Confrontation

Today was a super busy day at work.  I had to focus my energies on the job that pays the bills.  (haha, I don't get paid very much, but since I don't get paid to blog At All, this is truth.)  Today was one of those days.  I have to admit, some of the things I had to do today were far from my favorites.  I had to let someone go from their job today.  This is tough.  There was a two month severance package, but that doesn't make the blow that much easier.  I did it, but it wasn't fun. 

When I was with the church ladies in the bible study, one of them said I was a confrontational person.  I disagree.  I don't think I would consider myself confrontational.  I'm not a person who seeks out confrontation, but I'm not a person who backs away from it, either.  I guess, if you're a person who avoids confrontation completely, you may consider me a confrontational person.  I say, you are wrong.

I work for a very non-confrontational person.  My boss avoids confrontation as much as he possibly can.  I think it makes him look weak and it makes it difficult to do the job.  He will never tell anyone "no," except, however, for those reporting directly to him.  This makes our job so much more difficult.  We have to be all things to all people.  This is very hard to do. 
 
Some people go to great lengths to avoid confrontation.  This saddens and amuses me.  The ones that amuse me are those who crawl into their beds and hide under the covers.  I wonder how they manage?  Do they think if they hide, all the things they don't like will go away?  Maybe.  Or maybe they think they are so powerful they will annihilate the person they have to confront.  If this is true, they have more serious issues.  Anger management classes may be something they should look into. 

When a situation develops that involves confrontation or a direct conversation about something that may be considered negative or unpleasant by the recipient, I try to be as kind about it as possible.  I can say the difficult thing, like "you're fired" and sandwich it between any positives I can think of saying.  I can say "no" or "this product is not acceptable" or "I won't be able to do what you are asking of me" without being unpleasant.  People who, I guess for a better word, are People Pleasers, can't do this.  I guess instead of telling me I'm confrontational, I should be labeled NOT a people pleaser. 

I'll tell you the truth, to the best of my ability.  I wish there were more truth tellers out there in the world.  I think we'd all be a lot better off.  If I ever discover a lot more truth telling going on out in the world, I'm going to buy stock in Kimberly Clark (I think they make Kleenex).  There's going to be a lot of crybabies out there.  I just want to be ready.

 

Groundhog Day

Groundhog Day is my husband's favorite movie.  He loves it.  I mean, who doesn't.  Bill Murray is superb as Phil Connors, the egotistic weatherman.  I love his strong Chicago accent.  It's such a comforting sound for me.  And, Bill Murray is hilarious.  There are so many funny lines and so many funny situations.  I love the segment of Phil going out drinking with the two drunks.
Phil: You wanna throw up here, or you wanna throw up in the car?
Ralph: I think... both.
Then there is a police chase culminating with an escape route on the railroad tracks with a train coming towards them.
Phil: I'm betting he's going to swerve first.

The movie's theme is one of transformation. The transformation of Phil from an self-centered person with nothing but loathing for his co-workers and the Punxatawneyans to an empathetic soul falling in love with his co-worker and settling in Punxatawney, PA.  The meat of the movie is set in the premise of Phil being "stuck" in February 2nd, Groundhog Day.

Initially he is incredulous.
Phil Connors: Excuse me, where is everybody going?
Fan on Street: To Gobbler's Knob. It's Groundhog Day.
Phil Connors: It's still just once a year, isn't it?

Then he becomes the embodiment of gluttony while facing a future of "no consequences."  He eats everything on the menu in the diner.  Then he becomes self-destructive.  He tries to kill himself in many different ways.  When this doesn't produce the escape he craves (Phil: I have been stabbed, shot, poisoned, frozen, hung, electrocuted, and burned. Rita: Oh, really? Phil: ...and every morning I wake up without a scratch on me, not a dent in the fender... I am an immortal.) he becomes generous.  He changes a tire for a couple elderly ladies.  He catches a boy falling from a tree.  He does his job with excellence.  Sadly, he embraces his predicament and makes the best of it.  But then he is confronted with mortality.  Not his, but an elderly vagrant.  He cannot prevent this man's death.  "It was his time."  After accepting the death of the vagrant, Phil not only accepts his circumstances, but embraces them.  He takes piano lessons.
Piano Teacher: Not bad... Mr. Connors, you say this is your first lesson?
Phil: Yes, but my father was a piano *mover*, so...
He helps a young couple have the honeymoon of their dreams.  He embraces his annoying insurance salesman, Ned Ryerson, BING!  In the end, he becomes the town hero.  And, he gets the girl.

I am looking forward to watching Groundhog Day when I get home from work.  I hope you get an opportunity to watch it again, too.  If you've never seen it, please do.  It's a classic.

The entire movie is uploaded to YouTube here.

Sprinter (haiku)

February first
Pleasant balmy cloudless sky
I dub thee Sprinter

I will miss Em's meme at Imperfect Prose.  I learned so much about love and Jesus and hope here.  I wish her the best.  Good health.  Good luck.  Good times.  God bless.

by mjesli

He quit

My husband quit his job.

He's not getting another job.

He is retiring.

I was afraid of this.  I knew it was coming.  I didn't want it to come.  This is a change.  It's a scary change.  And, now it is here.  He called me on the phone while I was picking up my rental car at Chicago Midway airport.  Maybe it was easier to tell me when he wasn't looking me in the eye.  I don't think so.  Timing is everything.

My husband doesn't have to go to work, EVER!  (I'm going to have to blog about this again.  just from my new pov.)

I'm getting used to the idea of this thing called retirement.  I'm starting to wrap my head around what this is going to mean for me, for him, for our family.  Some parts of it, I believe, will be great.  My husband will have more time to work on his dissertation.  Maybe he will finally FINISH it.  On the flip side of this, we will now be paying for the classes.  These are not cheap.  But, maybe he'll FINISH it.  Then he will be able to start teaching classes.  See, I'm already planning ways to get him back to work.  And he hasn't had his last day of work, yet.  It's coming, but it hasn't come yet.  (february 24th)

It's hard for me to imagine what retirement will look like.  Of course, I'll still be getting up in the morning and going to work.  I hope I don't resent him too much.  I hope I don't accidentally jostle him awake while I'm getting up and getting ready to go to work.  But, you never know what will happen.  Maybe he will be home when I get home from work?  What am I saying?  Of course he'll be home.  I have a feeling he's going to be home A LOT.  I wonder what it will be like to talk to someone a soon as I get home from work?  I'm not expecting dinner to be ready.  He cannot cook.  Hmm, but then again, I could really use to lose a few pounds.  Maybe I should encourage some cooking.  I can't decide.  Do you think he will do the laundry?  He never has.  Will we have enough money?  This is my biggest fear.  I know my husband is a smart man.  (did I tell you he is working on his PhD?)  I know he wouldn't have made this move if we couldn't afford it.  I guess this means we are officially old.  I've always thought I was old, but now I have a retired husband to prove it.

This week I had to take all my fears to the terminal "what if."  What if my husband quits his job?  (play Law and Order "dunk dunk")  I can tell you, the world doesn't end.  The sun comes up the next morning.  I didn't actually throw up.  And, my husband told me he feels a huge weight has been lifted from his shoulders and he is happier than he has been in a very long time.

I think we are going to be ok. 

You may be right... (I may be crazy)

This is what I should have said.  This is what I should always say.  This is how you deal with a "right-fighter."

My dad is a right-fighter.  He is always right.  No matter what the facts say.  He is always right.  I have just returned from visiting my mother and father.  It could have gone better.  I knew there was going to be trouble even before I set out on the visit.  Mom was very excited and happy I was coming for a visit, Dad was nonplussed.  Nothing.  No real reaction of gladness or dismay.  Nothing.  It didn't matter.  I was going to visit anyway.  I hadn't seen my parents in a year.  A year is a long time when you have aging parents.  I was going to visit.

I was pleasantly surprised when I arrived.  Both my mom and my dad acted happy to see me.  I brought my dad a small cooler full of salad greens and cooking greens.  I took my mom for a pampering visit at a local spa.  We visited.  We chatted.  We talked about their future, in a very limited way.  They don't like to discuss the "what we will do if... dad dies... or, mom dies."  That conversation was short and cut off abruptly.  In fact, it was dealt with, at least on my dad's part, with sarcasm and glib retorts.  Fine.  We won't talk about that.  Fine.

It looked as if it was going to be a completely pleasant weekend.  Thursday night was lovely.  Friday, all day, pleasant.  Saturday, half the day at the spa and the second half involved the arrival of my brother (not the feuding brother) and his daughter, fun filled.  Sunday was to be church and leaving for the airport.  It looked as if I would make it out of the weekend unscathed.  But, NO.  I had to have a cup of coffee before taking my shower and dressing for church Sunday morning.  Then it began.  A discussion of my shortcomings as a daughter.  How I am not doing what it takes to reconcile my brother (the feuding brother) and my father.  How I am siding with my brother and have NEVER asked my father about his side of the issue.  (even though I reminded him I had talked both he and my mom about this several times.  even though I reminded him, he had asked me not to speak to my brother about my mother or himself.)  I was at fault.  AND, now I was told, the feud between these two was going to effect my standing in the family.  I had not done all I could to repair this rift.  I needed to do what I could to force my brother to repent.  I needed to do what I could to force my brother to eat whatever worms were necessary.  And, I need to apply some kind of pressure to my brother this situation or I will find MYSELF on the outside of a relationship with my father.

It was fascinating  to watch my father "right-fight" me.  He would bring up an issue he was angry about.  He would explain how I didn't know anything about his point of view.  I only knew my brother's point of view.  If I reminded him of a conversation we HAD had about it, the conversation would immediately shift to another issue he was angry about.  This went around and around and around.  There was so much bobbing and weaving, I was getting dizzy.  Thank goodness I could remove myself from this fight with the need to take a shower and get dressed for church.  (btw, the sermon was about constructive and destructive criticism.  it stung a bit.  I had quite a few critical thoughts swimming around in my head.)

The only way for this three-year feud to end is for my brother and myself to apologize to my dad and agree that we have been completely at fault and my dad has been completely right.  My dad is right.  My dad needs to be right.  No matter what the facts say, my dad is right and I am wrong.  This is how you win at right-fighting.  It's so easy...  All you have to say is, "You may be right."

I hope, one day soon, my brother can say these words to my father because I know, without a shadow of a doubt, my father can NEVER say these words.  It's hard to imagine I am being asked to choose between my brother and my father, by my father.  It's not a choice I want to make.  It's not a choice I ever thought I'd be asked to make.  I feel like I've been sucker-punched.  Or, maybe I'm just crazy.