Originally published at Irene Smith. You can comment here or there.

Is it Saturday already? No?

Actually, today is Sunday and I messed up. Hence the title of this week’s post. If you are shaking your head in confusion at this point I don’t blame you. Let me explain…

Normally I work at home on Friday. My boss is away on vacation this week. She is out of reach by phone or email. I had to be in the office on Friday in case something happened that couldn’t be managed long distance. That little change in my routine threw off everything. To make matters worse, I took two days off earlier in the week to visit with friends from Seattle. I have absolutely no sense of what day it really is.

At least half a dozen times yesterday I thought, “It’s Saturday, I have to write my post.” Then I promptly became involved in programming, writing, or any number of less productive things (like farming on the Facebook app Farmville) and forgot all about it. Don’t worry, it’s just a minor setback. We’ll be back on track next week.

This little error made me think, however, about how much of our lives we spend doing things without thinking about them. Sometimes this is good. For example, the fact that you drive to work the same way every day (if you are unlucky enough to have to drive) means that you don’t have to concentrate to hard on the how of getting to work. You know where to turn, where the traffic lights are and you automatically slow down for the spot where the policeman always hides behind the billboard to catch speeders.

On the other hand, when there is construction along the way, it is extremely difficult to change the route, even if by going a different way you could avoid the delay. We all face this trade-off between habit and thought. And, unfortunately, advertisers are counting on habit winning the battle. This isn’t new. As long as there has been advertising, advertisers have counted on the fact that, once they have won you over, they’ve got you for life. Once they have convinced you to buy, they want you to continue to buy automatically. They don’t want you to think about it.

This type of message is usually reasonably subtle but some aren’t. Lately WalMart has been running an ad on television lately where a woman says (as well as I can remember it), “Luckily WalMart checks the prices of all its competitors so I don’t have to.”

They’re counting on you to do the same. They want you to assume that the WalMart price is the best price, turn on the automatic pilot and shop at WalMart for everything. With our economy in the shape it is, we can’t afford to do that anymore. We have to check out the prices, even when it takes longer. Don’t assume that anybody is the best. Check it out.

By the way, I am not advocating that you not shop at WalMart, I am just saying that you need to compare before you buy.

Case in point I recently bought a new computer. Before I did, I went on the Internet and looked at Best Buy, WalMart, Tiger Direct, and Sam’s Club. I found what I thought would be a good deal at Best Buy. Then I hit the stores.

My husband said, “You should look at Staples too, while we’re out.” I walked in and found that they were having a sale. For less than the price Best Buy wanted, I was able to get a computer with everything the Best Buy computer had plus it had a larger hard drive and for just $20 more than the 2-year warranty, I was able to get a four-year waranty that covered parts, labor, and surge damage.

I nearly bought it on the spot. Then I looked at my husband and I realized that he was going to hold me to my promise to look at Sam’s Club, WalMart, and Best Buy as well. So we did.

Then we went back to Staples and purchased the computer I wanted, confident in the knowledge that we had gotten the best possible deal. We compared features, prices, and service and settled on the best computer for the least money. I ended up saving over $100 and got a more powerful computer than I would have if I had assumed that Best Buy (or WaloMart or Sam’s Club) had the best quality and price.

Will I buy my next computer from Staples? Maybe. If they still have the best computer for the best price, of course. But I am not going to do it out of habit.

Originally published at Irene Smith. You can comment here or there.

Our parents taught us and we teach our children that if you are nice to others and fair in your dealings, others will be nice and fair to you. If you want to find a place where this is clearly not true, all you need to do is ride mass transit. Take a look at the PATH or the New Yorki City Subway. When those doors whoosh open, there is a general stampede for a seat such that anyone who is polite (doesn’t push and shove) is guaranteed to be standing.

There are signs that say, “Please give this seat to the elderly or infirm.” How old is elderly? If you are 17 and you see someone who looks as though they must be in their 60s, is that “old” enough? Apparently not. I have seen men and women in their twenties and thirties watch an octogenarian stand holding on to the pole for dear life. Have I given up my seat? I hardly ever have one but I have given my seat up more than once to people who seemed more needy than I.

There are other things too…

Most cars have a sign that says, no eating, drinking, smoking or open food containers. More than once I’ve seen people sit directly across from one of those signs while eating a McDonald’s value meal or drinking a Dunkin Donuts iced coffee. Of course, what doesn’t occur to these people who feel they “have the right” to eat and drink whenever and wherever they wish is that it doesn’t take much of a jolt to make them drop food and/or beverages.

I mean, if you spill your coffee down my back in the morning, are you prepared to pay to have my clothing cleaned or to replace a completely destroyed garment? In my case, a disaster like that would mean either buying new clothes or sitting around in wet, smelly clothes all day long.

And there are even smaller things. If you are carrying a huge suitcase, backpack, or briefcase is it that difficult to figure out that the people around you are likely to be hit by it if you don’t pay attention when you move around? I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been hit in the face by a tall person’s backpack.

Then there’s my pet peeve. I’m short–barely five feet tall–and that means danger in a crowded car. Does it really take a genius to figure out that the small person in front of you might not want to have their nose jammed into your armpit? Or that if the paper you are holding at reading distance might be unpleasantly close to someone who doesn’t have room to back up? Would it really be so terrible if you couldn’t read the paper for one day?

So much of what I’m complaining about can be prevented with a little bit of consideration for the world around you but so many people are so self-absorbed that they seem completely unaware of anyone else.

We need not spend all of our time saying, “After you…”

“No, after you…”

All we need to do is take five seconds to look around and think, just a little bit, about how much more smoothly and pleasantly the world would work with just a touch of consideration. Just that little change would put us on the path to a much nicer world.

Originally published at Irene Smith. You can comment here or there.

This is the beginning of the year of postings. I actually remembered. Starting today, I plan on posting one entry a week from now until next July.

I have this urge to run away from my life. There has been too much sorrow lately; so much that I don’t notice the good things that are surely happening as well. I want to hide, to be alone, and there isn’t time. I’m watching the movie Elizabethtown. It’s nearly over and Orlando Bloom is running around the flea market, looking for Kirsten Dunst. I’m certainly not looking for Kirsten Dunst, but I think I am looking for something. I just wish I knew what it was.

If I had the money to do it, I’d hop in the car and just drive away. I love my husband and my children and grandchildren, but this is a trip I’d take alone. Just me and a bunch of CDs with my favorite music.

I’d go looking for those places that people seldom notice and rarely visit. I’d visit museums and tourist traps. I would stop to eat when I felt like it and stop to sleep when I got tired. I’d check out big cities and small towns. I think it would be refreshing and invigorating, and when I came back, I’d be ready to go on. Of course few people get to do in real life what people get to do in movies.

Despite the fact that I have a really good job, I can’t afford to “run way” even for a few hours because there’s never any money left over. So I go on from day to day, building up a sleep deficit that I’ll never be able to pay back. Getting more and more emotionally exhausted by the day. I eat too much, I sleep too little, and I don’t know how to change it.

There is something very soothing about writing. I’m sitting here in the darkened living room (it’s daytime outside, but dark in here) with the television running the background (Elizabethtown has given way to The Truman Show) and the physical act of hitting the keys and seeing the words appear on the screen is soothing.

I’m trying to think of a cool way to close this off, but I can’t. So I’m just going to end it. Here.

See you next week…

Originally published at Irene Smith. You can comment here or there.

On Sunday, May 10, 2009 my father died. He was 85 years old.

How do you summarize a person’s life? My Dad was on this planet for 85 years. He was a drummer, a photographer, and a business owner. He has held all those jobs and more as well, but to me he was just Daddy and, like most little girls, I thought that my Daddy was the strongest, the handsomest, and the smartest man alive.

In many of my earliest memories of my father, he had a camera in his hands. Mom and I were his favorite subjects. When I was a little girl, I loved having my picture taken. As soon as the camera came out, I began to pose and he was happy to snap shot after shot.

Not only did her take the pictures, he developed them in his home dark room. I will never forget the excitement of watching the image appear on a print that we had exposed and then bathed in chemicals. I remember dancing from one foot to the other as the picture gradually darkened on the paper, holding my breath, hoping that Dad would let me take the picture and plunge it into fresh water before turning on the light to examine the results.

For much of my childhood, Dad worked a long distance from home, first at West Point and then in New York City.

He left the house early in the morning and didn’t get home until late at night, often after I was in bed. When he was home, however, he always made the time we spent together special. Whether I needed help with a diorama for the Science Fair or a presentation for a Video course I was taking on how to produce a training video, Dad was there.
Dad had advice for every aspect of my life. I still remember the day he told me “If a man takes you out for dinner at a restaurant and there’s not a mushroom cap on the filet mignon, dump the guy.” Ok, so I didn’t always follow Dad’s advice but I always listened.

My father had so many wonderful qualities. He was a kind, generous, and caring man. When I had the measles and didn’t feel like eating, he found at least six different ways to serve up oranges in an attempt to get me to eat something. He was strong. When I foolishly stepped on a sewing needle and only the tiniest bit of the tip was left sticking out, he was strong enough to grab it and pull it from my foot with his bare hands. Yet this same tower of strength broke down and cried over the death of our family dog.

I think perhaps the most important lesson I learned from my father is that you have to find something to do that makes you happy and then go for it. At an age when most people are thinking of retiring, he went out on his own and started Graphics and then took over ownership of The Little Paper.

Together he and my mother built a business that has withstood the test of time, a business that is strong enough to continue without him.

When I was about six or seven, Dad brought home a bright red bicycle. Over the course of a long afternoon, he taught me to ride it. At first, he ran alongside me, holding the bike upright so that I wouldn’t fall. Once I began to have some confidence, he moved to a position behind the bicycle, still running along behind, holding me upright until he sensed (I’m not sure exactly how) that I was ready and then, quietly, without saying a word, he allowed me to ride off on my own.

Just as he did on that day, we now have to let go and allow him to leave us here as he moves off into the distance on his own. We will always miss him but he will never be completely gone as long as we hold these wonderful memories of him in our hearts.

I'm sure that you're all just dieing to know if I made it through the 5k walk yesterday. I won't call it a race because I certainly wasn't even walking fast. However, I did make it to the end. I crossed the finish line an embarrassing one hour and twenty minutes after I started. I suppose it could have been worse; I could have been walking one mile an hour instead of two.

The only thing I can say in my defense is that it was amazingly hot and humid yesterday and since I thought it was going to be cold and rainy, I wore jeans instead of shorts. Not a great idea. Plus, I didn't really consider how much time I was going to spend on my feet in addition to the walk itself. Let's see...

I took the train to Hoboken, walked to the PATH (not far, maybe about the equivalent of two city blocks. The PATH was crowded so I stood up for the ride from Hoboken to 14th Street. I got off the PATH and climbed four flights of stairs to the street, walked two more blocks to the subway and then walked down two or three flights to the platform where I stood for twenty minutes waiting for the subway car and then stood for the ride to the 72nd street stop.

At 72nd street, I got off the subway, climbed another three flights of stairs (where I discovered that the exit itself was at 70th Street) and walked eight blocks to meet the rest of the team. So if you count ten city blocks to the mile I have already walked a bit over a mile and that is one third of the distance that I will be walking in the race itself.

Now we walk about five blocks back to the start of the race and stand around for half an hour or so waiting for the walking start time. By now the heat and humidity have caused enough perspiration so that the back of my shirt is soaked and perspiration is running down my back and my legs. I haven't even really started yet and I'm exhausted.

Finally it's time to start. We start walking and I'm immediately left in the dust by the walkers who are all taller than I and in much better shape. People are passing me on all sides. I feel as though I am walking backwards. At that point it occurred to me that my only job was to make it to the end. I focused on the toes of my shoes and thought about nothing but putting one foot in front of the other.

Of course, by this point I was sliding into dehydration. Flash back to 4 am when I was getting ready to go. The weather channel's web site said it was going to rain hard. I start looking for a hooded wind breaker to keep me dry and suddenly it's 4:46 and the train leaves at 4:50 a.m. We run for the train and I leave without my wind breaker or an elastic to tie up my hair. I figure I'll buy a bottle of water when I get to the Starbucks where the team is meeting.

Of course the line at Starbucks stretched about four times around the store because everybody decided to meet at that Starbucks. No water fo me. Let's continue...

I did make it to the first water table. I got two cups of water and suddenly I felt much better. For a while the walk was almost pleasant. There was a bit of a breeze and the scenery was beautiful. I've never been in Central Park before so that part of it was an adventure. Listening to the conversations around me was also interesting.

I made it to the second water table. More water, feeling even better, and so I was doing pretty well at the second mile marker. Now I'm thinking, "I can do this. It's not so bad."

That last mile seemed to go on forever. Of course, if you've read this whole entry I've actually walked over 3 miles already, not 2. Either way, I'm beginning to think I'm not going to make it. I stopped about three times in that last mile to catch my breath. Mind you, I only stopped for about a minute each time, but I did stop. I considered giving up. Then I realized that whatever I did, I was going to have to walk somewhere to get on the subway to get the PATH to get to Hoboken to get home. I kept going.

Finally, the people on either side of the path were telling us, "You're almost there," and, "It's just around the corner."

I kept going, kept putting one foot in front of the other, and finished the "race" for the cure. Was I done walking? Nope. I had to walk out of the part (about 3 or 4 blocks) to the subway, another 7 blocks and down the stairs to the subway. I had to stand on the subway from 68th street to 33rd street, then walk up several flights of stairs. Then I had to walk anther five blocks to the PATH and stand on the PATH from 33rd to Christopher Street.

At this point, I was thinking, "Oh well, another 7 minutes and I'll be in Hoboken. I can get on my train and sleep for two hours." WRONG! All people going to Hoboken are told to get off the PATH because this particular PATH train is NOT going to Hoboken it is going to Journal Square. We get off and another announcement informs us that the PATH to Journal Square through Hoboken is not on a 30-minute schedule.

About 45 minutes later, a train comes through and deposits us at Pavonia/Exchange Place. We get out, we wait. Finally a shuttle train arrives and takes me to Hoboken 35 minutes too late to catch my train. The next train is not until 4:00 p.m.

They say that no good deed goes unpunished.