Good neighbors

A blessing.

Jean Kerr, one of my favorite writers of humorous essays, once said, “What I am looking for is a blessing that is not in disguise.”

I’m thankful today to report that I have found one.

Good neighbors.

We moved here because we had bad neighbors. “The upstairs neighbors from hell” is a mild description.

So, we were pleased to find a sweet old couple on one side of us and a very nice and never there—younger couple on the other side as we moved into our new home.

We all lived here at the Creek in perfect amity. Neighbors here are important. Maybe not as important as in NYC where you are living on top of each other, but still, houses on the water tend to be close together.

Sadly, we lost all of our original neighbors within the first two years. Death claimed the old folks within a few months of each other. The economy got the younger generation on the other side a few months after that.

Right now, one house is still empty, but I am pleased to report that the other has been sold and occupied. It’s been about two months, and things seem to be working out well.

The new neighbors are just the right amount of friendly and, most importantly to me, are quiet. That could change, of course, but so far, so good.

What’s a little ironic is that they are originally from New York, too. Not the City but the Island and not within the last twenty years—but still…it’s a small world.

I’m cautiously optimistic. Anything can happen, of course, as we know to our dismay.

But right now, I am thankful.

I hope we all live here for a long time in peace and harmony. And I hope the other house goes to really nice people, too!

Non-functional function

Beauty for no reason.

Today, I am thankful for the human impulse to create beauty even when it serves no other purpose but itself.

We seem to have drifted from that impulse as we become more enamored of efficiency and utilitarianism, but once upon a time—and I think it still lurks within us—we took the time to make even the most useful things beautiful.

As testimony to this impulse, I bring you:

Manhole-covers.net

This website is a gallery of old French manhole covers.

What could possibly be more functional than the cover to the access point to the sewers?

And yet, craftsmen designed and metalworkers created works of art—to lay down in the street and be trodden on.

Nowadays, here in the United States, our manhole covers are relatively plain. A manufacturer’s name stamped into the metal, perhaps a numeric code allowing workers to identify the location.

Less expensive, I’m sure. Functional. Doing what it needs to do and no more.

(Trivia question: Do you know why manhole covers are round? It makes it impossible for them to fall through the hole.)

So, we gain speed on the assembly line and we lose a bit of beauty out of the world.

The impulse is still there, though. Watch any of the decorating programs on HGTV. If you ever get the chance, take a look at the main building of the Jacksonville Public Library. There are people who still believe in beautifying the utilitarian and manage to buck the system and carve out enough time and money to do so.

And today, I am thankful for them—and wishing for a more developed sense of visual creativity so that I could be like them.

Am I thankful?

I think I am.

But I’m not entirely sure.

I’m talking about virtual experiences.

For example, the internet fireplace.

Purists among you will be recoiling in horror, but I rather like digital fireplaces. I have a DVD with several, and, let me tell you, it was quite a nice accessory a couple of weeks ago when we had a week of wind and rain. The temperature outside was falling into that never-never-land where it is too warm for the heat to come on and too cold for the a/c to kick in. Consequently, the atmosphere indoors was damp and cool and uncomfortable as only a Florida season between the extremes can be.

My fireplace DVD was a cozy little addition to the long afternoons spent with my attention divided between books and Netflix and watching the creek rise. It’s amazing how much of an illusion of warmth is conjured by the sight of dancing flames and the sounds of burning wood. The actual heat and the smell of wood smoke seem to be secondary to the illusion. Now, I suspect this is because of years of conditioning to what those sights and sounds accompany. Future generations may not get the same illusion of comfort from a virtual fireplace as I do.

And, if I had a real fireplace, I would prefer it. I think. On the other hand…not to have to chop wood…or clean up soot and ash…or risk burning down the house…. there’s something to be said for that.

We do have a gas fireplace here at Casa Lagarto, but it’s one of those things that was on the verge of disrepair when we got the house and has crossed over. Unlike the a/c, it is low on the list of things to fix.

So, I am thankful today for the digital hearth.

And I am considering experiments with digital oceans and digital aquariums. I’d be interested in digital blasted heaths, mountain streams, stone circles, too.

The thing is, I can sort of justify the energy used to play the fireplace as being less than the carbon footprint of an actual fire. I’m not sure I could say the same for amps for any form of H2O.

So, I guess I’ll just stick to my digital fireplace and be thankful.

You never know

When, where, how and by whom you’re gonna get inspired.

How cool is that?!

So, today, I am thankful for unexpected inspiration.

I’m not talking about inspiration for my next play or novel—although, Universe, if you’re listening—bring it on!

I’m talking about inspiration for how to live better, how to bring more joy into our lives, how to increase our sense of connection.

It’s not like these are not things that most of us know on some level. But it is true that we tend to forget. We get busy. We get anxious. We get stuck.

The thing that is so great is that we run into reminders everywhere.

I’m thinking right now about this post by Brené Brown, scholar and author, about rebranding Valentine’s Day into a day of generosity. The idea is to take the Hallmark holiday and make it meaningful by practicing random acts of kindness and generosity.

Even better, you don’t have to wait for Valentine’s Day.

I re-read the post just now, and I see no reason to wait. I can give it a shot any time.

Just thinking about it makes the sun shine a little brighter. A sense of mischief and interest has entered my day.

So, that’s all well and good, and if you have similar thoughts, more power to you. The point, however, is that I wasn’t looking for this the day I logged into Facebook and followed a link to Brené Brown’s TED talk. (Watch it below for yourself.)

I just found the little blurb intriguing, listened to the talk, thought it was very interesting and subscribed to her blog.

And out of that, this.

Not a new idea.

Just a good one.

You never know.

QWERTY

Keyboards!

I am SOOOOOO thankful I learned to type when I was in high school and that I had to make my living at it for a brief period. (You either become a temp or a waitress when you move to NYC to pursue acting.)

I see people hunting and pecking. I wait on instant messaging programs for folks to laboriously pick out their responses. I read emails that are full of typos, and I am thankful.

It’s possible I came of age in one of the few periods of history where being able to type provided a significant advantage. Icons and gestures and touchpads all seem to be leading us down a road where keyboard input is less significant. Voice recognition technology is improving daily.

I can see a day coming where there may be no such thing as a high school typing class.

On the other hand, keyboard entry still remains the fastest way to input a computer program, so it may never be lost altogether. I hope not.

Because I think it trains a part of our brains that we can utilize even miles away from any computer keyboard. What is “clerical speed and accuracy” other than the ability to comprehend quickly and translate that comprehension into action.

Reading comprehension is closely allied. The faster you can read, the faster you can type. And the faster you can read, the faster you can accumulate information in a world where information is paramount.

The ability to process information—to absorb it, comprehend it, correlate and aggregate and then formulate a plan of action—is where success lies. Any edge you can give a kid is important.

And I think the lowly typing class provided me with a significant edge.

On a practical level, I made a living as a typist and as a computer programmer, in part, because I could type. Well.

I now pursue more creative goals. Whatever success I’ve had as a writer is not solely or even largely attributable to an ability to type, but it sure streamlines the process. I’m a better writer, certainly a faster writer, because I am a damn good typist.

And I am very thankful for Mrs. Laird and that long-ago typing class.

Worthy of their hire

My favorite workmen.

I’m thankful today for a few guys I haven’t hired yet.

Ok. I have hired them. For other things. Small things. Previously.

But I have been lucky enough to find a couple of vendors who take a long view. They have been smart enough and generous enough to offer their advice and expertise without expecting payment.

Free. That’s a price point I can get behind.

Daymon Well Drilling. They came out and assured me that, no, my well was not going dry—as a previous plumber had suggested.

Black Pearl Plumbing. Barry spent an hour talking to me about what we needed to install a clawfoot tub in the bathroom that has been missing a tub since we moved into the house.

Russell at Perfect Painting spent an extra couple of hours fixing our pump and I had to insist that he charge more than just the cost of the parts.

Southern gentleman? Yes.

Good businessmen? Absolutely.

See, they missed the chance to make a couple of dollars. On the other hand, when I do need a well, when it’s time for the tub to be installed, when I want to paint another room—who do you think I’m going to call?

I’ve spent a lot of time with theatre folks who don’t want to give advice because they’re not getting something back.

If you’re looking for the books to be always in balance, you are doomed to disappointment.

It’s about bread upon the waters.

Do a good job. Do good to and for people. The money will follow.

It’s hard in the arts, because there often isn’t much money. And often, when opportunities for repayment arise, they aren’t real opportunities. A 6’5″ Latino actor who helps a director unselfishly may not get the first part that comes along. (It could be hard for him to play an 8 year old girl.) But he could get the first recommendation for a 6’5″ Latino actor that she’s asked to provide.

It’s clearer in the world of the handyman.

I’m going to hire the people I trust. I trust them when they do a good job and when they don’t hit me with an exorbitant bill for every question.

I think generosity is always the best route to take.

And I am profoundly thankful that I tend to run into folks who agree with me.

Ruthlessness

As a job skill.

Thankful today for ruthless physical therapists.

You wouldn’t think of ruthlessness as a job skill. Maybe in a mogul, but not in a healthcare profession. Generally speaking, you think of caring and caretaking and concern.

I suppose those are still the top skills in healthcare. Bedside manner. It’s important.

And I don’t want to imply that my physical therapists are lacking in any of that. They are careful and concerned and very friendly and sympathetic.

And ruthless.

And that is a good thing.

See, you may remember, that I have this frozen shoulder thing going on. (Yes, it hurts. And, yes, I feel old. And yes, it is slightly better now, thank you.)

I’ve been going to PT for weeks. There are pulleys and Thera-bands and weights and lengths of PVC pipe and timers and doorways for isometrics and infrared heat and lots of ice in my life. Twice a week for some of the elaborate gadgets—when I go in to the office—and twice a day for the stuff I can do at home.

In addition to all that, there always comes a time in my therapy session when one of the therapists comes along to “pull on me.” I lie on a table, and he or she takes hold of my arm and gently manipulates it in various directions.

Almost all of them are painful. Some of them seriously so.

I try not to whimper too much. (Who are we kidding? I try not to scream.)

The therapists are good, though. They watch my face. They notice when, instinctively, I tense my arm in a protective resistance.

Now, me, that’s the point where I would stop—if I were working on someone. I don’t think I have the fortitude to intentionally inflict that kind of pain.

They, on the other hand, hang in there. Another few seconds. Another millimeter. Another involuntary gasp.

They’re working for tiny increases in range of motion.

They’re getting them, too.

Ruthlessness.

It may be underrated.

Someday

I’ll be thankful for this again.

Today, I’d like to suggest something for which you all should be thankful. Just at the moment, it’s out of my reach—literally.

Working shoulders.

It’s nice if you can take them for granted.

Your shoulders are sort of amazing, providing all kinds of mobility and all kinds of stabilizing strength. As such, they tend to attract problems other joints don’t seem to have.

And that’s when you stop being able to take them for granted.

A couple of months ago, I started to have serious and sudden pain in my right shoulder whenever I moved it in certain ways. Drop-to-your-knees-and-howl kind of pain.

I thought, at first, that it would pass. Rest a bit. Stop working so hard in the yard. Take it easy.

It didn’t pass.

So, I went to a sports doctor. Got X-rays. Got a cortisone shot. Let’s be thankful for cortisone shots—even though this one’s effect was not as miraculous as I had hoped after various relatives’ stories of bursitis treatment. The efficacy of the cortisone shot for me was compromised by the fact that I don’t have bursitis.

I have adhesive capsulitis.

Otherwise known as “frozen shoulder.”

I’d never heard of it before—and I am here to tell you if I never heard of it again, it would be too soon for me.

The good news is it is known as a self-limiting condition. Supposedly, it will eventually wear off and I’ll regain most of my shoulder’s mobility.

Supposedly.

Meanwhile, I go to physical therapy a couple of times a week and do exercises on my own every day. I have a new appreciation for medieval torture chambers—because this hurts. A lot. In a way that mere words cannot describe.

However, I am thankful for the physical therapist who is able to ignore my gritted teeth, whimpers and occasional quiet screams as she works on my shoulder. I dread going, but I think it’s helpful.

And I’m thankful for the insurance that picks up most—although not all—of the cost of this. I’m spending a fortune in co-payments, and I shudder to think what the bill would be if I didn’t have insurance.

Mostly, I’m thankful for the years when both my shoulders worked well.

And I think you should take a minute and be thankful for yours!

Look at this!

Our new bistro table.

We’ve got some new outdoor furniture at Casa Lagarto.

We still don’t have very much indoor furniture, but, hey! A sale.

I’ve had my eye on this table and chairs for more than two years. Finally, it went on sale just at the point I was feeling temporarily solvent. (It’s like a perfect storm in reverse. When everything lines up so you feel like you really can buy something.)

We got it at Kirkland’s. You can see it here. I try not to go to Kirkland’s very often, because they have all kinds of things I like. Mostly, what I drool over at Kirkland’s are the decorative objects. And I feel that when the house still needs a bathtub and some carpet and other large items one should eschew decorative wall plaques.

So, I go to Kirkland’s, and I talk myself out of things all the time.

This time, however, I didn’t talk myself out of it.

We bought it.

Cast iron. It’s not going to blow away in any of the strong breezes that come off the creek.

The perfect size for an area of the patio that looks like it was made for some sort of table and chairs.

A sale price.

And now the outside of the house looks a little more finished.

There’s a long way to go, but I’m thankful for this step in the right direction.

A taste of home

Sort of.

Back in NYC, after many, many years of searching, I had found a hairdresser I liked. I always got a good haircut at a reasonable price and, best of all, he was only two blocks away from my apartment!

The proximity is important because I have—I won’t really call it a phobia—let’s just say, it’s a severe dislike—of getting my haircut.

It’s not that I mind scissors snipping around me. It’s just that it seems an awful lot of trouble and money for something that so rarely seems to be an improvement. That, of course, was until I found Joe.

I had tried various other routes.

The Astor Place Barbershop used to be very popular. $8, you take whatever barber is open, and you get what you get. Definitely affordable in my young, starving actor days but not necessarily reliable.

There was a school in the basement of the Empire State Building. Also affordable—but they were “cutting edge” (no pun intended), and when you got what you got there, likely as not you got something rather weird which didn’t match the headshot on which you’d just spent hundreds of dollars.

There were stylists on the Upper East Side and the Upper West Side who gave cuts of varying degrees of proficiency. The problem with them is similar to a complaint of Jean Kerr’s in one of her extremely funny books. If I remember the quote correctly, it was something to the effect that they always acted as if, in another moment, it would have been too late.

I don’t need a hairdresser looking down his or her nose at me. I mean, I’m sure they do. I just don’t need to feel it every minute I’m in the shop.

So…along came Joe.

I loved having my hair cut by Joe. He was fast and good and friendly.

Moving down here to Florida, I was worried about finding a place to get a good haircut.

How thankful I am that there is a little shop over behind Whitey’s Fish Camp where Susan of Susan’s Total Image hangs out!

A friendly welcome and no sense that she thinks she is doing me a favor even to run her comb through my hair.

And walking distance!

Susan and Joe.

My hair and I are thankful.

Elaine Smith Writes

Anything She Wants

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