Strange Saturday

Yesterday was Saturday and it was a strange day in field service.  Strange in a good way, I think.


Meeting for Field Service

The brother conducting the meeting, while waiting for 9:00am to strike, sat there in his chair with a slight smirk on his face, holding up his 2011 Examining the Scriptures book, open, as if he was going to consider it.

Those attending the meeting, probably about just 6 or 7, were sort of chuckling, and smiling.  Turns out he was just "messing around", making a reference to the item in the February 2011 KM instructing us to no longer use the "daily text" in the meetings for FS.

In the Territory

Two of the brothers encountered a home that seemed inaccessible, with fencing and a locked gate with a chain and padlock.  Then they spied someone walking from the back of the house to behind their detached garage.  Walking up as close as they could, they called out and made contact with the two homeowners, a woman who spoke with a heavy accent (probably Japanese) and her husband or boyfriend, who seemed like a total Californian native.

She was opposed to us being there, identifying herself as a "Christian", and upset about something her father-in-law had told her.

"If I'm dying, he cannot give me his blood.  He says I just have to die," she said.

The brothers asked "Why would he say something like that?"

They didn't know.

So the Bible was opened to Acts 15:20 ("abstain from... blood") as a likely reason for his statement, and then they said,

"But the good news is that many hospitals don't even use blood anymore, like Sharp Hospital in Chula Vista.  In fact, do you know Kobey's Swap Meet?  Well, Mister Kobey the founder received a blood transfusion, and he got HIV and died."

The woman's tune immediately changed and she said "I don't want to get a disease!"

Then she actually asked about learning more, with discussions from someone who could come by her house, during the day on either a Wednesday or a Thursday.

Turns out an elderly brother used to call on her, bring her "books", and then he died, and she misses him.

One of the brothers is coming back Thursday during the day with his wife to start a Bible study.

Speaking of tunes...

During Return Visits

Toward the end of the morning there were 6 left in the group, snuggled into a Honda Odyssey, making calls.  One of the sisters in the van who evidently really knows a lot about music made some comments about the new song book which I found really, really fascinating.

First, she said that the recorded music for our new song book is obviously a computer playing.  The notes are too perfect.  When a human plays, it doesn't sound that way.

This I thought was cool, because long, long ago in a place far, far away, I found a 1970's vinyl LP record album called "unplayed by human hands".

It contained the music of a computer playing a pipe organ.

At the time I was pretty excited, because I was really intrigued by movies where computers eventually take over the world, and so I loaned the album to a respected musician (I'll call him "Ray" since that's what most people called him).

"Ray" was not impressed.  (hmmm... since "Ray" is his real name I think I should get rid of the quotes).  Anyway, yeah, Ray was not impressed.  He explained to me why:

"It's too perfect.  When a master plays, there are subtle variations in distance between the notes, you know, when he hits the keys.  He adds his own flavor to the piece."

Okay, so that burst my bubble about computers taking over the world.  Until the Terminator movies, that is.

Hey, what's that way over there in the distance?  Oh yeah... it's my original point.  Let me get back to it now.

So anyway I had no idea that we were listening to computer-generated piano music at the Kingdom Hall all this time!  If she's correct, that is, and I don't have any valid reason to doubt it, especially with what she next mentioned, which is the 2nd interesting thing she said.

"There were four different people who played the music for the old songbook."

(There was then some discussion in the car about which songbook, and yes, she means the brown songbook we just ceased using, not the old pink songbook from the 70's.)

She continued,

"Yes, a friend and I narrowed it down one time, to four different humans, four different playing styles.  That's what we came up with, anyway."




I like strange Saturdays.

Employee of the Quarter -- It's in the Bag

SUMMARY

Pure brilliance in cost-savings

------------------------

Every three months they choose an Employee of the Quarter and several runners-up.

Nominees are chosen for their showing of initiative and suggesting cost-saving techniques.

This quarter... the prize will be mine!

Here's my idea, which I trust you as the reader will not steal from me (especially if you also work at Miller-Brasser Insurance Brokers alongside me) and thus steal the championship from me.

The problem:  We're almost out of yellow file folders.

Notice that we only had three yellow folders left when this photo was taken

Why this is a problem:  We use colored folders to identify the class of the insurance being quoted.  We use blue, yellow, green, and plain old manilla.

The issue:  Our budget is tight, and to buy another box of yellow folders would be expensive.

My brilliant idea:  Convert plain old manilla folders into yellow using a highlighter pen.  It took me about 15 minutes and about a pen and a half to convert one folder this morning.

Using the last original yellow folder as a guide, I carefully convert a plain folder to yellow

Criticism of my idea:  Yeah, I already confided in a co-worker, and here's the objection he raised:  "It's gonna cost more in labor and highlighter pens to create the folders than it would be buy them."

My response:  "You're an idiot, Wayne.  No it won't cost more... try using your brain for once.  The yellow folders, if purchased new, cost money.  The highlighters are free!  Meaning there's a bunch of them in the supply cabinet.  I saw at least one box of twelve."

Please keep my brilliant idea confidential until I bag the Employee of the Quarter award, which is in about 3 weeks.

Thank you.

Clemency presents new feature: Summaries

To my thousands of blog readers nationwide:

Clemency is primarily for me. It’s nice to have a creative outlet and a means of self expression.

However I realize that for other readers, it can be disappointing to plow through a long entry only to find out that nothing really happens. Or there’s no punch line. Or it’s just bunch of dribbly blah blah blah.

Thus, starting with tomorrow’s post, I proudly present a new feature of Clemency:

Post Summaries

Each new post will be preceded by a short summary. That way, you can just read the summary and thus save time should you choose not to read the long boring text that follows.

Cathartic Pathos

Blubbery men.  I cannot abide blubbery men.

Men who cry in public.

Not that I'm opposed to a little male emotion.  A dude getting a bit teary-eyed now and again is normal.

But those guys who lose it during a public discourse... brother, please.  We're trying to have a meeting here!

Recently there was a politician who broke down in tears during a televised speech.  His wife went up to the lecturn to comfort him.  Drag that guy out to the back alley and leave him alone to dry out!

Look, guys...  getting a little choked up is understandable at times, but save your blubbering for private.

Please.

~o~

Her co-worker in the adjacent cubicle seemed to be blowing his nose a lot.

"Are you getting sick?" Stephanie asked.

"No," replied Michael, "probably just allergies."

A lie.

~o~

Earlier the other day Stephanie and her supervisor Roberta were talking about Steph's daughter and how she had lost her Guinea Pig the day before.

It was a light-hearted conversation.  What to do?  Put the body in the dumpster or dig a hole?  The daughter wanted a proper burial, but Mom hadn't had the time to do it yet.

"You don't wanna know where he is right now," said Stephanie to her boss.

"In the freezer?" proffered Roberta.

Michael stood up into view and motioned toward the break room, implying perhaps he was in the freezer here at work.

Then he recalled a YouTube clip from an old Saturday Night Live featuring the "Yard-a-pult".  Yard clippings, raked leaves, dead pets... just load them in the Yard-a-pult and pull the trigger.  Shalllinggggg... over the fence and away they sail!"  He shared that basic concept with them, and at least Roberta laughed.

That was yesterday.

~o~

This morning Michael overheard Steph and Roberta catching up, again talking about the dead guinea pig.  Was it buried yet?  No.  Daughter still upset?  Yes...

Michael slowed down...  remembering the freezer... and an old memory flew through the window to haunt him once again.

He had once euthanized a beloved pet of his own.

This memory, very vivid, involving an especially traumatic scene, occupied his mind for a few moments, then expanded and pushed its way down into his heart.

The sunny and warm weather inside him turned grey and rainy.  Drops began to leak through the windows and down his face.  The storm, quietly gentle but shivering cold and growing darker, continued on for a couple of hours.

He had to go find privacy a few times...

~o~

"What is with you?" he asked.

"This happens every few years--" began Michael.

"Can I do you a favor," he interrupted, "and help you to change past history?"

"Is that possible?"

"Here's my idea:  write a story about what happened, but change the outcome.  Rewrite history.  Machine-gun that ghost right out of the sky.  Stop the haunting."

"I'm too...  I can't...  it may..." stammered Michael.

"I'll write it for you".

"Well, if you do, I'll read it when you're finished," said Michael.

"Then it's a deal," he said, offering his hand to seal the arrangement.

Michael's fingers nearly touched the mirror before he reached up and instead wiped his eyes.

Back Again

Is there someone you know

You're loving them so

But taking them all for granted?

You may lose them one day

Someone takes them away

And they don't hear

The words you long to say

Those lyrics are from what could easily appear to be one of the seventies' great romantic love songs.

David Gates actually wrote "Everything I Own" to express his feelings toward his late father.

My own Dad will die one day and be taken away and it's something that I hope will never happen.  Yet I know it must happen.

Countless times people have sung or spoken their regrets over not telling a loved one how much they cared, only to find that it was one day too late.  The object of their affection could no longer hear.

When I listen to "Everything" it often makes me want to weep over my father, even though he is still living.

After losing someone, is there a way to could go back in time and tell them "one more time", how much they love them?

The only way I know is to imagine the day when they will eventually pass away.  To cry and sorrow inside.  To play back the music and photographs of their memory.  To realize that yes, you do care very deeply.

And that for now, they are still alive.

Then to go and tell them now, before it's too late.

Another thing about babies that I don't like

Four days ago, Sunday morning, when they were counting up the elephants at the Wild Animal Park they came up one extra.

A tiny baby elephant had been born the night before.

Those visitors (to what has sadly been renamed the San Diego Zoo's Safari Park) present that morning were treated to the sight of a fuzzy-legged little pachyderm standing below his mother's breast.

Standing.

He was standing on his first morning of life.  Standing and walking.

When's the last time anyone saw a human baby standing up, even within the first week?

This reminds me of another thing I don't like about babies.

They're lazy.

Of course someone tells me that this is by design, and the only reason baby elephants choose to stand right away is that their mommies don't have arms with which to pick up and hold their babies.

That's their opinion.

[Human] babies are lazy.

Only Six Pounds

Generally speaking, I don't care for babies.

They leak.  They squeak.  They can suddenly smell bad.  They're selfish.

True, I was once a baby.  However I gave it up as soon as possible.

I don't like babies.

Now I do like people.  Grown people.  Two people who are friends (I'll call them "Eric" and "Suzanne" since those are their real names) recently experienced a nine-month pregnancy which resulted in the birth of a baby.

Wesley Ericson Harris was born around 4:00am in the morning on Friday November 19, 2010.

The next evening, on Saturday the 20th, Wendy and I went for a visit at Sharp's Mary Birch Hospital for Women.

It was nice to see our friends, and though they both looked quite tired, they were also radiating obvious inner joy.

When Suzanne offered to let Wendy hold the infant, now a day and three quarters old, I thought it was cute and snapped a few photographs.

Then Wendy asked if I wanted to hold Wesley.

Now I haven't held a baby for as long as I can remember.  Logic tells me that I probably held my baby sister when I was about about 5 years old.  However, I don't remember it, and any other babies held were quickly returned so that the awkwardness would end.

Of course I said yes.  I said out loud that it had been a long time, and I wasn't all that skilled at "baby holding".  

"I know I'm supposed to support the head", I offered.

Suzanne, the mother, simply said "yes, support the head, and just don't drop him".

Wendy handed me Wesley in a slow motion exchange, our arms momentarily enmeshed.

The first thought I had:  he's so light!  Compared to the last living thing I cradled in my arms, a full grown cat, this little tiny human was nearly weightless!  (Later Wendy told me that he weighs only 6 pounds).

Wesley's eyes were closed as he slept soundly, but from time to time I could see them rolling about beneath his eyelids.  His face changed expression every few minutes.  A couple of times his entire body jumped like people sometimes do when they're falling asleep.

My heart began to melt onto the floor.

You know... as I type this blog entry, I realize that what I'm about to type has been said again and again throughout history.  People hold babies... their hearts melt all over the floor.  I guess I'm just saying that it happened to me.

After I handed him back over to his father Eric, my arms suddenly began to ache, since I'd been holding him so long.

That Saturday night was one of the most unforgettable in my life.  It was a privilege (thanks Mom Suzanne and Dad Eric for letting me hold Son Wesley) and a very moving experience.

I love babies!

ps:

Holding a cat is nice, too,

but nice in a substantially

different way than holding

a human baby is nice