Street Credit

Street Credit. I heard that phrase the other day and fell in like with it. Street Credit represents an intangible personal respect we give someone that lends credence to their opinion and advice beyond that of our acquaintances, advisers, and sometimes even friends and relatives. I found it so interesting that I paused and ran through my list of people I know and in doing so, realized there is a very short list of people with which I accept their advice without hesitation, without question, and without doubt.

Excluding family - in business, there are two: Mike and Tim. Two of the most ethical people I have ever worked for, and more importantly, have ever known. If either one were to ask that I spend time with someone, I would do so, not out of weakness, but out of absolute trust in who they are. I have worked with these two, and watched them both in business. I have seen them refuse to involve themselves when it violates their ethics. When I had an opportunity to do some work for the company where Mike is employed, the representative in the company said she spoke with Mike and explained to me “when Mike said ‘if you can get him it would be great’, I no longer need to have you talk with anyone else.” Street Credit.

For career advice there is but one: Jay. When Jay says you need to talk with a specific person, you take the time and arrange the meeting. I have done this and the first thing out of the mouth of the person I sat across from was, “Jay called me and asked that I meet with you and when Jay asks that you meet with someone - you meet with someone”. Street Credit.

For spiritual guidance there is also only one: Marsha. Marsha is not affiliated with any specific religion, if she follows a specific faith, you would not know just to talk with her, for spirituality is far more important than religion. She is, by far, the most non-judgmental person I have ever met. I have spoken to her several times nearer the end of the day then the beginning. I have seen her extremely tired, yet her ability to listen is unyielding, talking to all hours. She listens until your spirit says it is time to go. She is always there should you need advice – always. Occasionally she will offer advice when not asked; yet even then, it is welcomed. Street Credit.

We all know, or should know, people in our lives that have Street Credit, but the real question is: when someone is working with you or talking to you, and you offer advice, or solutions, is it accepted or is it questioned? Is it followed or ignore? Street Credit is acquired through years of ethical behavior, years of following a path consistently framed by integrity, years of staying true to one’s character. It is that consistency which will precede us in business and proceed us in life.

'Street Credit' should be one of the goals we strive to attain, and hopefully, should we find the path difficult, we have those with Street Credit to help guide us.

Why Me....

I have a great deal of admiration for the writer Aaron Sorkin (The American President, West Wing, Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip) and this line popped from one of his shows.

My mother got cancer when I was fifteen, and I asked, Mom, how come you never say ‘why me’ and she said, “I never asked God ‘why me’ when the good things happen, so I shouldn’t ask now.”

Fiction, yet such a great line, such a better lesson. Not a lesson of ‘don’t complain’ but one of remembrance. Remembering to be thankful for the things we have, and for what we get (or are given). Too often we look upon these things as ‘earned’, or sometimes ‘owed.’ We complain when the car has a major repair, but how often are we thankful it did not fall apart when we really needed it. We complain of taxes, of jobs and unemployment, of drivers and traffic, inflation and investments, of crime and legislation, businesses and the people that run them, politics and lack of accountability, and [fill in the blank], and did I mention taxes? We complain, forgetting to be thankful.

Every day I make coffee for my wife, excluding the times I travel. I explain to her I make coffee out of fear, telling her I do not dare to ‘not make coffee.’ In reality I make coffee for her because she likes coffee made for her in the morning. Every morning she tells me “thank you” for the coffee. I find it unusual, yet pleasing, that she tells me each morning. She knows that I will make coffee for her and she knows it will appear on the bathroom vanity while she is showering. I explain to her it is really the “coffee fairy” that delivers the coffee, yet every day she tells me “thank you”. Funny how subtly roles are reversed, for it is I who takes the “thank you” for granted, and not her receiving the coffee.

How often do we look upon good luck, good fortune, and good times, and forget to say “thank you?” Yet, how minor of difficulty must occur for us to complain? The next time you get someplace on time when you thought you would not, or you get extra money when you least expect it, or a problem does not materialize when you thought it would, take a moment and say thank you. Say it aloud to no one in particular, for you never know who is listening.

“I never asked God ‘why me’ when the good things happen, so I shouldn’t ask now.” Would be that I have such strength of character should I be faced with great difficulty.

Old Floors & Perfect Sheets

Funny what triggers a memory. Today my wife and I walked through a refurbished historic home in a neighboring city. The house is old but she looks good, the owners/refurbishers took great care in keeping with the time-period in which she was built; 1911. The wood floors, clean and varnished, would squeak as you walked across it as if you had stepped on a part of her that caused a bit of discomfort, or maybe its just her way of saying that it’s good to have someone who listens to her again. I moved a pocket-door out of its hiding place and felt it slightly bind here and there. I offhandedly mentioned it needed work; the Realtor smiled and commented, “If you were a hundred years old you would need a little work too.” I think I would need a bit more than a little. As I walked through dinning room, just for an instant, I saw my grandmothers’ kitchen and a hint of cinnamon crossed my mind - then it was gone. I love old houses.

This evening my wife carted in a large handful of sheets and pillowcases into the living room and plopped them on the hassock in front of me. She has volunteered me to fold them since I, as she has eloquently put it, fold them better than she does. I pulled the sheets from their dryer induced embrace and quickly folded them into neat little rectangles, the “top” sheet quite crisper than the “bottom” sheet. When I am done I sat back down and my wife looked at the stack, “you fold them so much better than I do. How do you fold them so well?” I looked at the sheets. I guess it never occurred to me if I folded them well or not, but I explained why I fold them the way I do.

Once, when growing up, I noticed the sheets in the linen closet. Each one folded with such precision as to make it impossible to tell which is a “top” and which a “bottom.” I was a bit frustrated after picking two or three out and still did not find a bottom sheet. I asked my Mom how she could fold them so well. I vaguely remember an answer somewhat like “you just do.”

I have folded sheets for years, and in different ways. I now fold them in such a way that they are flat, and end up close to the same size. The bottom sheet is a bit fluffier, but not by much. I am not proud of my folding job. To me they look ragged and in disarray. Maybe, if I live long enough I will uncover a least one of my Mothers secrets: that of how to fold a bottom sheet.

Funny what triggers a memory: an old squeaky floor, or a poorly folded sheet. They are old memories from past times, but they are also in the present. For I will always fold sheets and try to duplicate the perfection of my Mother, and I will always walk across wooden floors and hope it hides a squeak here and there.

Periodic Rituals

A ritual occurs several times a week in our house, for most of the last several years. As time moves closer to dusk one of us says the right word and everything stops. Dinner stops: the stove is turned off; food is removed from the grill and covered in aluminum foil; pans are removed from the burner and covered; bread is pushed to the back of the counter to protect it from the dog. Television is put on pause – TiVo is a wondrous thing. The Internet becomes non-existent, and the laptops set aside.

The kitchen priority changes a bit; wine is opened, and poured in specifically selected glasses. Sometimes its crystal from Prague, sometimes glasses with etched palm trees - each retaining its own emotional value. Depending on the status of dinner, there may be food to prepare. Crackers, cheese, and fruit are placed on a tray. With preplanning, we boil shrimp and place them in a bowl with side dishes of cocktail sauce. When all is prepared, we step outside to the front porch where rocking chairs, selected for their comfort, wait patiently to be used again. We arrange our food and drink on the small table between the two chairs, and sit and wait. We wait for a simple, yet infinitely unique event. We wait to view the setting of the sun. With our snacks or sometimes meal, and our wine or sometimes water, we wait. Our event is occasionally interrupted by the intermittent dog walkers, kid strollers, and the various waving neighbors as they pass either walking or driving. I know we must be an interesting site, especially with the shrimp, yet every once in a while a neighbor will walk by and comment on the sunset, appreciating the magic as much as we do.

Within a few minutes, the sky starts to change, clouds farthest away change their mood, shifting from white to orange, or pink, or sometime almost red with light purple accents. They change, shifting from animals to people: a bear, a horse, the majestic head of an eagle, or winged dove. Old men and women, young kids and balloons. They all come to help the sun mark the end of the day. They come, stay for a moment, then bid adieu, along with their newfound color. A moment passes and they dissolve into a single shade of dark.

My sister once mentioned that ‘the Boss’ provides the beauty in the sunsets, sunrises, and nature itself because someone, somewhere, finds it special. I always pause, for it is not only the beauty of the sunset I value, but also the time I spend with my wife. We discuss the passing day, with its humor, frustration, and sometimes astonishments. We talk about the future and what is next on the list, what are the goals, and how do we get there. We talk about homes in town and out, friends past and present, and family near and far. We talk.

Our sunset is over and we grab the plates and empty glasses and move back inside to unlock that which has been frozen in time. The burners relit, the meat placed on the reheated grill. Tivo allows the shows to move forward in time, and the Internet exists again. We continue as if nothing has changed. But something has: a day has past, marked with colors, beauty, art, and, in my case, a silent word of thanks.

Change Indicators

As I stood in line at the post office last Monday, I heard a very old, yet very memorable tune. That collection of notes that designated the end of a Warner Brothers Loony Toons cartoon. I looked around for the phone whose ringer mimicked the familiar tune. I expected to be able to spot the culprit by their fumbling for a phone either in their purse, their pocket, or clipped on their belt, trying desperately to answer it before everybody gives them the now classic ‘your phone is ringing’ look.

Change – sometimes we identify it as good, sometimes as bad. We can’t help but see life changing events, simply because it usually knocks us over, sometimes with a feather, sometimes with something much harder. But what about the rest of time? Changes occur constantly in our world, yet we tend to overlook them, usually because we are so neck deep in what we are dealing with that we do not see the changes coming. Usually the times we become cognizant of these subtle changes is often when we are external to the event, and thus may not affect us directly.

That day at the post office I had the opportunity to witness one of those ‘events.’ As I look around to see who would answer the phone, I found it was not a ringer. It was a phone, but not a ringer. I spotted two very young girls sitting at their mothers’ feet¸ each sharing the same Sprint phone. Both staring at – no watching, the tiny screen. They were watching a cartoon, being broadcasted via the Sprint network, while their mother waited patiently in line. To me, that one simple observation of that one simple act highlighted a change for the coming youth. I remember watch ‘Loony Toons’ on Saturday mornings while eating a bowl of Cheerios. These two girls will remember watching ‘Loony Toons’ anywhere they wanted.

When phones came out with cameras the naysayer’s talked about the uselessness of such an amenity, citing marketing gimmicky, lack of resolution, etc. Yet, as the services were put in place to utilize the capabilities, resolution increased, and camera phones became more prevalent. Their value increased, first among teens, then expanding upwards. There is something kind of special to get a picture via phone sent from someone close to you, highlighting a snippet of that person’s experience: a chance to share across distance and time.

As these kids grow up, they will utilize phones, not just as a way to communicate, but as a tool used for communication, entertainment, shopping, finding their way to, through, and out of a mall, paying for items with the phone they are concurrently using to talk to a friend either in the mall, or on the other side of the world.

Just as today’s phones took a step forward, and is becoming entertainment for kids, and news, weather, and sports updates for adults. Is it really that far fetched, or that far off, to say tomorrows phones will no longer be held to our ears, but rather in front of us so we can see the person we are talking to, and they, us. Tomorrow’s phones? Maybe it is safer to say this evenings phone. For change comes while we are living life, and if we are not watching, it sneaks up, and in my case, next to me in line.