Posts Tagged ‘communication’
Hope Springs
Like the first sprout of green growth breaking through the blanket of leaves on the forest floor, reaching toward the rays of sunlight, I was full of anticipation for the scheduled delivery of my new electric lawn tractor yesterday. Seeking to assure my plan would work smoothly, I called the store in Prescott to check in and let them know this would be the day I was expecting delivery.
I was told they had received an email from the delivery company confirming that fact. The person on the phone said he could call me to let me know when the tractor got picked up. When my phone rang while I was out tending to the horses at noon, it was from the delivery company driver telling me he was 30 minutes from arrival.
Filled with hope for the approaching conclusion of this complicated purchase process, I didn’t question that the call came from the delivery company, not the store. Since I was already out with the horses and the driver would be arriving soon, I chose to wait with them and watch for the truck. The horses were understandably jumpy because the gusting wind was blowing the falling ice pellets with extra force and thunder overhead added dramatic effect.
Soon the precipitation transitioned into a heavy downpour that roared on the metal roof of the barn. I was happy to see the horses chose to endure the noise and stay under the overhang through the worst of the rain. It was taking the delivery driver longer than 30 minutes but in this weather, the driving would become slower going.
The SUV that finally pulled up our driveway looked too small to be bringing my tractor. The man asked where my tractor was located. I figured he was a helping hand who beat the truck to our location. No, he told me he was here to assemble my tractor (which I know simply involves bolting the seat on and attaching the steering levers). I asked if he had gone to the store first. No, he had come from Milwaukee! (300 miles away on the other side of the state of Wisconsin.)
Well, that explained why the store hadn’t called me to report the tractor had been picked up.
Too bad I didn’t just install a hitch on my car and rent a trailer to pick up the tractor myself two weeks ago.
The driver told me he would need to contact his office, reschedule my delivery, and he would call me back. Around dinnertime, while I was ankle-deep in mud scooping up manure, my phone rings with a call from Tennessee. It’s the delivery company calling to check if my tractor had arrived as scheduled. She was definitely looking forward to my happy reply and sounded totally shocked and was very apologetic to learn of the mixup.
I hope to find out tomorrow what their new delivery date will be. I definitely didn’t need the mower today but if the weather forecast for high temperatures to hit the 60s(F) this weekend and 70s next Tuesday proves accurate, lawn mowing will become a thing again real soon.
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Typical Exchange
This is a classic example of a typical exchange between Cyndie and me. To set the stage, it was business as usual around the house last night when I walked into the bathroom to brush my teeth while Cyndie stepped into the garage, focused on a task of her own.
Through the white noise of my activity and whatever self-talk was flowing around in my head, I thought I heard a shrill little distant shout. I paused for a second and my creative mind raced through possible scenarios, including the concern Cyndie was shouting in distress about something. The most likely conclusion I came up with was that she had probably sneezed.
As I finished dabbing toothpaste on the bristles of the brush, I heard the door to the garage open.
I said, “Did you sneeze?”
Cyndie replied, “What?”
“Did you sneeze?” I repeated.
When I heard her say, “Yes” I turned on my electric toothbrush.
Over the hum of the motor and with the sound vibrations of the rotating agitator polishing my teeth and resonating through my skull to the bones in my ears, I detected additional distant mumbling that could only have been Cyndie still talking.
I kept brushing. But I thought about the fact that she most likely would assume I heard every word she had said. I wondered to myself whether it warranted stopping my toothbrush to ask for a do-over on that added detail I had missed. Honestly, it probably involved descriptions about her sneeze or what triggered it, both of which I suspected weren’t critical for me to know.
In contemplating all this, I realized this sort of thing happens all the time between us. I tend to hear the first part of an answer, but the colorful addendums tend to get drowned out by whatever else is going on at the time.
If I don’t point out the fact I haven’t clearly heard anything beyond the initial speaking, there arises a falsehood of a common shared reality. Cyndie will assume a point has been communicated and I won’t have any idea that I’ve missed something that might have been significant.
The thing is, nine times out of ten it turns out to be a spur-of-the-moment colloquial expression of silliness or pleasantries. Both welcome enhancements when palling around with a companion, but neither very costly if not fully deciphered. At that, I must admit to being guilty more often than not of letting my ignorance go unnoticed.
A nod and an auditory “Mmm-hmmm” augment the facade of my feigned grasp.
I’m afraid if I were given a test about each day’s conversations, I might score embarrassingly low.
When I told Cyndie this story about not hearing anything beyond the fact she had, indeed, sneezed, she said the added comment was, “…and it was a Lollapalooza!” or something to that effect.
Mmm-hmm. Yes, dear.
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Backup Plan
What have we done? Cyndie says she called me to ask if she should. I interpreted her call as informing me that she would. While in the vicinity of a known supply of new chicks, Cyndie stopped in to look and came away with twelve. Three each of four breeds, two we have experience with and two that are new to us.
Rhode Island Red, Barred Rock, Americana, & Black Brahma.
I was given about an hour to get the brooder set up and ready. No waiting for the Post Office to deliver, we were going to have twelve new chicks within a day!
The thing is, we still have twenty-two incubating eggs in our basement bathroom at the same time.
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A few days ago, we candled those eggs and saw little to inspire hope of success for our first ever attempt to hatch our own chicks. We heard about a new batch of chicks arriving at the Buffalo Country Store and began to think about the advantage of such simple access to already sexed pullets.
We figured it was just a passing thought though because Buffalo is such a long way away from where we live. Then, one of those messages from the universe popped up that seem hard to ignore. Cyndie discovered the location of a training session she would be co-leading placed her mere minutes away from Buffalo.
I didn’t immediately say she shouldn’t go through with the purchase, but it did feel like we were making a hasty decision. To allay my concerns, we agreed to move up our next check of the incubating eggs to update that situation. If there were few signs of progress, our backup plan of buying the chicks would seem less impetuous.
My concerns were not allayed. While the first two eggs we happened to check showed little visible difference from a few days earlier, about twenty others revealed successfully developing veins and other detectable features. Multiple times the dark spot of an eye could be seen. It appears we have a lot more viable eggs than we realized.
It’s quite possible we could end up needing a new backup plan to solve how we will house two different batches of chicks hatched several weeks apart.
I guess this is one way to deal with large losses to predator pressures. Increase supply until it outpaces demand?
If ever there was a time to heed the adage of not counting chickens before they hatch, we’ll deal with the next reality when it arrives. But the possibilities have us marveling over how much things can change in surprisingly short spans of time.
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Sad Laughter
It wasn’t funny, but we found ourselves laughing over the absurdity. I feel a need to rationalize this tale of Cyndie’s-and-my-collective-failure, with more detail than is probably necessary. For those who prefer a “too-long; didn’t read” synopsis: Cyndie sold our ATV trailer, but I had no intention of letting it go.
The confusion between us goes back in two phases: to last year, when I sold our old lawn tractor, and to our current “passing in the night” level of connection lately.
I will give her credit for remembering that there was a trailer I told her we didn’t need anymore. That would have been last fall, when I sold it, along with the old Craftsman lawn tractor. Unfortunately, last week, when she was preparing to sell anything that wasn’t permanently affixed to the barn, she came upon the ATV trailer.
She thought it was the one I didn’t need.
I wrote that she converted the barn into an equine boutique, but among all the horse care products, saddles, and tack, there was fencing equipment, pitch forks, a 100 gallon stock tank, …and a trailer. I didn’t notice it at first.
So, the day after she gets the barn all set up, she flies to Dallas for a conference, notifying me that I had two appointments to cover, for people interested in our sale. I described this at work: My wife went out-of-town, leaving me home alone, and scheduled two appointments for women to come over and give me money.
The response was, “Isn’t that illegal?”
The first customer arrived Thursday night and spotted the trailer that I hadn’t even noticed was there. I told them that wasn’t for sale, and we joked about my wife selling things out from under me. Later, while pouring through multiple printouts of items and prices that Cyndie put together, I found that she did list the trailer for sale. I was flabbergasted.
She got home in the middle of the night, Friday, and as I wrote yesterday, the morning was all about the weirdness of the fraudulently purchased packages. (One more arrived in the mail yesterday.) While Cyndie was in the middle of frying eggs for breakfast, there was a knock at the door. It was a shopper for horse stuff.
I stayed in the house, grateful to no longer be responsible for trying to price Cyndie’s sale for friendly strangers who want a better deal. A short time later, Cyndie returned and I good-naturedly asked if she sold anything.
There it was.
She sold the trailer, among other things.
“WHAT!!”
I blame myself for not moving it out of the barn immediately when I discovered it. But, it was wedged behind a table of items and I didn’t want to mess up her wonderfully arranged displays. I should have put a sign on it that said, “Sold.”
I should have brought this up for discussion the moment she got home. While we cursed, whimpered, and laughed over what had just happened, I could see the moment she figured out the trailer I didn’t want was the other one. Understandably, she feels just awful now.
That trailer would have come in handy for a couple of chores I did yesterday.
We’ll probably use some money from her horse stuff sale to buy a replacement for the trailer she sold.
I’m trying to laugh about it, …to keep from crying. Sometimes, life imitates sitcoms.
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Damage Found
We were pretty surprised that the dramatic hail storm we experienced last week didn’t result in any obvious damage. It took a few days, but Cyndie finally did notice some wounds to the chicken coop.
On Tuesday, as we sat down to dinner during the early stages of that night’s flooding rain storm, Cyndie remembered to tell me about her find. She showed me a picture on her phone that was taken so close I couldn’t completely discern the angle of what I was seeing.
She said there were holes in the plastic on the coop and my mind jumped immediately to the roof panels. I freaked. How could she be so calm when there were holes in the roof and it was raining like crazy?
She said she didn’t think it would be a problem. I couldn’t understand her reasoning and hopped up from dinner to run out in the rain and see for myself. I was thinking we had to, at the very least, try putting a tarp over the roof.
It wasn’t the roof.
It was the window cover.
They are much thinner plastic than the roof panels. Actually, I’m impressed that the roof panels withstood the beating by such large hail stones.
Since only that one window cover was damaged, we now have a pretty good idea of the angle from which the hail fell.
Cyndie was right. Those holes weren’t a problem during the overnight deluge.
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This Why
This is why we can’t have a nice paved driveway like the other folks around here whose asphalt looks incredibly well-maintained.
We have an ongoing need for dump-truck loads of lime screenings for our paddocks.
That loaded dump-truck really makes an impression on the land. As he prepared to depart, I asked the driver to NOT center his truck on the driveway on the way out, and instead to run one set of wheels right down the middle. I’ve been trying to do the same with our vehicles ever since his visit last year, but haven’t had much effect on the eruption of cracked pavement the truck left for us that time.
Household discussion last night:
John: “Should I try to spread some lime screenings tomorrow?”
Cyndie: “Maybe.”
J: “Should I pull the T-posts instead?”
C: “Maybe.”
J: “Should I move the composted manure out?”
C: “Maybe.”
J: “Should I work on dividing the chicken coop?”
C: “Maybe.”
I think she got my point, and seeing as how I wasn’t getting any help with prioritizing, I chose not to continue with the thirteen other things also deserving attention.
It’s a good thing we are so smitten with each other, or these kinds of exchanges would take on additional unstated intentions. In our case, it just added to the love already present. Her refusal to take my bait brought a smile to my face. Our current healthy communication is a return on an investment we made long ago toward a few years of couples therapy.
This is why we can have nice conversations unburdened by alternate unstated agendas.
Well, that and the fact Cyndie gracefully puts up with my endless ribbing. If she wasn’t so saintly, I’d have needed to make myself a bed out in Delilah’s kennel years ago.
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Equine Perception
This weekend, our friends, Mike & Barb, visited for dinner. Before sitting down to a sumptuous feast, we took a walk around the property that culminated in a visit with the horses. Mike brought some apples, so I opened a gate to serve up treats from within the paddock. Being unfamiliar with horses, Barb was more comfortable waiting just outside.
When it comes to treats, the horses are never bashful. Cyndie, Mike, and I moved among the herd to assure each of the 4 received a fair share. After they’d eaten all the apples,
Legacy walked right up to Barb at the gate.
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I commented that he was probably fond of her color scheme.
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Especially considering the color pallet that Mike was sporting.
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Hunter seemed to pick right up on Mike’s playful spirit and soaked up his smell with big yawns and an outstretched tongue.
Cyndie pointed out that as herd leader, Legacy’s role is to make sure everyone is safe, connected, and part of the group. He chose to connect with Barb as a way to include her and acknowledge her reticence and sense of vulnerability over being among such large, and sometimes unpredictable animals.
As we discussed this, I was struck by the memory that I was in that very same place of unfamiliarity with horses when we bought this place. I would never think of stepping inside a fence with such large animals.
After one weekend of lessons on horse communication, and learning to understand my energies of mind, heart, and gut, I was significantly transformed. Before the end of the very first day of that weekend, I had moved from being completely naive about anything to do with horses, to finding myself successfully interacting with a horse I had no knowledge of, alone with him within the limited confines of a round pen.
It was monumental for me. It laid the foundation for everything I’ve learned since, now living as a co-owner of four beautiful Arabian horses.
I feel like I’ve come farther than should be possible in such a short time. I also feel like I still know so little. Every day there is more to grasp about the remarkable dynamics of equine perception.
More often than not, I get the sense that they know more about me than I do.
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Teamwork Challenged
Yesterday, I experienced a classic example of a frequent challenge Cyndie and I have been navigating to varying degrees over the 35+ years of our life together as husband and wife. Our minds sometimes tend to operate out of sync from one another, despite our best intentions.
It was a beautiful winter day outside, with a lot of blue sky and sunshine, a comfortable temperature, and minimal breezes. We headed out to give Delilah some exercise by letting her run loose in the pastures while throwing discs for her to chase. We walked right past the horses, cutting through their paddock to get out into the hay-field.
On our way back in, Cyndie said she wanted to pay a little visit to the horses. While milling around with them, Cyndie decided to scoop some of the fresh manure under foot. That inspired me to grab a pitch fork and clean the edges of the large pile we have been creating during the snow season.
When she was done cleaning up, Cyndie said she would take Delilah out for one last session of running loose in the back pasture. In a very short time, I was commenting on their quick return.
“Delilah’s tired and I’m getting cold, so we are going to head up.” she reported.
I told her I would finish what I was doing and then follow them shortly. Earlier, Cyndie had asked me what shovel I had used in the past to make a winter path through the labyrinth. I told her the trick is to just walk the route wearing snowshoes, implying we could do that later in the day, after lunch.
As I walked up to the barn to put away my pitch fork, Cayenne turned and approached me for some loving. I soaked up her attention and lingered for what seemed like a long time to me, staying engaged as long as she maintained interest. It’s funny how much hot breath, wet nose, and sloppy tongue seems perfectly acceptable when a horse is choosing to nuzzle and mingle. I searched for a sweet-spot of scratching for her, moving between her ears, neck and chest.
Eventually, what ended our little love fest was Legacy, coming over from the other side of the overhang. I don’t know what reason he had to finally interrupt, but I tried spending a little time with him to see if he was just hoping for similar attention. Since he’s not as accommodating to hands-on affection, it comes across more as though he just doesn’t want her to be getting all the fun.
I finally made my way up to the house, ready for a break and some lunch. Stepping inside, I found no one there. Cyndie must have gone down to the labyrinth already, I thought to myself. Looking out back, sure enough, I spotted Delilah moving around down there. I rallied my energy and decided to join her.
First, I looked in the garage for the snowshoes, but couldn’t find them anywhere. Did we leave the second pair at the lake? Oh well, I’ll grab the plastic shovel, just in case I can find a way to use that to help. The shovel wasn’t where I keep it, either. Frustrated that I couldn’t execute my plan, I walked down empty-handed.
I arrived just in time. Cyndie said she needed my help with figuring out where the turns should be.
Imagine this, it turned out she had brought down the second pair of snowshoes and the plastic shovel, in case I wandered past on my way up to the house.
Now, why didn’t I think of that?
Welcome to my world.
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Too Common
This time of year we start to see the bountiful harvest of flies blooming around our manure factory, and it triggered our first order of the year from our online source for fly control supplies. I provided the card number for our Wintervale account that I used last year and the order was entered.
A week later I received an email and phone calls indicating that my card number wasn’t working. After checking that they had all the correct information, we decided the problem may be with our bank.
Last night I called our bank and learned my card had been placed on alarm status for possible fraud activity. The representative for my bank spoke so matter of factly about the situation that it occurred to me, this was normal activity from her perspective.
I was aghast! What!? When!?
Since I have been back at work for almost a year, I haven’t had much need to use the Wintervale account. I had been unaware of the unauthorized attempts to make expensive purchases in San Francisco in January. When the culprit wasn’t able to produce the correct code from the back of the card after multiple attempts, my bank was alert enough to suspend the card.
I’m not quite sure why they didn’t see a need to contact me about the situation.
Several more attempts were made at different locations for lesser amounts, continuing into February, all failures.
The only way I found out about it was that I finally attempted to use the card myself, and had to call to find out why it didn’t work anymore.
I guess credit card fraud is so common, the banks don’t even get riled up about it anymore. At least they are swift about disallowing questionable requests.
Maybe, since they don’t bother letting the card holder know about the situation, I should call them every month to ask if anyone other than me has tried to use my card. Especially if fraud is so common it is expected.
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Relative Something 