Mayor: Yes, at another branch. (Why do we need to waste bank resources paying this guy to do PR or concierge us?)

Bank Concierge Guy: Are you familiar with our online banking system?

The Mayor: Yes, quite familiar. (What’s he trying to sell me?)

Bank Concierge Guy: Were you aware you can move money between accounts using our online banking?

The Mayor: Yes, but that is not what I am doing. I’m depositing money into my son’s account. (now I’m getting those frownies on my face because he’s vexing me.)

Bank Concierge Guy: Does your son know how to use online banking?

The Mayor: Yes, but I need to make a deposit, I am not transferring money. (This guy is like a dog with a bone, leave it alone already.)

Bank Concierge Guy: Does your son have direct deposit?

The Mayor: This is cash (I flash a $100 bill in front of his face in a huff). I just need to deposit it into his account. (Now the bank guy has the frownies on his face, do you think he’s not familiar with cash anymore?)

Bank Concierge Guy: The next available teller can help you.(Too bad you don’t just jump behind that counter and help me yourself buddy.)

The Mayor: (This was so much fun I can’t wait to do it again.)

Why on earth do we need to be hassled by the bank concierge, it’s not that big of a place. It seems like a ridiculous use of manpower. You built a bunch of banks around here and when we come in to use them you seem hell bent on convincing us that we don’t really need to come into the bank.

Now I’ve seen the concierge concept work well to improve efficiency in a few places that have really high volume and can be confusing like at the airport. Getting in the right line at the airport is important. But at the bank? There’s not all that much to do there and I’ve never had more than say 6 other customers there with me. After all, people are using direct deposit and online banking. That’s why my previous inquiry of why are they building so many banks around here was relevant.

I’m just a house bag with a high IQ (drives my husband crazy that mine was higher than his, but he married me anyway) and a Bachelors of Science degree. I tend to have a lot of these private conversations in my head, that is why I have a reputation for being nice. If I spoke everything I thought, well, not so much.I don’t have the answers for the financial industry but I can certainly identify nonsense when I see it , and at the bank they are full of it.

Cards Disrupted

This post is dedicated to my beautiful cousin Denise, who passed away April 15, 2009 after a 13 year long battle with Lymphoma. She was one tough cookie whose absence has left a definite hole in my heart. I have no idea why she was so cooperative for this picture I took of her and her nephew Michael last Thanksgiving, but I'm glad that she was.

The original version labeled, “Thursday is for Cards” was written about a year ago entirely at the Apple store (while getting much needed tutoring for my blog). I had no idea how accurate the last paragraph would be in reference to our routine being disrupted so soon. The last time I spoke with Denise was when visiting her in the hospital. The last thing she said to me was, “See you next week at cards”.

Here is my original story about my wickedly fun family members:

Maintaining family ties is something I take seriously. Although I grew up with only one stinky brother, my mom had 8 siblings providing me with about 40 cousins in my extended family. 5 of the sisters formed a particularly tight knit group that stood the test of time through every joy and every measure of grief that comes to a family over a generation. They were not a demonstrative group. Not big on hugging, didn’t end every conversation with “I love you” but there was no doubt that they did, with a fierceness and loyalty that came from growing up poor in Detroit after the Depression.

I believe one effective tool in keeping in touch is to have a standing date, something you commit to doing on a frequent basis. My aunts all played cards weekly. Poker was their game and friday was their night. Generally men were rarely allowed to play. They usually didn’t get their game on until 9 or 10 p.m. after kids were settled for the night. It wasn't unusal for the games to end in the wee hours of the morning. Many a drive home was made with the sun coming up. Being daughters of this band of sisters we were definitely inclined to follow in their footsteps.

Every thursday I meet up with my aunt and my band of cousins to play cards. It’s a commitment I rarely miss and we all relentlessly rag on any member that misses a play date. I have lived long enough to value the time spent with this gang of mine, no matter how mundane the activity. We share DNA, have our “short speak” and private code words which we can use in public to converse and insult people without them realizing it. Besides that, we have fun and inevitably laugh until our sides are aching. And we are not even drinking!

We have played cards together on an irregular basis for ages but the past year we have been meeting on thursday mornings in my cousin’s cozy place. My aunt is the ring leader. She entertains us with all the stories of the McVicar sister’s (including my mother’s) antics growing up in Detroit. My aunt is the only person from her generation of the large McVicar family still living. One day I’ll enlighten you with some of her racier tales. The bonus at Tina’s place is there are no men, no kids and sometimes we play all bloody day long if we feel like it.

I rarely win. Blame it on my non-competitive constitution or maybe it’s just my state of befuddlement I sometimes find myself in. I am not very strategic. All I can really say is thank you to Michigan’s crappy economy and GM’s lay offs for giving us this opportunity and freedom to enjoy each other.

Eventually things will happen to disrupt our sacred schedule and I’ll miss not sharing tea, sweets and card playing with these women who have become even more precious to me. But because we all come from a long line of loyal, stubborn Scottish blood we will find a way to keep meeting although it may be a little less often.

Spring Back To Winter

Last year, April 2008, the Mayor’s yard looked like this:

Spring is an elusive thing which cannot be grasped when you live in the water wonderland of the midwest. It’s often very late arriving and then it’s very short lived. It seems like we can be snow shoveling one day in the blink of an eye it’s time to turn the air conditioning on.

This year the economy is keeping us all out of the shopping mall. It’s just as well, we can avoid the sight of the temptingly luscious spring clothing that always look so appealing after 6 months of sweaters and fleeces. More often than not Easter morning arrives and if you listen closely you’ll hear the sound of little girls all over
metro Detroit pitching fits and crying because their mamas are trying to convince their little angels that they need to wear something warmer. The customary egg hunts
are held whether there is snow on the ground or not.

Today, April 6, 2009 we woke up to this:

Did I mention that today is the first day of our “spring” break (formerly known as Easter vacation)? Oh yeah, not only do I get to freeze my patootie off shoveling snow but I get to do it with a house full of girls who will undoubtably be whining and moaning about how we are not vacationing somewhere warm again this year.

I’m going to go and find my happy place now.